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1 


THE 


POETICAL WOEKS 


OF 


THOMAS MOORE, 


COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 


ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS, 


jFrom Brsfcofttfls bv SEmfnent Mxtista. 


NEW-YORK: 


D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY. 


1853. 



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TO THE 

MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE, 

IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF 

NEARLY FORTY YEARS OF MUTUAL ACQUAINTANCE 

AND FRIENDSHIP, 

THIS VOLUME 

IS INSCRIBED, 

WITH THE SINCEREST FEELINGS OF AFFECTION 

AND RESPECT, 

BY 

THOMAS MOORE 



CONTENTS. 



Prefaces to the Collected Edition in Ten Volumes, published in 1841, 1842 . .... rage 15. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE, WITH NOTES. 

PAGE 

Dedication to his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. 57 

Advertisement 57 

Index to the Odes 57 

An Ode by the Translator 58 

Corrections of the preceding Ode, suggested by an emi- 
nent Greek scholar 58 

Remarks on Anacreon 59 



ODES. 

1. I saw the smiling bard of pleasure 

II. Give me the harp of epic song 

III. Listen to the Muse's lyre 

IV. Vulcan .' hear your glorious task 

V. Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul 

VI. As late I sought the spangled bowers 

VII. The women tell me every day 

VIII. I care not for the idle state 

IX. I pray thee, by the gods above 

X. How am I to punish thee 

XI. "Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee" 

XII. They tell how Atys, wild with love - - 

XIII. I will, I will, the conflict's past 

XIV. Count me, on the summer trees 

XV. Tell me, why, my sweetest dove 

XVI. Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 

XVII. And now, with all thy pencil's truth 

XVIII. Now the star of day is high 

XIX. Here recline you, gentle maid 

XX. One day the Muses twined the hands 

XXI. Observe when mother earth is dry 

XXII. The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm. . 

XXIII. I often wish this languid lyre 

XXIV. To all that breathe the air of heaven 

XXV. Once in each revolving year 

XXVI. Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms 

XXVII. We read the flying courser's name 

XXVIII. As, by Js Lemnian forge's flame 

XXIX. Yes— loving is a painful thrill 

XXX. 'Twas in a mocking dream of night 

XXXI. Arm'd with hyacinthine rod 

XXXII. Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves 

XXXIII. 'Twas noon of night, when round the pole. 

XXXIV. Oh thou, of all creation blest 

XXXV. Cupid once upon a bed 

XXXVI. If hoarded gold possess'd the power 

XXXVII. 'Twas night, and many a circling bowl •••• 

XXXVIII. Let us drain the nectar'd bowl 

XXXIX. How I love the festive boy 

XL. I know that Heaven hath sent me here 

XLI. When Spring adorns the dewy scene 

XL1I. Yes, be the glorious revel mine 

XLIII. While our rosy fillets shed 

XLIV. Buds of roses, virgin flowers 

XLV. Within this goblet, rich acd deep 

XLVI. Behold the young, the rosy Spring. 



XLVII. 'Tis true, my fading years decline 89 

XLV1II. When my thirsty soul I steep 89 

XLIX. When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy 89 

L. When wine I quaff", before my eyes 90 

LI. Fly not thus, my brow of snow 90 

LII. Away, away, ye men of rules ' 91 

LIII. When I behold the festive train 91 

LIV. Methinks, the pictured bull we see 92 

LV. While we invoke the wreathed spring 2 

LVI. He, who instructs the youthful crew 93 

LVII. Whose was the artist-hand that spread — 94 

f VIII. When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion 95 

LIX. Ripen'd by the solar beam 95 

LX. Awake to life, my sleeping shell 96 

LXI. Youth's endearing charms are fled 97 

LXII. Fill me, boy, as deep a draught 97 

LXIII. To Love, the soft and blooming child 98 

LXIV. Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aim'd spear 98 

LXV. Like some wanton filly sporting 98 

LXVI. To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine 98 

LXVII. Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 99 

LXVIII. Now Neptune's mouth our sky deforms — 99 

LXIX. They wove the lotus band to deck 99 

LXX. A broken cake with honey sweet 100 

LXXI. With twenty chords my lyre is hung 100 

LXXII. Fare thee well, perfidious maid 100 

LXXIII. Awhile I bloom'd, a happy flower 100 

LXXIV. Monarch Love, resistless boy 100 

LXXV. Spirit of Love, whose locks unroll' d 100 

LXXVI. Hither, gentle Muse of mine 101 

LXXVII. Would that I were a tuneful lyre 101 

LXXVIII. When Cupid sees how thickly now 101 

Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray 101 

Let me resign this wretched breath 101 

I know thou lov'st a brimming measure 101 

I fear that love disturbs my rest • • • 101 

From dread Leucadia's frowning steep 102 

Mix me, child, a cup divine 102 

EPIGRAMS FROM THE ANTHOLOGIA, 

Notice 102 

Avrtnarpov "EiScoviuv, £ij kvaKpzovra 102 

Tov avrov, £is rov avTov 103 

Tov avrov, els rov avrov 103 

Tov avrov, eig rov avrov 104 

JUVENILE POEMS. 

Preface, by the Editor 105 

Dedication to Joseph Atkinson, Esq. 106 

Fragments of College Exercises 107 

Is there no call, no consecrating cause 107 

Variety 107 

To a Boy with a Watch. Written for a Iriend 107 

107 



Song 
To . . 
Song 
Song 



103 
108 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Reuben and Rose. A Tale of Romance 109 

Did not 110 



To 



110 



To Mrs , on some calumnies against her 

character 110 

Anacreontic • 110 

To 110 

To Julia, in allusion to some illiberal criticisms Ill 

To Julia ■ Ill 

TheShrine. To .,-. Ill 

To a Lady, with some manuscript Poems, on leaving 

the country Ill 

To Julia ...... 112 



To 



112 



Nature's Labels. A fragment v *v 112 

ToJulia. On her birthday 113 

A Reflection at Sea 113 

Cloris and Fanny 113 

The Shield 113 

To Julia, weeping 114 

Dreams. To 114 

To Rosa. Written during illness 114 

Song 115 

The Sale of Loves 115 



To 



115 



To 116 

On the Death of a Lady 116 

Inconstancy 116 

The Natal Genius. A dream. To , the morn- 
ing of her birthday 116 

Elegiac Stanzas, supposed to be written by Julia, on the 
death of her brother 117 

To the large and beautiful Miss ... , in allusion 

to some partnership in a lottery share. Impromptu. 117 

A Dream ]]8 



To 



118 



Anacreontic 118 

ToJulia 118 

Hymn of a Virgin of Delphi, at the tomb of her mother. 118 

Sympathy. ToJulia 119 

The Tear 119 

The Snake U9 

To Rosa i20 

Elegiac Stanzas "20 

Love and Marriage 120 

Anacreontic 120 

The Surprise 121 

To Miss , on her asking the author why she 

had sleepless nigh 3 121 

TheWonder >. 121 

Lying 121 

Anacreontic 121 

The Philosopher Aristippus to a Lamp, which had 

been given him by Lais 122 

To Mrs. , on her beautiful translation of Voiture's 



Kia 



1-23 



Rondeau 123 

Song 124 

To Rosa 124 

Written in a commonplace book, called " The Book of 

Follies" 124 

To Rosa 124 

Light sounds the Harp 125 

From the Greek of Meleager 135 



Song. 



125 

The Resemblance ••» 126 

Fanny, dearest 126 

The Ring. To.. 126 

To the Invisible Girl 127 



PAGB 

The Ring. A tale i$8 

To , on seeing her with a white veil 

and a rich girdle 131 

Written on the blank leaf of a Lady's commonplace 

book 131 

To Mrs. Bl— , written in her album 131 

To Cara, after an interval of absence 132 

To Cara, on the dawning of a new-year's day 132 

To , 1801 132 

The Genuis of Harmony. An irregular ode 133 

I found her not— the chamber seem'd 135 

To Mrs. Henry Tighe, on reading her " Psyche" 135 

From the High Priest of Apollo to a Virgin of Delphi. . 136 

Fragment 137 

A Night Thought 137 

The Kiss 137 



Song 



137 



The Catalogue 138 

Imitation of Catullus to himself. 138 

Oh woman, if through sinful wile 138 

Nonsense 139 

Epigram, from the French 139 

On a squinting Poetess 139 

To 139 

To Rosa 139 

ToPhillis ]39 

To a Lady on her singing 139 

Song. On the birthday of Mrs. . Written in Ire- 
land, 1799 140 

Song 140 

Morality. A familiar epistle. Addressed to J. Atkin- 
son, Esq., M. R. I. A 140 

The Tell-tale lyre 141 

Peace and Glory. Written on the approach of war 142 

Song H2 

Love and Reason 143 

Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear 143 

Aspasia 144 

The Grecian Girl's Dream of the Blessed Islands. To 

her lover 144 

To Cloe. Imitated from Martial 146 

The Wreath and the Chain 146 

To 146 

To 's Picture 147 

Fragment of a Mythological Hymn to Love 147 

To his Serene Highness the Duke of Montpensier, on 

his portrait of the Lady Adelaide Forbes 148 

The Fall of Hebe. A dithyrambic ode 148 

Rings and Seals 150 

To Miss Susan B— ckf— d. On her singing 151 

Impromptu, on leaving some friends 151 

A Warning. To 152 

To 152 

Woman 152 

To 153 

A Vision of Philosophy 153 

To Mrs 156 

To Lady Heathcote, on an old ring found at Tunbridge 

Wells 156 

The Devil among the Scholars. A fragment 157 

POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 

Dedication, to Francis, EarlofMoira 160 

Preface 160 

To Lord Viscount Strangford. Ahmrd the Phaeton 

frigate, off the Azores, by moonlight 161 

Stanzas 162 

To the Flying-fish 163 

To Miss Moore. From Norfolk, in Virginia, Nov. 1803. 163 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

A Ballad The Lake of the Dismal Swamp. Written 

at Norfolk, in Virginia 164 

To the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal. From Ber- 
muda. January, 1804 165 

To George Morgan, Esq., of Norfolk, Virginia. From 

Bermuda, January, 1804 166 

Lines written in a storm at sea 168 

Odes to Nea: — 

Nay, tempt me not to love again 168 

I pray you, let us roam no more 169 

You read it in these spell-bound eyes 169 

A Dream of Antiquity 170 

Well— peace to thy heart, though another's it be... • 171 

If I were yonder wave, my dear 171 

The Snow Spirit 172 

I stole along the flowery bank 172 

A Study from the Antique 173 

There's not a look, a word of thine 173 

To Joseph Atkinson, Esq. From Bermuda ]74 

The Steersman's Song. Written aboard the Boston frig- 
ate, 28th of April 175 

To the Fire-fly ... 175 

To the Lord Viscount Forbes. From the city of Wash- 
ington 175 

To Thomas Hume, Esq., M.D. From the city of Wash- *f 

ington 178 

Lines written on leaving Philadelphia 179 

Lines written at the Cohoes, or Falls of the Mohawk 

river 180 

Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods 180 

To the Honorable W. R. Spencer. From Buffalo, upon 

Lake Erie 181 

Ballad Stanzas 183 

A Canadian Boat Song. Written on the river St. Law- 
rence 183 

To the Lady Charlotte Rawdon From the banks of 

the St. Lawrence 184 

Impromptu, after a visit to Mrs , of Montreal 186 

Written on passing Deadman's Island, in the Gulf of 

St. Lawrence, late in the evening, September, 1804. 186 
To the Boston frigate, on leaving Halifax for England, 
October,1804 187 

CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE: 

Two Poems. Addressed to an Englishman by an 
Irishman. 

Preface 188 

Corruption ••• 189 

Intolerance. A Satire 194 

Appendix 197 

THE SKEPTIC : A Philosophical Satire 199 

TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 
By Thomas Brown the Younger. 

Dedication. To Stephen Woolriche, Esq SOS 

Preface 203 

Preface to the Fourteenth Edition. By a Friend of 
the Author 204 

INTERCEPTED LETTERS, ETC. 

Letter I. From the Pr — nc — ss Ch — rl — e of W — 1 — s 
to the Lady B— rb— a Ashl— y 205 

Letter II. From Col. M'M— h— n to G— Id Fr— nc— s 

L— ckie, Esq 206 

Postscript 207 

Letter III. From G— ge Pr— ce R— gt to the E— of 
Y th 207 



PAGE 

Letter IV. From the Right Hon. P— tr— ck D— gen— n 

to the Right Hon. Sir J— hn N— ch— 1 208 

Letter V. From the Countess Dowager of C— rk to 

Lady 209 

Postscript.... 210 

Letter VI. From Abdallah in London, to Mohassan 

in Ispahan 210 

Gazel 211 

Letter VII. From Messrs. L— ck— gt— n and Co. 

to , Esq 211 

Letter VIII. From Colonel Th — m— s to 

S— rT— ngt— n, Esq 212 

Appendix 213 

Letter IV. Page 208 213 

Letter VII. Page 211 214 

SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 

The Insurrection of the Papers. A Dream 216 

Parody of a celebrated Letter 217 

Anacreontic to a Plumassier 219 

Extracts from the Diary of a Politician 219 

Epigram 220 

King Crack and his Idols. Written after the late nego- 
tiation for a new M — n — stry 220 

What's my Thought like 7.. 220 

Epigram. Dialogue between a Catholic Delegate and 
His R— y— 1 H— ghn— ss the D— e of C— b— 1— d.. . 221 

Wreaths for the Ministers. An Anacreontic 221 

Epigram. Dialogue between a Dowager and her Maid 

on the night of Lord Y— rm— th's fete 221 

Horace. Ode XL Lib. II. Freely translated by the 

Pr— ceR— g— t 221 

Horace. Ode XXII. Lib. 1. Freely translated by Lord 

Eld— n 222 

The New Costume of the Ministers 223 

Correspondence between a Lady and Gentleman, upon 
the advantage of (what is called) " having Law on 

one's side" 224 

Occasional Address for the Opening of the New Thea- 
tre of St. St — ph — n, intended to have been spoken 
by the Proprietor in full Costume, on the 24th of 

November, 1812 224 

The Sale of the Tools 225 

Little Man and Little Soul. A Ballad 226 

Reinforcements for Lord Wellington 226 

Horace. Ode I. Lib. III. A Fragment 227 

Horace. Ode XXXVIII. Lib. I. A Fragment. Trans- 
lated by a Treasury Clerk, while waiting dinner for 

the Right Hon. G — rge R— se 227 

Impromptu. Upon being obliged to leave a pleasant 
party from the want of a pair of breeches to dress 

for dinner in 227 

Lord Wei lington and the Ministers 227 



IRISH MELODIES. 

Dedication to the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal . . 228 

Preface 228 

Go where Glory waits thee 228 

War Song. Remember the glories of Brien the Brave. . 229 

Erin ! the Tear and the Smile in thine Eyes 229 

Oh! breathe not his Name 229 

When he who adores thee 229 

The Harp that once through Tara's halls 230 

Fly not yet 2o0 

Oh, think not my spirits, are always as light 230 

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see 231 

Rich and rare were the gems she wore 231 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow 231 

The meeting of the Waters 231 

How dear to me the hour 232 

Take back the virgin page. Written on returning a 

blank book 232 

The Legacy 232 

How oft has the Benshee cried 233 

We may roam through this world 233 

Eveleen's Bower 233 

Let Erin remember the days of old 234 

The Song of Fionnuala 234 

Come, send round the wine 234 

Sublime was the warning 235 

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms 235 

Erin, oh Erin 235 

Drink to her 236 

Oh, blame not the Bard 236 

While gazing on the moon's light 237 

111 Omens 237 

Before the Battle 237 

After the Battle 238 

'Tis sweet to think 238 

The Irish Peasant to his Mistress 238 

On Music 239 

It is not the tear at this moment shed 239 

The Origin of the Harp 239 

Love's young Dream 240 

The Prince's Day '• 240 

Weep on, weep on 240 

Lesbia hath a beaming eye 241 

I saw thy form in youthful prime 241 

By that lake, whose gloomy shore 241 

She is far from the land 242 

Nay, tell me not, dear 242 

Avenging and bright 243 

What the bee is to the floweret 243 

Love and the Novice 243 

This life is all chcker'd with pleasures and woes 243 

Oh, the shamrock 244 

At the mid hour of night 244 

One bumper at parting 245 

'Tis the last rose of summer 245 

The young May moon 245 

The Minstrel-boy I 246 

The Song of O'Ruark, Prince of Breffni 246 

Oh, had we some bright little isle of our own 246 

Farewell ! but whenever } r ou welcome the hour 247 

Oh, doubt me not 247 

You remember, Ellen 247 

I'd mourn the hopes 248 

Come o'er the sea 248 

Has sorrow thy young days shaded 248 

No, not more welcome 249 

When first I met thee 249 

While history's muse 250 

The time I've lost in wooing • • 250 

Where is the slave 250 

Come, rest in this bosom 251 

'Tis gone, and forever 251 

I saw from the beach 251 

Fill the bumper fair 252 

Dear harp of my country 252 

My gentle harp 253 

In the morning of life 253 

As slow our ship 253 

When cold in the earth 254 

Remember thee 254 

Wreath the bowl ' 254 

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes 255 



PASS 

If thou'lt be mine 255 

To Ladies' Eyes 255 

Forget not the field 25C 

They may rail at this life 256 

Oh for the swords of former time 257 

St. Senanus and the Lady 257 

Ne'er ask the hour 257 

Sail on, sail on 257 

The Parallel 258 

Drink of this cup 258 

The Fortune-teller 259 

Oh, ye dead 259 

O'Donohue's Mistress 259 

Echo 260 

Oh, banquet not 260 

Thee, thee, only thee 260 

Shall the harp, then, be silent 260 

Oh, the sight entrancing 261 

Sweet Innisfallen 262 

'Twas one of those dreams '. 262 

Fairest ! put on awhile 262 

Quick! we have but a second 263 

And doth not a meeting like this 263 

The Mountain Sprite 264 

As vanquish'd Erin 264 

Desmond's Song 264 

They know not my heart 265 

1 wish 1 was by that dim lake 265 

She sung of love 265 

Sing, sing— Music was given 266 

Though humble the banquet 266 

Sing, sweet Harp 267 

Song of the Battle Eve , 267 

The wandering Bard 267 

Alone in crowds to wander on 268 

I've a secret to tell thee 268 

Song of Innisfail 268 

The Night Dance 269 

There are sounds of mirth.. 269 

Oh ! Arranmore, loved Arranmore 269 

Lay his sword by his side 270 

Oh, could we do with this world of ours 270 

The wine-cup is circling 270 

The dream of those days 271 

From this hour the pledge is given 271 

Silence is in our festal halls 271 

Appendix : — 
Advertisement prefixed to the First and Second 

Numbers 272 

Advertisement to the Third Number 272 

Letter to the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal, pre- 
fixed to the Third Number 273 

Advertisement to the Fourth Number 276 

Advertisement to the Fifth Number — 277 

Advertisement to the Sixth Number 278 

Advertisement to the Seventh Number 278 

Dedication to the Marchioness of Headfort, prefixed 
to the Tenth Number 273 

NATIONAL AIRS. 

Advertisement 279 

A Temple to Friendship. (Spanish Air) 279 

Flow on, thou shining river. (Portuguese Air) 280 

AH that's bright must fade. (Indian Air) 280 

So warmly we met. (Hungarian Air) 280 

Those evening bells. (Air.— The Bells of St. Peters- 
burgh) 280 

Should those fond hopes. (Portuguese Air) 281 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Reason, Folly, and Beauty. (Italian Air) 281 

Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! (Sicilian Air) 281 

Dost thou remember. (Portuguese Air) 282 

Oh, come to me when daylight sets. (Venetian Air) . • 282 

Oft, in the stilly night. (Scotch Air) 282 

Hark ! the vesper hymn is stealing. (Russian Air) . • . 282 

Love and Hope. (Swiss Air) • • • 283 

There comes a time. (German Air) 283 

My harp has one unchanging theme. (Swedish Air). . 283 
Oh, no — not even when first we loved. (Cashmerian Air) 283 

Peace be around thee. (Scotch Air) 284 

Common Sense and Genius. (French Air) 234 

Then fare thee well. (Old English Air) .-284 

Gayly sounds the castanet. (Maltese Air) < ^ * 285 

Love is a hunter-boy. (Languedocian Air) 285 

Come, chase that starting tear away. (French Air) . • • 285 

Joys of Youth, how fleeting. (Portuguese Air) 285 

Hear me but once. (French Air) 286 

When Love was a child. (Swedish Air) 286 

Say", what shall be our sport to-day 1 (Sicilian Air) . . . 286 

Eright be thy dreams. (Welsh Air) 286 

Go, then — 'tis vain. (Sicilian Air) 287 

The Crystal Hunters. (Swiss Air) 287 

Row gently here. (Venetian Air) 287 

Oh, days of youth. (French Air) 287 

When first that smile. (Venetian Air) 288 

Peace to the slumberers ! (Catalonian Air) 288 

When thou shalt wander. (Sicilian Air) 288 

Who'll buy my Love-knots ? (Portuguese Air) 288 

See, the dawn from heaven. (To an Air sung at Rome, 

on Christmas Eve) 289 

Nets and Cages. (Swedish Air) 289 

When through the Piazzetta. (Venetian Air) 289 

Go, now, and dream. (Sicilian Air) 290 

Take hence the bowl. (Neapolitan Air) 290 

Farewell, Theresa ! (Venetian Air) 290 

How oft, when watching stars. (Savoyard Air) 290 

When the first summer bee. (German Air) 291 

Though 'tis all but a dream. (French Air) 291 

When the wine- cup is smiling. (Italian Air) 291 

Where shall we bury our shame ? (Neapolitan Air). . 291 
Ne'er talk of wisdom's gloomy schools. (Mahratta Air) 291 

Here sleeps the bard. (Highland Air) 292 

Do not say that life is waning 292 

The Gazelle 292 

No — leave my heart to rest 292 

Where are the visions 293 

Wind thy horn, my hunter-boy ■ 293 

Oh, guard our affection 293 

Slumber, oh slumber 293 

Bring the bright garlands hither 293 

If in loving, singing 294 

Thou lov'st no more 294 

When abroad in the world 294 

Keep those eyes still purely mine 294 

Hope comes again 294 

O say, thou best and brightest 295 

When night brings the hour — 295 

Like one who, doom'd 295 

Fear not that, while around thee 295 

When Love is kind 296 

The garland I send thee 296 

How shall I woo? 296 

Spring and Autumn 296 

Love alone 297 

SACRED SONGS. 

Dedica *,ion to Edward Tuite Dal ton, Esq 297 

Thou art, O God. (Air.— Unknown) 297 



PAGE 

The bird, let loose. (Air.— Beethoven) 298 

Fallen is thy throne. (Air.— Martini) 298 

Who is the maid ? St. Jerome's love. (Air.— Beeth 

oven) 298 

This world is all a fleeting show. (Air.— Stevenson). • 299 
Oh Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear. (Air. — 

Haydn) 299 

Weep not for those. ( Air.— Avison) 299 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine. (Air.— Steven- 
son) 300 

Sound the loud timbrel. Miriam's song. (Air. — 

Avison) 300 

Go, let me weep. (Air.— Stevenson) 300 

Come not, O Lord. (Air. — Hadyn) 301 

Were not the sinful Mary's tears. (Air.— Stevenson).. 301 

As down in the sunless retreats. (Air. — Hadyn) 301 

But who shall see. (Air. — Stevenson) 301 

Almighty God. Chorus of priests. (Air.— Mozart) ... . 302 
Oh fair ! oh purest ! St. Augustine to his sister. (Air. — 

Moore) 302 

Angel of Charity. (Air.— Handel) 302 

Behold the sun. (Air. — Lord Mornington) 303 

Lord, who shall bear that day. (Air.— Dr. Boyce) • •• • 303 

Oh, teach me to love thee. (Air.— Haydn) 303 

Weep, children of Israel. (Air.— Stevenson) 304 

Like morning, when her early breeze. (Air. — Beeth- 
oven) 304 

Come, ye disconsolate. (Air.— German) 304 

Awake, arise, thy Light is come. (Air. — Stevenson). • 304 

There is a bleak desert. (Air. — Crescentini) 305 

Since first Thy word. (Air.— Nicholas Freeman) 305 

Hark! 'tis the breeze. (Air. — Rousseau) 306 

Where is your dwelling, ye sainted 1 (Air. — Hasse) • . C06 
How lightly mounts the muse's wing. (Air. — Anony- 
mous) 306 

Go forth to the mount. (Air.— Stevenson) 307 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter. (Air. — Haydn) 307 

War against Babylon. 'Air — Novello) 307 

The Summer Fete 308 

Dedication to the Hon. Mrs. Norton 308 

EVENINGS IN GREECE. 

First Evening 318 

Second Evening 328 

LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Dedication to the Miss Fieldings 336 

The Voice 336 

Cupid and Psyche 336 

Hero and Leander 337 

The Leaf and the Fountain 337 

Cephalus and Procris 338 

Youth and Age 338 

The Dying Warrior 338 

The Magic Mirror 339 

The Pilgrim <■ 339 

The high-born Ladye 339 

The Indian Boat 340 

The Stranger 340 

A Melologue upon National Music 341 

Advertisement 341 

SET OF GLEES. 

MUSIC BY MOORE. 

The Meeting of the Ships 343 

Hip, hip, hurrah! 343 

Hush, hush! 343 



10 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Parting before the Battle 344 

The Watchman. A Trio 344 

Say, what shall we dance 1 344 

The Evening Gun 345 

BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS 
POEMS, &c. 

To-day, dearest ! is ours 345 

When on the lip the sigh delays 345 

Here, take my heart 346 

Oh, call it by some better name 346 

Poor wounded heart 346 

The East Indian 346 

Poor broken flower 346 

The pretty rose-tree 347 

Shine out, stars ! 347 

The young Muleteers of Granada 347 

Te.ll her, oh, tell her 347 

Nights of music • 348 

Our first young love 348 

Black and blue eyes 348 

Dear Fanny 348 

From life without freedom 349 

Here's the bower 349 

I saw the moon rise clear. (A Finland love song) 349 

Love and the Sun-dial 349 

Love and Time 349 

Love's light Summer-cloud 350 

Love, wand'ring through the golden maze 350 

Merrily every bosom boundeth. (The Tyrolese song of 

liberty) 350 

Remember the time. (The Castilian maid) 351 

Oh, soon return 351 

Love thee? 351 

One dear smile 351 

Yes, yes, when the bloom 352 

The day of love 352 

Lusitanian War Song 352 

The young Rose 352 

When 'midst the gay I meet 352 

When twilight dews 353 

Young Jessica 353 

How happy, once 353 

I love but thee 353 

Let joy alone be remember'd now •••• 354 

Love thee, dearest 1 love thee 1 354 

My heart and lute 354 

Peace, peace to him ghat's gone 354 

Rose of the desert 355 

'Tis all for thee > 355 

The song of the olden time . 355 

Wake thee, my dear 355 

The Boy of the Alps 356 

For thee alone 356 

Her last words, at parting 356 

Let's ta ke this world as some wide scene 357 

Love's Victory 357 

Song of Hercules to his Daughter 357 

The Dream of Home 358 

They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest 358 

The young Indian Maid 358 

The Homeward March 358 

Wake up, sweet melody 359 

Calm be thy sleep 359 

The Exile 359 

The Fancy Fair 359 

If thou wouldst have me sing and play 360 

Still when daylight 360 

The Summer Webs 360 



381 
361 
361 
361 



Mind not though daylight • 

They met but once 

With moonlight beaming 

Child's Song. From a Masque 

The halcyon hangs o'er ocean 

The world was hush'd 361 

The two Loves 362 

The Legend of Puck the Fairy 362 

Beauty and Song 363 

When thou art nigh 363 

Song of a Hyperborean 363 

Thou bidd'st me sing 363 

Cupid arm'd 364 

Round the world goes »»-• 364 

Oh, do not look so bright and blest •• 364 

The Musical Box 365 

When to sad music silent you listen 365 

The Language of Flowers 365 

The dawn is breaking o'er us 365 

SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 

Here at thy tomb. (By Meleager" 366 

SaleofCupid. (By Meleager) 366 

To weave a garland for the rose. ;2y Paul the Silen- 

tiary) 366 

Why does she so long delay? (By Paul the Silcn- 

tiary) 367 

Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow. (By Paul 

the Silentiary) 367 

When the sad word. (By Paul the Silentiary) 367 

My Mopsa is little. (By Philodemus) 368 

Still, like dew in silence falling. (By Meleager) 368 

Up, sailor-boy, 'tis day 368 

In Myrtle Wreaths. (By Alcams) 368 

UNPUBLISHED SONGS, &c. 

Ask not if still I love 369 

Dear? yes 369 

Unbind thee, love 369 

There's something strange. (A buffo song) 370 

Not from thee 370 

Guess, guess 370 

When Love, who ruled 370 

Still thou fliest 371 

Then first from Love 371 

Hush, sweet lute 371 

Bright moon 372 

Long years have pass'd 372 

Dreaming forever 372 

Though lightly sounds the song I sing. (A song of the 

Alps) 372 

The Russian lover 373 



LALLA ROOKH. 

Dedication * 373 

The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan 376 

Paradise and the Peri 406 

The Fire- Worshippers 415 

The Light of the Harem 442 

POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 

Lines on the Death of Mr. P— re— v— 1 455 

Fum and Hum, the two birds of royalty 455 

Lines on the Death of Sh — r — d — n 456 

Epistle from Tom Crib to Big Ben, concerning some 

foul play in a late transaction 457 



CONTENTS. 



11 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 

PAGE 

Preface 458 

Letter I. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy , 

of Clonkilty, in Ireland 458 

Letter II. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. to the Lord Viscount 

C— st— r— gh 460 

Letter III. From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard , Esq. 462 

Letter IV. From Phelim Connor to 464 

Letter V. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 465 

Letter VI. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. to his brother Tim 

Fudge, Esq., barrister at law 

Letter VII. From Phelim Connor to 

Letter VIII. From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard , Esq. 

Letter IX. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. to the Lord Viscount 

C— st— r— h 

Letter X. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 



4G7 
470 

472 



474 



Letter XL From Phelim Conner to 



478 
480 



Letter XII. From Mis* Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy — 481 

FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 

Dedication. To Lord Byron 483 

Preface 484 

Fable I. The Dissolution of the Holy Alliance. A 

dream 484 

Fable II. The Looking-glasses -~ 486 

Fable III. The Torch of Liberty 487 

FablelV. The Fly and the Bullock 488 

Fable V. Church and State •• 489 

Fable VI. The Little Grand Lama 490 

Fable VII. The Extinguishers 492 

Fable VIII. Louis Fourteenth's Wig 493 

RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 

Introductory Rhymes 495 

Extract 1 497 

Extract II 497 

Extract III 498 

Extract IV 499 

Extract V 499 

Extract VI 500 

Extract VII 501 

Extract VHI 502 

Extract IX 503 

Extract X 504 

Extract XI 504 

Extract XII. . 505 

Extract XIII.".. 506 

ExtractXIV 508 

Extract XV » 510 

Extract XVI. 511 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Occasional Epilogue, spoken by Mr. Corry, in the char- 
acter of Vapid, after the play of the Dramatist, at 

the Kilkenny Theatre . 512 

Extract from a Prologue written and spoken by the 
Author, at the Opening of the Kilkenny Theatre, 

October, 1809 513 

The Sylph's Ball 513 

Remonstrance • 514 

My Birth-day ■■ ...515 

Fancy 515 

Song. Fanny, dearest ! 515 

Translations from Catullus 516 

Tibullus to Sulpicia 516 

Imitation. From the French 517 



PAGE 

Invitation to Dinner, addressed to Lord Lansdowne .... 517 
Verses to the Poet Crabbe's Inkstand. Written May, 

1832 517 

To Caroline, Viscountess Valletort. Written at Lacock 

Abbey, January, 1832 518 

A Speculation 519 

To my Mother. Written in a Pocket-book, 1822 519 

Love and Hymen 519 

Lines on the Entry of the Austrians into Naples, 1821. 519 

THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 

Preface « 520 

First Angel's Story 522 

Second Angel's Story 527 

Third Angel's Story 538 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Skeptic sm 542 

A Joke Versified 542 

On the Death of a Friend 542 

To James Corry, Esq., on his making me a Present of 

a Wine-strainer 542 

Fragment of a Character 543 

What shall I sing thee? To 543 

Country Dance and Quadrille 544 

Gazel 545 

Lines on the Death of Joseph Atkinson, Esq., of Dublin 546 

Genius and Criticism 546 

To Lady J*r**y, on being asked to write something in 

her Album 547 

To the same, on looking through her Album 547 

SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 

To Sir Hudson Lowe 547 

Amatory Colloquy between Bank and Government.... 548 
Dialogue between a Sovereign and a One Pound Note. 548 

An Expostulation to Lord King 549 

The Sinking Fund cried • 550 

Ode to the Goddess Ceres. By Sir Th— m— s L— th- 

br — e •• 550 

A Hymn of Welcome after the Recess 551 

Memorabilia of Last Week 552 

All in the Family Way. A new Pastoral Ballad 552 

Ballad for the Cambridge Election 553 

Mr. Roger Dodsworth 553 

Copy of an Intercepted Dispatch. From his Excellency 

Don Strepitoso Diabolo, Envoy Extraordinary to 

his Satanic Majesty 554 

The Millennium. Suggested by the late Work of the 

Rev. Mr. Irv — ng " on Prophecy" 555 

The Three Doctors 555 

Epitaph on a Tuft-hunter 556 

Ode to a Hat 556 

News for Country Cousins 557 

A Vision. By the Author of Christabel 558 

The Petition of the Orangemen of Ireland 558 

Cotton and Corn. ADialogue 559 

The Canonization of Saint B — tt — rw — rth 560 

An Incantation. Sung by the Bubble Spirit 561 

A Dream of Turtle. By Sir W. Curtis 561 

The Donkey and his Panniers. A Fable 562 

Ode to the Sublime Porte i 562 

Corn and Catholics 563 

A Case of Libel 563 

Literary Advertisement 564 

The Irish Slave 565 

Ode to Ferdinand 566 

HatversusWig 566 



12 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Periwinkles and the Locusts. A Salmagundian 

Hymn 567 

New Creation of Peers. Batch the First 568 

Speech on the Umbrella Question. By Lord Eld— n. . . 569 

A Pastoral Ballad. By John Bull 569 

A late Scene at Swanage 570 

Wo! Wo! 570 

Tout pour la Tripe 571 

Enigma 571 

Dog-day Reflections. By a Dandy kept in Town 572 

The " Living Dog" and the " Dead Lion" 573 

Ode to Don Miguel 573 

Thoughts on the present Government of Ireland 574 

The Limbo of lost Reputations. A Dream 574 

How to Write by Proxy 575 

Imitation of the Inferno of Dante 576 

Lament for the Loss of Lord B— th— st's Tail 577 

The Cherries. A Parable 577 

Stanzas written in Anticipation of Defeat 578 

Ode to the Woods and Forests. By one of the Board. . 579 

Stanzas from the Banks of the Shannon 579 

The Annual Pill 580 

" If " and " Perhaps" 580 

Write on, Write on. A Ballad 581 

Song of the Departing Spirit of Tithe 581 

The Euthanasia of Van 582 

To the Reverend . One of the sixteen Requsition- 

ists of Nottingham 583 

Irish Antiquities 583 

A curious Fact 584 

New-fashioned Echoes 584 

Incantation. From the New Tragedy of " The Bruns- 

wickers" 585 

How to make a good Politician 586 

Epistle of Condolence. From a Slave Lord to a Cotton 

Lord 586 

The Ghost of Miltiades 587 

Alarming Intelligence— Revolution in the Dictionary — 

One Gait at the Head of it 588 

Resolutions passed at a late Meeting of Reverends and 

Right Reverends 588 

Sir Andrew's Dream 589 

A Blue Love Song. To Miss 590 

Sunday Ethics. A Scotch Ode 590 

Awful Event 591 

The Numbering of the Clergy. Parody on Sir Charles 

Han. Williams' famous Ode 591 

A Sad Case 592 

A Dream of Hindostan 592 

The Brunswick Club 593 

Proposals for a Gynfficocracy. Addressed to a late Rad- 
ical Meeting 593 

Lord H— nl— y and St. Cecilia 594 

Advertisement 595 

Missing 595 

The Dance of Bishops ; or, The Episcopal Quadrille. A 

Dream 596 

Dick****. A Character 596 

A Corrected Report of some late Speeches 597 

Moral Positions. A Dream 598 

The Mad Tory and the Comet. Founded on a late Dis- 
tressing Incident 598 

From the Hon. Henry to Lady Emma 599 

Triumph of Bigotry 600 

Translation from the Gull Language 600 

Notions on Reform. By a Modern Reformer • • • 601 

Tory Pledges 602 

St. Jerome on Earth. First Visit 602 

St. Jerome on Earth. Second Visit 603 



PAGE 

Thoughts on Tar-barrels. (Vide Description of a late 

Fete) 604 

The Consultation 604 

To the Rev. Ch— rl— s Ov— rt— n, Curate of Romald- 

kirk 605 

Scene from a Play, acted at Oxford, called " Matricula- 
tion" 605 

Late Tithe Case 606 

Fool's Paradise. Dream the First 606 

The Rector and his Curate ; or, One Pound Two 607 

Paddy's Metamorphosis 608 

Cocker on Church Reform. Founded upon some late 

Calculations 608 

Les Hommes Automates 609 

How to make One's Self a Peer. According to the new- 
est Receipt, as disclosed in a late Heraldic Work. • 609 

The Duke is the Lad 610 

Epistle from Erasmus on Earth to Cicero in the Shades 610 
Lines on the Departure of Lords C— st— r— gh and 

St— w— rt for the Continent 611 

To the Ship in which Lord C — st— r— gh sailed for the 

Continent 612 

Sketch of the First Act of a new Romantic Drama .... 613 

Animal Magnetism 614 

The Song of the Box 614 

Announcement of a newThalaba. Addressed to Robert 

Southey,Esq 615 

Rival Topics. An Extravaganza 616 

The Boy Statesman. By a Tory 616 

Letter from Larry O'Branigan to the Rev. Murtagh 

O'Mulligan 617 

Musings of an Unreformed Peer 617 

The Reverend Pamphleteer. A Romantic Ballad 618 

A Recent Dialogue « 618 

The Wellington Spa 619 

A Character 619 

A Ghost Story 620 

Thoughts on the late destructive Propositions of the 

Tories. By a Common Councilman 620 

Anticipated Meeting of the British Association in the 

year 2836 621 

Songs of the Church. No. I. 622 

Epistle from Henry of Ex— t— r to John of Tuam 623 

Song of Old Puck 623 

Police Reports. Case of Imposture 624 

Reflections. Addressed to the Author of the Article of 
the Church, in the last Number of the Quarterly 

Review 625 

New Grand Exhibition of Models of the two Houses of 

Parliament 625 

Announcement of a new grand Acceleration Company 

for the Promotion of the Speed of Literature 626 

Some Account of the late Dinner to Dan 627 

New Hospital for Sick Literati 628 

Religion and Trade 628 

Musings, suggested by the late Promotion of Mrs. Neth- 

ercoat 629 

Intended Tribute to the Author of an Article in the last 
Number of the Quarterly Review, entitled " Ro- 
manism in Ireland" 629 

Grand Dinner of Type and Co. A poor Poet's Dream. . 630 

Church Extension 631 

Latest Accounts from Olympus 632 

The Triumphs of Farce 632 

Thoughts on Patrons, Puffs, and other Matters. In an 

Epistle from T. M. to S. R 633 

Thoughts on Mischief. By Lord St— nl— y. (His first 

Attempt in Verse) 634 

Epistle from Captain Rock to Lord L— ndh— t 635 



CONTENTS. 



13 



PAGE 

Captain Rock in London. Letter from the Captain to 
Terry Alt, Esq 636 

THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND; 

BEING A SEQUEL TO THE "FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS." 

Preface 637 

Letter I. From Patrick Magan, Esq., to the Rev. Rich- 
ard , Curate of , in Ireland 637 

Letter n. From Miss Biddy Fudge, to Mrs. Eliza- 
beth 638 

Letter III. From Miss Fanny Fudge, to her cousin, 
Miss Kitty . Stanzas (enclosed) to my Sha- 
dow; or, Why?— What ?— How? 641 

Letter IV. From Patrick Magan, Esq., to the Rev. 
Richard 643 

Letter V. From Larry O'Branigan, in England, to his 
wife Judy, at Mullinafad 644 

Letter VI. From Miss Biddy Fudge, to Mrs. Eliza- 
beth 646 

Letter VII. From Miss Fanny Fudge, to her cousin, 
Miss Kitty . Irregular Ode 649 

Letter VHI. From Bob Fudge, Esq., to the Rev. Mor- 
timer O'Mulligan 650 

Letter IX. From Larry O'Branigan to his wife Judy. . 652 

Letter X. From the Rev. Mortimer O'Mulligan, to the 
Rev. 654 

Letter XI. Froi Patrick Magan, Esq., to the Rev. 
Richard ftt^ 



SONGS from M.P.; or, THE BLUE STOCKING. 

PAGE 

Songs 656.657 

Boat Glee 657 

Cupid's Lottery 657 

Song 658 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

At night 658 

To Lady Holland. On Napoleon's Legacy of a Snuff- 
box 658 

Epilogue. Written for Lady Dacre's Tragedy of Ina. . • 658 

The Day-dream 659 

Song 660 

Song of the Poco-curante Society 660 

Anne Boleyn. Translation from the metrical " Histoire 

d'Anne Boleyn" 660 

The Dream of the Two Sisters. From Dante 661 

Sovereign Woman. A Ballad 661 

Come, play me that simple Air again. A Ballad 661 

THE EPICUREAN: A Tale 662 

ALCIPHRON: A Fragment 723 

Gexxral Index * 737 



PREFACES 



TO 



THE COLLECTED EDITION OF TEN VOLUMES, 

PUBLISHED IN 1841, 1342. 



PREFACE 



THE FIRST VOLUME. 

Finding it to be the wish of my Publishers 
that at least the earlier volumes of this col- 
lection should each be accompanied by some 
prefatory matter, illustrating - , by a few bio- 
graphical memoranda, the progress of my 
humble literary career, t have consented, 
though not, I confess, without some scruple 
and hesitation, to comply with their request. 
In no country is there so much curiosity felt 
respecting the interior of the lives of public 
men as in England ; but, on the other hand, 
in no country is he who ventures to tell his own 
story so little safe from the imputation of van- 
ity and self-display. 

The whole of the poems contained in the 
first, as well as in the greater part of the 
secon J ■"olume of this collection were written 
between the sixteenth and the twenty-third 
year of the author's age. But I had begun 
still earlier, not only to rhyme but to publish. 
A sonnet to my schoolmaster, Mr. Samuel 
Whyte, written in my fourteenth year, ap- 
peared at the time in a Dublin magazine, 
called the Anthologii, — the first, and, I fear, 
almost only, creditable attempt in periodical 
literature of which Ireland has to boast. I had 
even at an earlier period (1793) sent to this 
magazine two short pieces of verse, prefaced 

* Some confused notion of this fact has led the writer of a 
Memoir prefixed to the "Pocket Edition" of my Poems, 
printed at Zwickau, to state that Brinsley Sheridan was my 



by a note to the editor, requesting the inser- 
tion of the " following attempts of a youthful 
muse ;" and the fear and trembling with which 
I ventured upon this step were agreeably dis- 
pelled, not only by the appearance of the con- 
tributions, but still more by my finding myself, 
a few months after, hailed as " Our esteemed 
correspondent, T. M." 

It was in the pages of this publication, — 
where the whole of the poem was extracted, — 
that I first met with the Pleasures of Memory ; 
and to this day, when I open the volume of 
the Anthologia which contains it, the very 
form of the type and color of the paper brings 
back vividly to my mind the delight with which 
I first read that poem. 

My schoolmaster, Mr. Whyte, though amu- 
singly vain, was a good and kind-hearted man ; 
and, as a teacher of public reading and elocu- 
tion, had long enjoyed considerable reputa- 
tion. Nearly thirty years before I became his 
pupil, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, then about 
eight or nine years of age, had been placed by 
Mrs. Sheridan under his care ;* and, strange 
to say, was, after about a year's trial, pro- 
nounced, both by tutor and parent, to be " an 
incorrigible dunce." Among those who took 
lessons from him as private pupils were several 
young ladies of rank, belonging to some of 
those great Irish families who still continued to 
lend to Ireland the enlivening influence of 
their presence, and made their country-seats, 
through a great part of the year, the scenes of 

tutor !—" Great attention was paid to his education ;y his 
tutor, Sheridan." 



16 



PREFACE. 



refined as well as hospitable festivity. The 
Miss Montgomerys, to whose rare beauty the 
pencil of Sir Joshua has given immortality, 
were among those whom my worthy preceptor 
most boasted of as pupils ; and his description 
of them, I remember, long haunted my boyish 
imagination, as though they were not earthly 
women, but some spiritual " creatures of the 
element." 

About thirty or forty years before the pe- 
riod of which I am speaking, an eager taste 
for private theatrical performances had sprung 
up among the higher ranks of society in Ire- 
land ; and at Carton, the seat of the Duke of 
Leinster, at Castletown, Marley, and other 
great houses, private plays were got up, of 
which, in most instances, the superintendence 
was intrusted to Mr. "Whyte, and in general 
the prologue, or the epilogue, contributed by 
his pen. At Marley, the seat of the Latouches, 
where the masque of Comus was performed in 
the year 1776, while my old master supplied 
the prologue, no less distinguished a hand than 
that of our " ever-glorious Grattan,"* fur- 
nished the epilogue. This relic of his pen, 
too, is the more memorable, as being, I believe, 
the only poetical composition he was ever 
known to produce. 

At the time when I first began to attend his 
school, Mr. Whyte still continued, to the no 
small alarm of many parents, to encourage a 
taste for acting among his pupils. In this line 
I was long his favorite show-scholax ; and 
among the play-bills introduced in his volume, 
to illustrate the occasions of his own prologues 
and epilogues, there is one of a play got up in 
the year 1790, at Lady Borrowes's private 
theatre in Dublin, where, among the items of 
the evening's entertainment, is " An Epilogue, 
A Squeeze to St. Paul's, Master Moore." 

With acting, indeed, is associated the very 
first attempts at verse-making to which my 
memory enables me to plead guilty. It was at 
a period, I think, even earlier than the date last 
mentioned, that, while passing the summer 
holidays, with a number of other young people, 
at one of those bathing-places, in the neigh- 
borhood of Dublin, which afford such fresh 
and healthful retreats to its inhabitants, it was 
proposed among us that we should combine 
together in some theatrical performance ; and 
* Byron. 



the Poor Soldier and a Harlequin Pantomime 
being the entertainments agreed upon, the parts 
of Patrick and the Motley hero fell to my share. 
I was also encouraged to write and recite an 
appropriate epilogue on the occasion ; and the 
following lines, alluding to our speedy return 
to school, and remarkable only for their having 
lived so long in my memory, formed part of 
this juvenile effort : — 

Our Pantaloon, who did so aged look, 

Must now resume his youth, his task, his book : 

Our Harlequin, who skipp'd, laugh'd, danced and died, 

Must now stand trembling by his master's side. 

I have thus been led back, step by step, 
from an early date to one still earlier, with the 
view of ascertaining, for those who take any 
interest in literary biography, at what period I 
first showed an aptitude for the now common 
craft of verse-making ; and the result is — so 
far back in childhood lies the epoch — that I 
am really unable to say at what age I first be- 
gan to act, sing, and rhyme. 

To these different talents, such as they were, 
the gay and social habits prevailing in Dublin 
afforded frequent opportunities of display ; 
while, at home, a most amiable father, and a 
mother such as in heart and head has rarely 
been equalled, furnished me with that purest 
stimulus to exertion — the desire to please 
those whom we, at once, most love and most 
respect. It was, I think, a year or two after 
my entrance into college, that a masque written 
by myself, and of which I had adapted one of 
the songs to the air of Haydn's Spirit-Song, 
was acted, under our own humble roof in 
Aungier street, by my elder sister myself, 
and one or two other young persons. The 
little drawing-room over the shop was our 

grand place of representation and young , 

now an eminent professor of music in Dublin, 
enacted for us the part of orchestra at the 
piano-forte. 

It will be seen from all this, that, however 
imprudent and premature was my first appear- 
ance in the London world as an author, it is 
only lucky that I had not much earlier assumed 
that responsible character ; in which case the 
public would probably have treated my nursery 
productions in much the same manner in which 
that sensible critic, my Uncle Toby, would 
have disposed of the " work which the great 
Lipsius produced on the day he was born." 



PREFACE. 



17 



While thus the turn I had so early shown 
for rhyme and song was, by the gay and so- 
ciable circle in which I lived, called so en- 
couragingly into play, a far deeper feeling — 
and, I should hope, power — was at the same 
time awakened in me by the mighty change 
then working in the political aspect of Europe, 
and the stirring influence it had begun to ex- 
ercise on the spirit and hopes of Ireland. Born 
of Catholic parents, I had come into the world 
with the slave's yoke around my neck ; and it 
was all in vain that the fond ambition of a 
mother looked forward to the Bar as opening 
a career that might lead her son to honor and 
affluence. Against the young Papist all such 
avenues to distinction were closed ; and even 
the University, the professed source of public 
education, was to him " a fountain sealed." Can 
any one now wonder that a people thus wronged 
and trampled upon should have hailed the first 
dazzling outbreak of the French Revolution 
as a signal to the slave, wherever suffering, 
that the day of his deliverance was near at 
hand. I remember being taken by my father 
(1792) to one of the dinners given in honor 
of that great event, and sitting upon the knee 
of the chairman while the following toast was 
enthusiastically sent round : — " May the breezes 
from France fan our Irish Oak into verdure." 

In a few months after was passed the me- 
morable Act of 1793, sweeping away some of 
the most monstrous of the remaining sanctions 
of the penal code ; and I was myself among 
the first of the young Helots of the land, who 
hastened to avail themselves of the new privi- 
lege of being educated in their country's uni- 
versity, — though still excluded from all share 
in those college honors and emoluments by 
which the ambition of the youths of the ascen- 
dant class was stimulated and rewarded. As I 
well knew that, next to my attaining some of 
these distinctions, my showing that I deserved 
to attain them would most gratify my anxious 
mother, I entered as candidate for a scholar- 
ship, and (as far as the result of the examina- 
tion went) successfully. But, of course, the 
mere barren credit of the effort was all I en- 
joyed for my pains. 

It was in this year, (1794,) or about the be- 
ginning of the next, that I remember having, 
for the first time, tried my hand at political 
satire. In their very worst times of slavery 



and suffering, the happy disposition of my 
countrymen had kept their cheerfulness still 
unbroken and buoyant; and, at the period of 
which I am speaking, the hope of a brighter 
day dawning upon Ireland had given to the 
society of the middle cbsses in Dublin a more 
than usual flow of hilarity and life. Among 
other gay results of this festive spirit, a club, 
or society, was instituted by some of our most 
convivial citizens, one of whose objects was to 
burlesque, good-humoredly, the forms and 
pomps of royalty. With this view they es- 
tablished a sort of mock kingdom, of which 
Dalkey, a small island near Dublin, was made 
the seat, and an eminent pawnbroker, named 
Stephen Armitage, much renowned for his 
agreeable singing, was the chosen and popular 
monarch. 

Before public affairs had become too serious 
for such pastime, it was usual to celebrate, 
yearly, at Dalkey, the day of this sovereign's 
accession ; and, among the gay scenes that still 
live in my memory, there are few it recalls 
with more freshness than the celebration, on a 
fine Sunday in summer, of one of these anni- 
versaries of King Stephen's coronation. • The 
picturesque sea-views from that spot, the gay 
crowds along the shores, the innumerable boats, 
full of life, floating about, and, above all, that 
true spirit of mirth which the Irish tempera- 
ment never fails to lend to such meetings, 
rendered the whole a scene not easily forgotten. 
The state ceremonies of the day were perform- 
ed, with all due gravity, within the ruins of an 
ancient church that stands on the island, where 
his mock majesty bestowed the order of knight- 
hood upon certain favored personages, and 
among others, I recollect, upon Incledon, the 
celebrated singer, who arose from under the 
touch of the royal sword with the appropriate 
title of Sir Charles Melody. There was also 
selected, for the favors of the crown on that 
day, a lady of no ordinary poetic talent, Mrs. 
Battier, who had gained much fame by some 
spirited satires in the manner of Churchill, and 
whose kind encouragement of my early at- 
tempts in versification were to me a soi\rce of 
much pride. This lady, as was officially an- 
nounced, in the course of the day, had been 
appointed his majesty's poetess laureate, under 
the style and title of Henrietta, Countess of 
Laurel. 



18 



PREFACE. 



There could hardly have been devised an 
apter vehicle for lively political satire than this 
gay travesty of monarchical power, and its 
showy appurtenances, so temptingly supplied. 
The very day, indeed, after this commemora- 
tion, there appeared, in the Dalkey state- 
gazette, an amusing proclamation from the 
king, offering a large reward, in cronebanes* 
to the finder or finders of his majesty's crown, 
which, owing to his " having measured both 
sides of the road" in his pedestrian progress 
on the preceding night, had unluckily fallen 
from the royal brow. 

It is not to be wondered at, that whatever 
natural turn I may have possessed for the 
lighter skirmishing of satire should have been 
called into play by so pleasant a field for its 
exercise as the state affairs of the Dalkey 
kingdom afforded ; and, accordingly, my first 
attempt in this line was an Ode to his Majesty, 
King Stephen, contrasting the happy state of 
security in which he lived among his merry 
lieges, with the '* metal coach," and other such 
precautions against mob violence, which were 
said to have been adopted at that time by his 
royal brother of England. Some portions of this 
juvenile squib still live in my memory ; but they 
fall far too short of the lively demands of the 
subject to be worth preserving, even as juvenilia. 

In college, the first circumstance that drew 
any attention to my rhyming poweis was my 
giving in a theme, in English verse, at one of 
the quarterly examinations. As the sort of 
short essays required on those occasions were 
considered, in general, as a mere matter of 
form, and were written, invariably, I believe, 
in Latin prose, the appearance of a theme in 
English verse could hardly fail to attract some 
notice. It was, therefore, with no small anx- 
iety that, when the moment for judging of the 
themes arrived, I saw the examiners of the dif- 
ferent divisions assemble, as usual, at the 
bottom of the hall for that purpose. Still more 
trying was it when I perceived that the rev- 
erend inquisitor, in whose hands was my fate, 
had left the rest of the awful group, and was 
bending his steps towards the table where I 
was seated. Leaning across to me, he asked 
suspiciously, whether the verses which I had 
just given in were my own ; and, on my an- 

* Irish halfpence, so called. 



swering in the affirmative, added these cheering 
words, " They do you great credit ; and I shall 
not fail to recommend them to the notice of 
the Board." This result of a step, ventured 
upon with some little fear and scruple, was of 
course very gratifying to me ; and the premium I 
received from the Board was a well-bound copy of 
the Travels of Anacharsis, together with a certi- 
ficate, stating, in not very lofty Latin, that this re- 
ward had been conferred upon me, "propter lau- 
dabilem in versibus componendis progressum." 
The idea of attempting a version of some of 
the Songs or Odes of Anacreon had very early 
occurred to me ; and a specimen of my first 
ventures in this undertaking may be found in 
the Dublin Magazine already referred to, * here, 
in the number of that work for Februai- 1 7< H, 
appeared a " Paraphrase of Anacreon's Fifth 
Ode, by T. Moore." As it may not be unin- 
teresting to future and better translators of 
the poet to compare this schoolboy experiment 
with my later and more labored version of 
the same ode, I shall here extract the specimen 
found in the Anthologia : — 

" Let us, with the clustering vine, 
The rose, Love's blushing flower, entwine. 
Fancy's hand our chaplet's wreathing, 
Vernal sweets around us breathing, 
We'll gayly drink, full goblets quaffing, 
At frighted Care securely laughing. 

"Rose ! thou balmy-scented flower, 
Rear'd by Spring's most fostering power, 
Thy dewy blossoms, opening bright, 
To gods themselves can give delight ; 
And Cypria's child, with roses crown'd, 
Trips with each Grace the mazy round. 

" Bind my brows,— I'll tune the lyre 
Love my rapturous strains shall fire, 
Near Bacchus' grape-encircled shrine, 
While roses fresh my brows entwine, 
Led by the winged train of Pleasures, 
I'll dance with nymphs to sportive measures." 

In pursuing further this light task, the only 
object I had for some time in view was to lay 
before the Board a select number of the odes 
I had then translated, with a hope, — suggested 
by the kind encouragement I had already re- 
ceived, — that they might be considered as 
deserving of some honor or reward. Having 
experienced much hospitable attention from 
Doctor Kearney, one of the senior fellows,f a 
man of most amiable character, as well as of 
refined scholarship, I submitted to his perusal 

t Appointed Provost of the University in the year 1790, 
and made afterwards Bishop of Ossory. 



PREFACE. 



19 



the manuscript of my translation as far as it 
had then proceeded, and requested his advice 
respecting- my intention of laying it before the 
Board. On this latter point his opinion was 
such as, with a little more thought, I might 
have anticipated, namely, that he did not see 
how the Board of the University could lend 
their sanction, by any public reward, to writings 
so convivial and amatory as were almost all 
those of Anacreon. He very good-naturedly, 
however, lauded my translation, and advised 
me to complete and publish it ; adding, I well 
recollect, " young people will like it." I was 
also indebted to him for the use, during my 
task, of Spaletti's curious publication, giving 
a facsimile of those pages of a MS. in the 
Vatican Library which contain the Odes, or 
" Symposiacs," attributed to Anacreon.* And 
here I shall venture to add a few passing words 
on a point which I once should have thought it 
profanation to question, — the authenticity of 
these poems. The cry raised against their 
genuineness by Robertellus and other enemies 
of Henry Stephen, when that eminent scholar 
first introduced them to the learned world, 
may be thought to have long since entirely 
subsided, leaving their claim to so ancient a 
paternity safe and unquestioned. But I am 
forced, however reluctantly, to confess that there 
appear to me strong grounds for pronouncing 
these light and beautiful lyrics to be merely 
modern fabrications. Some of the reasons that 
incline me to adopt this unwelcome conclu- 
sion aic thus clearly stated by the same able 
scholar, to whom I am indebted for the emen- 
dations of my own juvenile Greek ode : — " I 
do not see how it is possible, if Anacreon had 
written chiefly in Iambic dimeter verse, that 
Horace should have wholly neglected that 
metre. I may add that, of those fragments of 
Anacreon, of whose genuineness, from internal 
evidence, there can be no doubt, almost all are 
written in one or other of the lighter Horatian 
metres, and scarcely one in Iambic dimeter 
verse. This may be seen by looking through 
the list in Fischer." 

* When the monument to Provost Baldwin, which stands 
in the hall of the College of Dublin, arrived from Italy, there 
came in the same packing-case with it two copies of this 
work of Spaletti, one of which was presented by Dr. Troy, 
the Roman Catholic Archbishop, as a gift from the Pope to 
the Library of the University, and the other (of which I was 
subsequently favored with the use) he presented, in like 



The unskilful attempt at Greek verse from 
my own pen, which is found prefixed to the 
Translation, was intended originally to illus- 
trate a picture, representing Anacreon con- 
versing with the Goddess of Wisdom, from 
which the frontispiece to the first edition of 
the work was taken. Had I been brought up 
with a due fear of the laws of prosody before 
my eyes, I certainly should not have dared to 
submit so untutored a production to the criti- 
cism of the trained prosodians of the English 
schools. At the same time, I cannot help 
adding that, as far as music, distinct from 
metre, is concerned, I am much inclined to 
prefer the ode as originally written to its pre- 
sent corrected shape , and that, at all events, 
I entertain but very little doubt as to which of 
the two a composer would most willingly set 
to music. 

For the means of collecting the materials of 
the notes appended to the Translation, I was 
chiefly indebted to the old library adjoining St. 
Patrick's Cathedral, called, from the name of 
the archbishop who founded it, Marsh's Library. 
Through my acquaintance with the deputy 
librarian, the Rev. Mr. Cradock, I enjoyed the 
privilege of constant access to this collection, 
even at that period of the year when it is 
always closed to the public. On these occa- 
sions I used to be locked in there alone ; and 
to the many solitary hours which, both at the 
time I am now speaking of and subsequently, 
I passed in hunting through the dusty tomes of 
this old library, I owe much of that odd and 
out-of-the-way sort of reading which may be 
found scattered through some of my earlier 
writings. 

Early in the year 1799, while yet in my 
nineteenth year, I left Ireland, for the first 
time, and proceeded to London, with the two 
not very congenial objects, of keeping my terms 
at the Middle Temple, and publishing, by sub- 
scription, my Translation of Anacreon. One 
of those persons to whom, through the active 
zeal of friends, some part of my manuscript 
had been submitted before it went to press, 

manner, to my friend, Dr. Kearney. Thus, curiously enough. 
while Anacreon in English was considered — and, I grant, on 
no unreasonable grounds — as a work to which grave collegi- 
ate authorities could not openly lend their sanction, Anacreon 
in Greek was thought no unfitting present to be received by 
a Protestant bishop, through the medium of a Catholic arch- 
bishop, from the hands of his holiness, the Pope. 



20 



PREFACE. 



was Doctor Laurence, the able friend of Burke ; 
and, as an instance, however slight, of that 
ready variety of learning — as well the lightest 
as the most solid — for which Laurence was so 
remarkable, the following extract from the letter 
written by him, in returning the manuscript 
to my friend Dr. Hume, may not be without 
some interest : — 

" Dec. 20, 1799. 

" I return you the four odes which you were 
so kind to communicate for my poor opinion. 
They are, in many parts, very elegant and 
poetical ; and, in some passages, Mr. Moore 
has added a pretty turn not to be found in the 
original. To confess the truth, however, they 
aru, in not a few places, rather more paraphras- 
tical than suits my notion (perhaps an incorrect 
notion) of translation. 

" In the fifty-third ode there is, in my judg- 
ment, a no less sound than beautiful emend- 
ation suggested — would you suppose it? — by 
a Dutch lawyer. Mr. M. possibly may not be 
aware of it. I have endeavored to express 
the sense of it in a couplet interlined with 
pencil. Will you allow me to add, that I am 
not certain whether the translation has not 
missed the meaning, too, in the former part of 
that passage which seems to me to intend a 
distinction and climax ot pleasure : — ' It is 
sweet even to prove it among the briery paths ; 
it is sweet again, plucking, to cherish with 
tender hands, and carry to the fair, the flower 
of love.' This is nearly literal, including the 
conjectural correction of Mynheer Medenbach. 
If this be right, instead of 

• 'Tis sweet to dare the tangle i fence,' 

I wo ild propose something to this effect : — 

'Tis sweet the rich perfume to prove, 
As by the dewy bush you rove ; 
'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid beauty thence, 
To wipe with tender hands away 
The tears that on its blushes lay ;* 
Then, to the bosom of the fair, 
The flower of love in triumph bear. 

" I would drop altogether the image of the 
stems ' dropping ivith gems.'' I believe it is a 
confused and false metaphor, unless the painter 

* Query, if it ought not to be lie ? The line might run, 
With tender hand the tears to brush, 
That give new softness to its blush (or, its flush.) 



should take the figure of Aurora from Mrs. 
Hastings. 

" There is another emendation of the same 
critic, in the following line, which Mr. M. may 
seem, by accident, to have sufficiently expressed 
in the phrase of 'roses shed their light.' 1 

" I scribble this in very great haste, but fear 
that you and Mr. Moore will find me too long, 
minute, and impertinent. Believe me to be, 
very sincerely, 

" Your obedient, humble servant, 

" F. Laurence." 



preface 

TO 

THE SECOND VOLUME. 

The Poems suggested to me by my rltl to 
Bermuda, in the year 1803, as well as by the 
tour which I made subsequently, through some 
parts of North America, have been hitherto 
very injudiciously arranged ; — any distinctive 
character they may possess having been dis- 
turbed and confused by their being mixed up 
not only with trifles of a much earlier date, 
but also with some portions of a classical story, 
in the form of Letters, which I had made some 
progress in before my departure from England. 
In the present edition, this awkward jumble 
has been remedied ; and all the Poems relating 
to my Transatlantic voyage will be found classed 
by themselves. As, in like manner, the line of 
route by which I proceeded through some 
parts of the States and the Canadas, has been 
left hitherto to be traced confusedly through a 
few detached notes, I have thought that, to 
future readers of these poems, some clearer ac- 
count of the course of that journey might not 
be unacceptable, — together with such vestiges 
as may still linger in my memory of events 
now fast fading into the background of time 

For the precise date of my departure from 
England, in the Phaeton frigate, I am indebted 
to the Naval Recollections of Captain Scott, 
then a midshipman of that ship. " We were 
soon ready," says this gentleman, " for sea, and 
a few days saw Mr. Merry and suite embarked 
on board. Mr. Moore likewise took his passage 



PREFACE. 



21 



with us on his way to Bermuda. We quitted 
Spithead on the 25th of September, (1803,) and 
in a short week lay becalmed under the lofty 
pean of Pico, In this situation the Phaeton is 
depicted in the frontispiece of Moore's Poems." 

During the voyage, I dined very frequently 
with the oihcers of the gun-room ; and it was 
not a little gratifying to me to learn, from this 
gentleman's volume, that the cordial regard 
these social and open-hearted men inspired in 
me was not wholly unreturned on their part. 
After mentioning our arrival at Norfolk, in Vir- 
ginia, Captain Scott says, ** Mr. and Mrs. Merry 
left the Phaeton, under the usual salute, ac- 
companied by Mr. Moore ;" — then, adding 
some kind compliments on the score of talents, 
&c, he concludes with a sentence which it gave 
me tenfold more pleasure to read, — " The gun- 
room mess witnessed the day of his departure 
with genuine sorrow." From Norfolk, after a 
stay of about ten days, under the hospitable 
roof of the British Consul, Colonel Hamilton, 
I proceeded, in the Driver sloop of war, to 
Bermuda. 

There was then on that station another 
youthful sailor, who has since earned for him- 
self a distinguished name among English writers 
of travels, Captain Basil Hall, — then a mid- 
shipman on board the Leander. In his Frag- 
ments of Voyages and Travels, this writer has 
called up some agreeable reminiscences of that 
period ; in perusing which, — so full of life and 
reality are his sketches, — I found all my own 
naval recollections brought freshly to my mind. 
The very names of the different ships, then so 
familiar to my ears, — the Leander, the Boston, 
the Cambrian, — transported me back to the 
season of youth aid those Summer Isles once 
more. 

The testimony borne by so competent a 
witness as Captain Hall to the truth of my 
sketches of the beautiful scenery of Bermuda 
is of far too much value to me, in my capacity 
of traveller, to be here omitted by me, however 
conscious of but ill deserving the praise he 
lavishes on me, as a poet. Not that I mean to 
pretend indifference to such kind tributes ; — on 
the contrary, those are always the most alive to 
praise, who feel inwardly least confidence in 
the soundness of their own title to it. In the 
present instance, however, my vanity (for so 
this uneasy feeling is always called) seeks its 



food in a different direction. It is not as a 
poet I invoke the aid of Captain Hall's opinion, 
but as a traveller and observer ; it is not to 
my invention I ask him to bear testimony, but 
to my matter-of-fact. 

" The most pleasing and most exact descrip- 
tion w T hich I know of Bermuda," says this gen- 
tleman, " is to be found in Moore's Odes and 
Epistles, a work published many years ago. 
The reason why his account excels in beauty 
as well as in precision that of other men prob- 
ably is, that the scenes described lie so much 
beyond the scope of ordinary observation in 
colder climates, and the feelings which they 
excite in the beholder are so much higher than 
those produced by the scenery we have been , 
accustomed to look at, that, unless the imagi- 
nation be deeply drawn upon, and the diction 
sustained at a correspondent pitch, the words 
alone strike the ear, while the listener's fancy 
remains where it was. In Moore's account 
there is not only no exaggeration, but, on the 
contrary, a wonderful degree of temperance in 
the midst of a feast which to his rich fancy 
must have been peculiarly tempting. He has 
contrived by a magic peculiarly his own, yet 
without departing from the truth, to sketch 
what was before him with a fervor which 
those who have never been on the spot might 
well be excused for setting down as the sport 
of the poet's invention."* 

How truly politic it is in a poet to connect 
his verse with well-known and interesting lo- 
calities, — to wed his song to scenes already in- 
vested with fame, and thus lend it a chance of 
sharing the charm which encircles them, — I 
have myself, in more than one instance, very 
agreeably experienced. Among the memorials 
of this description, which, as I learn with pleas- 
ure and pride, still keep me remembered in 
some of those beautiful regions of the West 
which I visited, I shall mention but one slight 
instance, as showing how potently the Genius 
of the Place may lend to song a life and imper- 
ishableness to which, in itself, it boasts no 
claim or pretension. The following lines in 
one of my Bermudian poems, 

'Twas there, in the shade of the Calabash Tree, 
With a few who could feel and remember like me, 

still live in memory, I am told, on those fairy 

* Fragments of Voyages and Travels, vol. ii. chap vi 



22 



PREFACE. 



shores, connecting my name with the pictu- 
resque spot they describe, and the noble old 
tree which I believe still adorns it.* One of 
the few treasures (of any kind) I can boast the 
possession of, is a goblet formed of one of the 
fruit-shells of this remarkable tree, which was 
brcnght from Bermuda, a few years since, by 
Mr. Dudley Costello, and which that gentle- 
man, having had it tastefully mounted as a 
goblet, very kindly presented to me ; the fol- 
lowing words being part of the inscription 
which it bears : — " To Thomas Moore, Esq., 
this cup, formed of a calabash which grew on 
the tree that bears his name, near Walsingham, 
Bermuda, is inscribed by one who," &c. &c. 

From Bermuda I proceeded in the Boston, 
with my friend Captain (now Admiral) J. E. 
Douglas, to New York, from whence, after a 
short stay, we sailed for Norfolk, in Virginia ; 
and about the beginning of June, 1804, I set 
out from that city on a tour through part of 
the States. At Washington, I passed some 
days with the English minister, Mr. Merry ; 
and was, by him, presented at the levee of the 
President, Jefferson, whom I found sitting with 
General Dearborn and one or two other 
officers, and in the same homely costume, com- 
prising slippers and Connemara stockings, in 
which Mr. Merry had been received by him— 
much to that formal minister's horror — when 
waiting upon him, in full dress, to deliver his 
credentials. My single interview with this 
remarkable person was of very short duration ; 
but to have seen and spoken with the man who 
drew up the Declaration of American Inde- 
pendence was an event not to be forgotten. 

At Philadelphia, the society I was chiefly 
made acquainted with, and to which (as the 
verses addressed to " Delaware's green banks"f 
sufficiently testify) I was indebted for some of 
my most agreeable recollections of the United 
States, consisted entirely of persons of the 
Federalist or Anti-Democratic party. Few 
and transient, too, as had been my opportu- 
nities, of judging for myself of the political 
or social state of the country, my mind was 
left open too much to the influence of the feel- 
ings and prejudices of those I chiefly consorted 
with ; and, certainly, in no quarter was I so 

* A representation of this calabash, taken from a drawing 
of it made on the spot, by Dr. Savage of the Royal Artillery, 



sure to find decided hostility, both to the men 
and the principles then dominant throughout 
the Union, as among officers of the British 
navy, and in the ranks of an angry Federalist 
opposition. For any bias, therefore, that, 
under such circumstances, my opinions and 
feelings may be thought to have received, full 
allowance, of course, is to be made in apprais- 
ing the weight due to my authority on the 
subject. All I can answer for, is the perfect 
sincerity and earnestness of the actual impres- 
sions, whether true or erroneous, under which 
my Epistles .from the United States were 
written ; and so strong, at the time, I confess, 
were those impressions, that it was the only 
period of my past life during which I have 
found myself at all skeptical as to the sound- 
ness of. that Liberal creed of politics, in the 
profession and advocacy of which I may be 
almost literally said to have begun life, and 
shall most probably end it. 

Reaching, for the second time, New York, 
I set out from thence on the now familiar and 
easy enterprise of visiting the Falls of Niagara. 
It is but too true of all grand objects, whether 
in nature or art, that facility of access to them 
much diminishes the feeling of reverence they 
ought to inspire. Of this fault, however, the 
route to Niagara, at that period — at least the 
portion of it which led through the Genesee 
country — could not justly be accused. The 
latter part of the journey, which lay chiefly 
through yet but half-cleared wood, we were 
obliged to perform on foot ; and a slight acci- 
dent I met with, in the course of our rugged 
walk, laid me up for some days at Buffalo. 
To the rapid growth, in that wonderful region, 
of, at least, the materials of civilization, — how- 
ever ultimately they may be turned to ac- 
count, — this flourishing town, which stands 
on Lake Erie, bears most ample testimony. 
Though little better, at the time when I visited 
it, than a mere village, consisting chiefly of 
huts and wigwams, it is now, by all accounts, 
a populous and splendid city, with five or six 
churches, town-hall, theatre, and other such 
appurtenances of a capital. 

In adverting to the comparatively rude state 
of Buffalo at that period, I should be ungrate- 

has been introduced in the vignette prefixed to the second 
volume of the edition in ten volumes, 
t See Epistle to Mr. W. R. Spencer, p. 181 of this edition 



PREFACE. 



23 



ful were I to omit mentioning, that, even then, 
on the shores of those far lakes, the title of 
" Poet," — however unworthily in that instance 
bestowed, — bespoke a kind and distinguishing 
welcome for its wearer ; and that the captain 
who commanded the packet in which I crossed 
Lake Ontario,* in addition to other marks of 
courtesy, begged, on parting with me, to be 
allowed to decline payment for my passage. 

When we arrived, at length, at the inn, in 
the neighborhood of the Falls, it was too late 
to think of visiting them that evening ; and I 
lay awake almost the whole night with the 
sound of the cataract in my ears. The day 
following I consider as a sort of era in my life ; 
and the first glimpse I caught of that wonder- 
ful cataract gave me a feeling which nothing in 
this world can ever awaken again, f It was 
through an opening among the trees, as we 
approached the spot where the full view of the 
Falls was to burst upon us, that I caught this 
glimpse of the mighty mass of waters folding 
smoothly over the edge of the precipice ; and 
so overwhelming was the notion it gave me of 
the awful spectacle I was approaching, that, 
during the short interval that followed, imagin- 
ation had far outrun the reality ; and, vast 
and wonderful as was the scene that then 
opened upon me, my first feeling was that of 
disappointment. It would have been impos- 
sible, indeed, for any thing real to come up to 
the vision I had, in these few seconds, formed 
of it ; and those awful scriptural words, " The 
fountains of the great deep were broken up," 
can alone give any notion of the vague wonders 
for which I was prepared. 

But, i z spite of the start thus got by imagin- 
ation, the triumph of reality was, in the end, 
but the greater ; for the gradual glory of the 
scene that opened upon me soon took posses- 
sion of my whole mind ; presenting, from day 
to day, some new beauty or wonder, and, like 
all that is most sublime in nature or art, awa- 
kening sad as well as elevating thoughts. I 
retain in my memory but one other dream — 
for such do events so long past appear — which 



* The Commodore of the Lakes, as he is styled. 

t The two first sentences of the above paragraph, as well 
as a passage that occurs in the subsequent column, stood 
originally as part of the Notes on one of the American Poems. 

t Introduced in the Epistle to Lady Charlotte Rawdon, 
p. 184 of this edition. 



can in any respect be associated with the grand 
vision I have just been describing ; and, how- 
ever different the nature of their appeals to the 
imagination, I should find it difficult to say on 
which occasion I felt most deeply affected, 
when looking on the Falls of Niagara, or when 
standing by moonlight among the ruins of the 
Coliseum. 

Some changes, I understand, injurious to 
the beauty of the scene, have taken place in 
the shape of the Falls since the time of my 
visit to them ; and amon^ *hese is the total 
disappearance, by the gradual crumbling away 
of the rock, of the small leafy island which 
then stood near the edge of the Great Fall, 
and whose tranquillity and unappicachableness, 
in the midst of so much turmoil, lent it an interest 
which I thus tried to avail myself of, in a Song 
of the Spirit of that region :% — 

There, amid the island-sedge, 
Just above the cataract's edge, 
Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began, 
Lone I sit at close of day, &c. &c. 

Another characteristic feature of the vicinity 
of the Falls, which, I understand, no longer 
exists, was the interesting settlement of the 
Tuscarora Indians. With the gallant Brock,§ 
who then commanded at Fort George, I passed 
the greater part of my time during the few 
weeks I remained at Niagara : and a visit I 
paid to these Indians, in company with him 
and his brother officers, on his going to distrib- 
ute among them the customary presents and 
prizes, was not the least curious of the many 
new scenes I witnessed. These people received 
us in all their ancient costume. The young 
men exhibited for our amusement in the race, 
the bat-game, and other sports, while the old 
and the women sat in groups under the sur- 
rounding trees ; and the whole scene was as 
picturesque and beautiful as it was new to me. 
It is said that West, the American painter, 
when he first saw the Apollo, at Rome, ex- 
claimed instantly, " A young Indian warrior !" 
— and, however startling the association may 



§ This brave and amiable officer was killed at (iueenston, 
in Upper Canada, soon after the commencement of the war 
with America, in the year 1812. He was in the act of cheer- 
ing on his men when he fell. The inscription on the monu- 
ment raised to his memory, on Queenston Heights, does D*t 
due honor to his manly character. 



24 



PREFACE. 



appear, some of the graceful and agile forms 
which I saw that day among the Tuscaroras 
were such as would account for its arising in 
the young painter's mind. 

After crossing " the fresh-water ocean" of 
Ontario, I passed down the St. Lawrence to 
Montreal and Quebec, staying for a short time 
at each of these places ; and this part of my 
journey, as well as my voyage on from Quebec 
to Halifax, is sufficiently traceable through the 
few pieces of poetry that were suggested to me 
by scenes and events on the way. And here I 
must again venture to avail myself of the valu- 
able testimony of Captain Hall to the truth of 
my descriptions of some of those scenes through 
which his more practised eye followed me ; — 
taking the liberty to omit in my extracts, as 
far as may be done without injury to the style 
or context, some of that generous surplusage 
of praise in which friendly criticism delights to 
indulge. 

In speaking of an excursion he had made 
up the river Ottawa, — " a stream," he adds, 
" which has a classical place in every one's 
imagination from Moore's Canadian Boat Song," 
Captain Hall proceeds as follows : — " While 
the poet above alluded to has retained all that 
is essentially characteristic and pleasing in these 
boat songs, and rejected all that is not so, he 
has contrived to borrow his inspiration from 
numerous surrounding circumstances, present- 
ing nothing remarkable to the dull senses of 
ordinary travellers. Yet these highly poetical 
images, drawn in this way, as it were carelessly 
and from every hand, he has combined with 
such graphic — I had almost said geographical — 
truth, that the effect is great, even upon those 
who have never, with their own eyes, seen the 
Utawa's tide,' nor ' flown down the Rapids,' 
»*or heard the ' bell of St. Anne's toll its even- 
ing chime ;' while the same lines give to dis- 
tant regions, previously consecrated in our 
imagination, a vividness of interest, when 
viewed on the spot, of which it is difficult to 
say how much is due to the magic of the poetry, 
and how much to the beauty of the real scene."* 
While on the subject of the Canadian Boat 
Song, an anecdote connected with that once 

* " It is singularly gratifying," the author adds, " to dis- 
cover that, to this hour, the Canadian voyageurs never omit 
their offerings to the shrine of St. Anne, before engaging in 
any enterprise ; and that during its performance, they omit 



popular ballad may, for my musical readers at 
least, possess some interest. A few years 
since, while staying in Dublin, I was present- 
ed, at his own request, to a gentleman who 
told me that his family had in their possession 
a curious relic of my youthful days, — being the 
first notation I had made, in pencilling, of the 
air and words of the Canadian Boat Song, 
while on my way down the St. Lawrence, — 
and that it was their wish I should add my 
signature to attest the authenticity of the auto- 
graph. I assured him with truth that I had 
wholly forgotten even the existence of such a 
memorandum ; that it would be as much a 
curiosity to myself as it could be to any one 
else, and that I should feel thankful to be al- 
lowed to see it. In a day or two jifter, my 
request was complied with, and the following 
is the history of this musical " relic." 

In my passage down the St. Lawrence, I had 
with me two travelling companions, one of 
whom, named Harkness, the son of a wealthy 
Dublin merchant, has been some years dead. 
To this young friend, on parting with him, at 
Quebec, I gave, as a keepsake, a volume I had 
been reading on the way, — Priestley's Lectures 
on History ; and it was upon a fly-leaf of this 
volume I found I had taken down, in pencilling, 
both the notes and a few of the words of the 
original song by which my own boat-glee had 
been suggested. The following is the form of 
my memorandum of the original air : — 






Then follows, as pencilled down at the same 
moment, the first verse of my Canadian Boat 
Song, with air and words as they are at present. 
From all this it will be perceived, that, in my 
own setting of the air, I departed in almost 
every respect but the time from the strain our 
voyageurs had sung to us, leaving the music of 
the glee nearly as much my own as the words. 

no opportunity of keeping up so propitious an intercourse. 
The flourishing village which surrounds the church on the 
) Green Isle' in question owes its existence and support en- 
tirely to these pious contributions." 



PREFACE. 



25 j 



Yet, how strongly impressed I had become with 
the notion that this was the identical air sung 
by the boatmen, — how closely it linked itself 
in my imagination with the scenes and sounds 
amidst which it had occurred to me, — may be 
seen by reference to a note appended to the 
glee as first published, which will be found in 
the following pages.* 

To the few desultory and, perhaps, valueless 
recollections I have thus called up, respecting 
the contents of our second volume, I have only 
to add, that the heavy storm of censure and 
criticism — some of it, I fear, but too well de- 
served — which, both in America and in Eng- 
land, the publication of my " Odes and Epis- 
tles" drew down upon me, was followed by re- 
sults which have far more than compensated 
for any pain such attacks at the time may have 
inflicted. In the most formidable of all my 
censors, at that period, — the great master of 
the art of criticism, in our day, — I have found 
ever since one of the most cordial and highly 
valued of all my friends ; while the good-will 
I have experienced from more than one dis- 
tinguished American sufficiently assures me 
that any injustice I may have done to that land 
of freemen, if not long since wholly forgotten, 
is now remembered only to be forgiven. 

As some consolation to me for the onsets of 
criticism, I received, shortly after the appear- 
ance of my volume, a letter from Stockholm, 
addressed to "the author of Epistles, Odes, 
and other poems," and informing me that " the 
Princes, Nobles, and Gentlemen, who composed 
the General Chapter of the most Illustrious, 
Equestrian, Secular, and Chapteral Order of 
St. Joachim," had elected me as a Knight of 
this Order. Notwithstanding the grave and 
official sty 1 e of the letter, I regarded it, I own, 
at first, as e. mere ponderous piece of pleasant- 
ry ; and even suspected that in the name of St. 
" Joachim" I could detect the low and irrever- 
ent pun of St. Jokehim. 

On a little inquiry, however, I learned that 
there actually existed such an order of knight- 
hood ; that the title, insignia, &c, conferred by 
it had, in the instances of Lord Nelson, the 
Duke of Bouillon, and Colonel Imhoff, who 
were all Knights of St. Joachim, been author- 
ized by the British court ; but that since then, 

* Page 183 of this edition 



this sanction of the order had been withdrawn. 
Of course, to the reduction thus caused in the 
value of the honor was owing its descent in 
the scale of distinction to " such small deer" of 
Parnassus as myself. I wrote a letter, how- 
ever, full of grateful acknowledgment, to Mon- 
sieur Hansson, the Vice-Chancellor of the 
Order, saying that I was unconscious of having 
entitled myself, by any public service, to a 
reward due only to the benefactors of man- 
kind ; and therefore begged leave most re- 
spectfully to decline it. 



PREFACE 



THE THIRD VOLUME. 

The three satirical Poems, with which this 
volume commences, were published originally 
without the author's name ; " Corruption" and 
"Intolerance" in the year 1808, and "The 
Skeptic" in the year following. The politi- 
cal opinions adopted in the first of these Sa- 
tires — the Poem on Corruption — were chiefly 
caught up, as is intimated in the original Pre- 
face, from the writings of Bolingbroke, Sir 
William Wyndham, and other statesmen of that 
factious period, when the same sort of alliance 
took place between Toryism and what is now 
called Radicalism, w T hich is always likely to 
ensue on the ejection of the Tory party from 
power.f In the somewhat rash effusion, it will 
be seen that neither of the two great English 
parties is handled with much respect ; and I 
remember being taken to task, by one of the 
few of my Whig acquaintances that ever looked 
into the poem, for the following allusion to the 
silencing effects of official station on certain 
orators : — 

As bees, on flowers alighting, cease their hum, 
Bo, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. 

But these attempts of mine in the stately, 
Juvenalian style of satire, met with but little 
success, — never having attained, I believe, 
even the honors of a second edition ; and I 
found that lighter form of weapon, to which I 

t Bolingbroke himself acknowledges that "both parties 
were become factions, in the strict sense of the word." 



26 



PREFACE, 



afterwards betook myself, not only more easy 
to wield, but, from its very lightness, perhaps, 
more sure to reach its mark. 

It would almost seem, toa, as if the same 
unembittered spirit, the same freedom from all 
real malice with which, in most instances, this 
sort of squib warfare has been waged by me, 
was felt, in some degree, even by those who 
were themselves the objects of it ; — so gener- 
ously forgiving have I, in most instances, found 
them. Even the high personage against whom 
the earliest and perhaps most successful of my 
lighter missiles were launched, could refer to 
and quote them, as I learn from an incident 
mentioned in the Life of Sir Walter Scott,* 
with a degree of good-humor and playfulness 
which was creditable alike to his temper and 
good sense. At a memorable dinner given by 
the Regent to Sir Walter in the year 1815, 
Scott, among other stories with which his royal 
host was much amused, told of a sentence 
passed by an old friend of his, the Lord Justice 
Clerk Braxfield, attended by circumstances in 
which the cruelty of this waggish judge was 
even more conspicuous than his humor. " The 
Regent laughed heartily, 1 ' says the biographer, 
" at this specimen of Braxfield's brutal humor ; 
and, ' I' faith, Walter,' said he, ' this old big- 
wig seems to have taken things as coolly as 
my tyrannical self. Don't you remember Tom 
Moore's description of me at breakfast 1 — 

' The table spread with tea and toast, 
Death-warrants and the Morning Post.' " 

In reference to this, and other less exalted 
instances; of the good-humored spirit in which 
my " innocui sales" have in general been taken, 
I E^all venture to cite here a few flattering sen- 
tences which, coming as they did from a polit- 
ical adversary and a stranger, touched me far 
more by their generosity than even by their 
praise. In speaking of the pension which had 
just then been conferred upon me, and express- 
ing, in warm terms, his approval of the grant, 

* Vol. iii. p. 342. f The Standard, August 24, 1835 

X " The same fauteuils and girandoles — 
The same gold asses, pretty souls, 
That, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home ; 
The same bright river, 'mong the dishes, 
But not — ah ! not the same dear fishes. 
Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones ;— 
go, stead of silver and of gold ones, 



the editor of a leading Tory journalf thus lib- 
erally expresses himself: — "We know that 
some will blame us for our prejudice — if it be 
prejudice, in favor o Mr. Moore ; but we can- 
not help it. As he tells us himself, 

' Wit a diamond brings 
That cuts its bright way through' 

the most obdurate political antipathies. * * * 
We do not believe that any one was ever hurt 
by libels so wit'y as those of Mr. Moore : — 
great privilege of wit, which renders it impos- 
sible even for those whose enemies wits are, to 
hate them !" 

To return to the period of the Regency : — 
In the numerous attacks from the government 
press, which my occasional volleys of small shot 
against the Court used to draw down upon me, 
it was constantly alleged, as an aggravation of 
my misdeeds, that I had been indebted to the 
Royal personage thus assailed by me for many 
kind and substantial services. Luckily, the 
list of the benefits showered upon me from that 
high quarter may be dispatched in a few sen- 
tences. At the request of the Earl of Moira, one 
of my earliest and best friends, his Royal High- 
ness graciously permitted me to dedicate to him 
my Translation of the Odes of Anacreon. I was 
twice, I think, admitted to the honor of dining 
at Carlton House ; and when the Prince, on his 
being made Regent in 1811, gave his memora- 
ble fete, I was one of the crowd — about 1500, 
I believe, in number — who enjoyed the privi- 
lege of being his guests on the occasion. 

There occur some allusions, indeed, in the 
Twopenny Post-Bag, to the absurd taste dis- 
played in the ornaments of the Royal supper- 
table at that fete ;J and this violation — for such, 
to a certain extent, I allow it to have been — 
of the reverence due to the rights of the Hos- 
pitable Jove,§ which, whether administered by 
prince or peasant, ought to be sacred from 
such exposure, I am by no means disposed to 
defend. But, whatever may be thought of the 

(It being rather hard to raise 

Fish of that specie now-a-days) 

Some sprats have been, by Y— rm— h's wish, 

Promoted into silver fish, 

And gudgeons (so V — ns — tt — t told 

The Reg— t) are as good as gold." 

Twopenny Post-Bag, p. 137. 



Ante fores stabat Jovis Hospitis ara." 



Ovid. 



PREFACE. 



27 



taste or prudence of some of these satires, there 
exists no longer, I apprehend, much difference 
of opinion respecting the character of the Royal 
personage against whom they were aimed. Al- 
ready, indeed, has the stern verdict which the 
Voice of History cannot but pronounce upon 
him, been in some degree anticipated,* in a 
sketch of the domestic events of his reign, sup- 
posed to have proceeded from the pen of one 
who was himself an actor in some of its most 
painful scenes, and who, from his professional 
position, commanded a near insight into the 
character of that exalted individual, both as 
husband and father. To the same high author- 
ity I must refer for an account of the myste- 
rious " Book,"f t0 which allusion is more than 
once made in the following pagey. 

One of the earliest and most successful of the 
numerous trifles I wrote at that period, was the 
Parody on the Regent's celebrated Letter, an- 
nouncing to the world that he " had no predi- 
lections," &c. This very opportune squib was, 
at first, circulated privately ; my friend, Mr. 
Perry, having for some time hesitated to publish 
it. He got some copies of it, however, printed 
off for me, which I sent round to several mem- 
bers of the Whig party ; and, having to meet a 
number of them at dinner immediately after, 
found it no easy matter to keep my countenance 
while they were discussing among them the 
merits of the Parody. One of the party, I re- 
collect, having quoted to me the following de- 
scription of the state of both King and Regent, 
at that moment, — 

* Edinburgh Review, No. cxxxv., George the Fourth and 
Queen Caroline. — "When the Prince entered upon public 
life he was found to have exhausted the resources of a career 
of pleasure ; to have gained followers without making friends ; 
to have acquired much envy and some admiration among the 
unthinking multitude of polished society ; but not to com- 
mand in any quarter either respect or esteem. * * * The 
portrait which we have painted of him is undoubtedly one 
of the d irkest shade and most repulsive form." 

t " Tnere is no doubt whatever that The Book, written by 
Mr. Perceval, and privately printed at his house, under Lord 
Eldon's superintendence and his own, was prepared in concert 
with the King, and was intended to sound the alarm against 
Carlton House and the Whigs." — Ed. Review, ib. 

% Twopenny Post-Bag, pp. 153, 155. I avail myself of the 
mention here of this latter squib, to recant a correction which 
I too hastily made in the two following lines of it :— 

" And, though statesmen may glory in being unbought, 
In an author, we think, sir, that's rather a fault." 
Forgetting that Pope's ear was satisfied with the sort of rhyme 
here used, I foolishly altered (and spoiled) the whole coup- 
let to get rid of it. 



" A strait waistcoat on him, and restrictions on me, 
A more limited monarchy could not well be," 

grew rather provoked with me for not enjoying 
the fun of the parody as much as himself. 

While thus the excitement of party feeling 
lent to the political trifles contained in this 
volume a relish and pungency not their own, 
an effect has been attributed to two squibs, 
wholly unconnected with politics — the Letters 
from the Dowager Countess of Cork, and from 
Messrs. Lackington and Co. J— of which I 
had myself not the slightest notion till I found 
it thus alluded j in Mr. Lockhart's Life of Sir 
Walter Scott. In speaking of the. causes which 
were supposed to have contributed to the com- 
parative failure of the Poem of " Rokeby," the 
biographer says, " It is fair to add, that, among 
the London circles, at least, some sarcastic 
flings, in Mr. Moore's Twopenny Post-Bag, 
must have had an unfavorable influence on 
this occasion. "§ 

Among the translations that have appeared 
on the Continent, of the greater part of my 
poetical works, there has been no attempt, as 
far as I can learn, to give a version of any of 
my satirical writings, — with the single excep- 
tion of a squib contained in this volume, en- 
titled " Little Man and Little Sou],"|| of which 
there is a translation into German verse, by 
the late distinguished oriental scholar, Profes- 
sor Von Bohlen.^f Though unskilled, myself, 
in German, I can yet perceive — sufficiently 
to marvel at it — the dexterity and ease with 
which the Old Ballad metre of the original is 

§ " See, for instance," says Mr. Lockhart, " the Epistle of 
Lady Cork ; or that of Messrs. Lackington, booksellers, to 
one of their dandy authors : — 

" ' Should you feel any touch of poetical glow, 
We've a scheme to suggest :— Mr. Sc— tt, you must know, 
(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the Row, 1 ) 
Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown, 
Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town ; 
And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay) 
Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way. 
Now, the scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat 

him) 
To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet him ; 
Who, by means of quick proofs — no revises — long coaches — 
May do a few villas, before Sc — tt approaches. 
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby, 
He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn Abbey."' 

|| Alluding to a speech delivered in the year 1813 by the 
Right Hon. Charles Abbott (then Speaker) against Mr. Grat- 
tan's motion for a Committee on the Claims of the Catholics. 

IT Author of " The Ancient Indian." 

I Paternoster Row. 



28 



PREFACE. 



adopted and managed in the translation. As 
this trifle may be considered curious, not only 
in itself, but still more as connected with so 
learned a name, I shall here present it to my 
readers, premising that the same eminent Pro- 
fessor has left a version also of one of my very 
early facetitz, " The Rabbinical Origin of 
Woman*" 

"THERE WAS A LITTLE MAN." 
(Translated by Professor von Bohlen.) 

Es war ein kleiner Mann 

Und der hatt'n kleinen Geist 
Und er sprach : kleiner Geist sehn wir zu, zu, zu, 

Ob uns mOglich wohl wird seyn 

So ein kleines Redelein 
Das wir halten, kleiner ich und kleiner du, du, du, 

Das wir halten, kleiner ich und kleiner du. 

Und der kleine Geist, der brach 

Aus dern Loche nun und sprach : 
Ich behaupte, kleiner Mann, du bist keck, keck, keck, 

Nimm nicht iibel meine Zweifel, 

Aber sage mir, zum Teufel, 
Hat die kleine kleine Red' einen zweck, zweck, zweck, 

Hat die kleine kleine Red' einerx zweck ? 

Der kleine Mann darauf 

Bliess die Backen machtig auf, 
Und er sprach : kleiner Geist sey gescheut, scheut, scheut ; 

Kleiner ich und kleiner du 

Sind berufen ja dazu 
Zu verdammen und bekehren alle Leut', Leut,' Leut', 

Zu verdammen und bekehren alle Leut'. 

Und sie fingen beide an 

Der kleine Geist und kleine Mann, 
Paukten ab ihre Rede so klein, klein, klein; 

Und die ganze Welt fiir wahr 

Meint, das aufgeblas^ne Paar 
Muss ein winziges PfafFelein nur seyn, seyn, seyn, 

Muss ein winziges PfafFelein, nur seyn. 

Having thus brought together, as well from 
the r??ords of others, as from my own recol- 
lection, whatever incidental lights could be 
thrown from those sources, on some of the 
satirical effusions contained in these pages, I 
shall now reserve all such reminiscences and 
notices as relate to the Irish Melodies for our 
next volume. 

It is right my readers should here be ap- 
prized, that the plan of classing my poetical 
works according to the order of their first pub- 
lication is pursued no further than the Second 
Volume of this Collection ; and that, therefore, 
the arrangement of the contents of the suc- 
ceeding Volumes, though not, in a general way, 
departing much from this rule, is not to be de- 
pended upon as observing it. 



PREFACE 

TO 

THE FOURTH VOLUME. 

The recollections connected, in my mind, 
with that early period of my life, when I first 
thought of interpreting in verse the touching 
language of my country's music, tempt me again 
to advert to those long-past days ; and even at 
the risk of being thought to indulge overmuch 
in what Colley Cibber calls " the great pleasure 
of writing about one's self all day," to notice 
briefly some of those impressions and influences 
under which the attempt to adapt words to 
our ancient Melodies was for some time medi- 
tated by me, and, at last, undertaken. 

There can be no doubt that to the zeal and 
industry of Mr. Bunting his country is indebted 
for the preservation of her old national airs. 
During the prevalence of the Penal Code, the 
music of Ireland was made to share in the fate 
of its people. Both were alike shut out from 
the pale of civilized life ; and seldom anywhere 
but in the huts of the proscribed race could 
the sweet voice of the songs of other days be 
heard. Even of that class, the itinerant harp- 
ers, among whom for a long period our ancient 
music had been kept alive, there remained but 
few to continue the precious tradition ; and a 
great music-meeting held at Belfast in the year 
1792, at which the two or three still remaining 
of the old race of wandering harpers assisted, 
exhibited the last public effort made by the 
lovers of Irish music, to preserve to th-Yvr 
country the only grace or ornament left to her, 
out of the wreck of all her liberties and hopes. 
Thus what the fierce legislature of the Pale 
had endeavored vainly through so many cen- 
turies to effect, — the utter extinction of Ire- 
land's Minstrelsy, — the deadly pressure of the 
Penal Laws had nearly, at the close of the 
eighteenth century, accomplished ; and, but for 
the zeal and intelligent research of Mr. Bunting, 
at that crisis, the greater part of our .musical 
treasures would probably have been lost to the 
world. It was in the year 179G that this 
gentleman published his first volume ; and the 
national spirit and hope then wakened in Ire- 
land, by the rapid spread of the democratic 
principle throughout Europe, could not but in- 



PREFACE. 



29 



sure a most cordial reception for such a work ; 
^—flattering as it was to the fond dreams of 
Erin's early days, and containing in itself, 
indeed, remarkable testimony to the truth of her 
claims to an early date of civilization. 

It was in the year 1797 that, through the 
medium of Mr. Bunting's book, I was first made 
acquainted with the beauties of our native mu- 
sic. A young friend of our family, Edward 
Hudson, the nephew of an eminent dentist of 
that name, who played with much taste and 
feeling on the flute, and, unluckily for himself, 
was but too deeply warmed with the patriotic 
ardor then kindling around him, was the first 
who made known to me this rich mine of our 
country's melodies ; — a mine, from the work- 
ing »f which my humble labors as a poet have 
sinc^ then derived their sole lustre and value. 

About the same period I formed an acquaint- 
ance, which soon grew into intimacy, with 
young Robert Emmet. He was my senior, I 
I think by one class, in the university ; for when, 
m the first year of my course, I became a mem- 
ber of the Debating Society — a sort of nursery 
to the authorized Historical Society — I found 
him in full reputation, not only for his learning 
and eloquence, but also for the blamelessness of 
his life, and the grave suavity of his manners. 

Of the political tone of this minor school of 
oratory, which was held weekly at the rooms of 
different resident members, some notion may be 
formed from the nature of the questions pro- 
posed for discussion, — one of which I recollect, 
Was, " Whether an Aristocracy or a Democracy 
is most favorable to the advancement of science 
and literature V 1 while another, bearing even 
more pointedly on the ^olative position of the 
government and the people, at this crisis, was 
thus significantly propounded : — " Whether a 
soldier was bound, on all occasions, to obey the 
orders of his commanding officer V On the 
former of these questions, the effect of Emmet's 
eloquence upon his young auditors was, I recol- 
lect, most striking. The prohibition against 
touching upon modern politics, which it was 
subsequently found necessary to enforce, had 
not yet been introduced ; and Emmet, who took 
of course ardently the side of democracy in the 
debate, after a brief review of the republics of 
antiquity, showing how much they had all done 
for the advancement of science and the arts, 
proceeded, lastly, to the grand and perilous ex- 



ample, then passing before all eyes, the young 
Republic of France. Referring to the circum- 
stance told of Caesar, that, in swimming across 
the Rubicon, he contrived to carry with him 
his Commentaries and his sword, the young 
orator said, " Thus France wades through a sea 
of storm and blood ; but while, in one hand, she 
wields the sword against her aggressors, with 
the other she upholds the glories of science and 
literature unsullied by the ensanguined tide 
through which she struggles." In another of 
his remarkable speeches, I remember his saying,- 
" When a people, advancing rapidly in know- 
ledge and power, perceive at last how far their 
government is lagging behind them, what then, 
I ask, is to be done in such a case 1 What, but 
to pull the government up to the people ?" 

In a few months after, both Emmet and my- 
self were admitted members of the greater and 
recognised institution, called the Historical So- 
ciety ; and, even here, the political feeling so rife 
abroad contrived to mix up its restless spirit 
wdth all our debates and proceedings ; notwith- 
standing the constant watchfulness of the col- 
lege authorities, as w r ell as of a strong party 
within the Society itself, devoted adherents to 
the policy of the government, and taking inva- 
riably part with the Provost and Fellows in all 
their restrictive and inquisitorial measures. The 
most distinguished and eloquent of these support- 
ers of power were a young man named Sargent, 
of whose fate in after-days I know nothing, and 
Jebb, the late Bishop of Limerick, who was 
then, as he continued to be through life, much 
respected for his private worth and learning. 

Of the popular side, in the Society, the chief 
champion and ornament was Robert Emmet ; 
and though every care was taken to exclude 
from the subjects of debate all questions verg- 
ing towards the politics of the day, it was always 
easy enough, by a side-wind of digression or al- 
lusion, to bring Ireland, and the prospects then 
opening upon her, within the scope of the orator's 
view. So exciting and powerful, in this respect, 
were Emmet's speeches, and so little were even 
the most eloquent of the adverse party able to 
cope with his powers, that it was at length 
thought advisable, by the higher authorities, to 
send among us a man of more advanced stand- 
ing, as well as belonging to a former race of re- 
nowned speakers, in that Society, in order that 
he might answer the speeches of Emmet, and 



30 



PREFACE. 



endeavor to obviate the mischievous impres- 
sion they were thought to produce. The name 
of this mature champion of the higher powers 
it is not necessary here to record ; but the 
object of his mission among us was in some 
respect gained ; as it was in replying to a long 
oration of his, one night, that Emmet, much to 
the mortification of us who gloried in him as 
our leader, became suddenly embarrassed in 
the middle of his speech, and, to use the par- 
liamentary phrase, broke down. Whether from 
a momentary confusion in the thread of his 
argument, or possibly from diffidence in en- 
countering an adversary so much his senior, — 
for Emmet was "'as modest as he was high- 
minded and brave, — he began, in the full ca- 
reer of his eloquence, to hesitate and repeat 
his words, and then, after an effort or two to 
recover himself, sat down. 

It fell to my own lot to be engaged, about 
the same time, in a brisk struggle with the 
dominant party in the Societ} r , in consequence 
of a burlesque poem which I gave in as candi- 
date for the Literary Medal, entitled " An Ode 
upon Nothing, with Notes, by Trismegistus 
Rustifustius, D.D.," &c. &c. For this squib 
against the great Dons of learning, the medal 
was voted to me by a triumphant majority. 
But a motion was made in the following week 
to rescind this vote ; and a fierce contest be- 
tween the two parties ensued, which I at last 
put an end to by voluntarily withdrawing my 
composition from the Society's Book. 

I have already adverted to the period when 
Mr. Bunting's valuable volume first became 
known to me. There elapsed no very long time 
before I was myself the happy proprietor of a 
copy of the work, and, though never regularly 
instructed in music, could play over the airs 
with tolerable facility on the piano-forte. Rob- 
ert Emmet used sometimes to sit by me, when 
I was thus engaged ; and I remember one day 
his starting up as from a revery, when I had 
jvst finished playing that spirited tune called 
the Red Fox,* and exclaiming, " Oh that I 
were at the head of twenty thousand men, 
marching to that air !" 

How little did I then think that in one of the 
most touching of the sweet airs I used to play 



* " Let Erin remember the days of old. 
f " Oh, breathe not his name." 



to him, his own dying words would find an in- 
terpreter so worthy of their sad, but proud 
feeling ;f or that another of those mournful 
strainsj would long be associated, in the hearts 
of his countrymen, with the memory of her§ 
who shared with Ireland his last blessing and 
prayer. 

Though fully alive, of course, to the feelings 
which such music could not but inspire, I had 
not yet undertaken the task of adapting words 
to any of the airs ; and it was, I am ashamed 
to say, in dull and turgid prose, that I made 
my first appearance in print as a champion of. 
the popular cause. Towards the latter end of 
the year 1797, the celebrated newspaper called 
" The Press" was set up by Arthur O'Connor, 
Thomas Addis Emmet, and other chiefs of the 
United Irish conspiracy, with the view of pre- 
paring and ripening the public mind for the great 
crisis then fast approaching. This memorable 
journal, according to the impression I at present 
retain of it, was far more distinguished for 
earnestness of purpose and intrepidity, than for 
any great display of literary talent ; — the bold 
letters written by Emmet, (the elder,) under 
the signature of " Montanus," being the only 
compositions I can now call to mind as entitled 
to praise for their literary merit. It required, 
however, but a small sprinkling of talent to 
make bold writing, at that time, palatable ; and, 
from the experience of my own home, I can 
answer for the avidity with which every line of 
this daring journal was devoured. It used to 
come out, I think, twice a week, and, on the 
evening of publication, I always read it aloud 
to our small circle after supper. 

It may easily be conceived that, what with 
my ardor for the national cause, and a growing 
consciousness of some little turn for author- 
ship, I was naturally eager to become a con- 
tributor to those patriotic and popular columns. 
But the constant anxiety about me which I 
knew my own family felt, — a feeling far more 
wakeful than even their zeal in the public 
cause, — withheld me from hazarding any step 
that might cause them alarm. I had ventured, 
indeed, one evening, to pop privately into the 
letter-box of The Press, a short Fragment in 
imitation of Ossian. But this, though inserted, 



% " She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps." 
$ Miss Curran. 



PREFACE. 



31 



passed off quietly ; and nobody was, in any \ 
sense of the phrase, the wiser for it. I was 
soon tempted, however, to try a more daring 
flight. Without communicating my secret to 
any one but Edward Hudson, I addressed a 
long Letter, in prose, to the ***** of * * * *, 
in which a profusion of bad flowers of rheto- 
ric was enwreathed plentifully with that weed 
which Shakspeare calls " the cockle of rebel- 
lion," and. in the same manner as before, com- 
mitted it tremblingly to the chances of the 
letter-box. I hardly expected my prose would 
be honorea with insertion, when, lo, on the 
next evening of publication, when, seated as 
usual in mv little corner by the fire, I unfolded 
the paper for the purpose of reading it to my 
select auditory, there was my own Letter 
staring me fall in the face, being honored 
with so conspicuous a place as to be one of 
the first articles my audience would expect to 
hear. Assuming an outward appearance of 
ease, while every nerve within me was trem- 
bling, I contrived to accomplish the reading of 
the Letter without raising in either of my 
auditors a suspicion that it was my own. I 
enjoyed the pleasure, too, of hearing it a good 
deal praised by them ; and might have been 
tempted by this welcome tribute to acknowledge 
myself the author, had I not found that the 
language and sentiments of the article were 
considered by b^t 1 : to be " very bold.' 1 * 

I was not destined, however, to remain long 
undetected. On the following day, Edward 
Hudson.f — tne on ^7 one > as I have said, in- 
trusted with my secret, called to pay us a 
morning visit, and had not been long in the 
room, conversing with my mother, when look- 
ing significantly at me, he said, " Well, you 

saw " Here he stopped ; but the mother's 

eye had followed his, with the rapidity of light- 
ning, to mine, and at once she perceived the 
whole truth. " That Letter was yours, then]" 
she asked of me eagerly; and, without hesitation. 
of course, I acknowledged the fact ; when in the 
most earnest manner she entreated of me never 



* So thought also higher authorities ; for among the ex- 
tracts from The Press brought forward by the Secret Com- 
mittee of the House of Commons, to show how formidable 
had been the desigus of the United Irishmen, there are two 
or three paragraphs cited from this redoubtable Letter. 

t Of the depth and extent to which Hudson had involved 
himself in the conspiracy, none of our family had harbored 
the least notion ; till, on the seizure of the thirteen Leinster 



again to have any connection with that paper ; 
and, as every wish of hers was to me law, I 
readily pledged the solemn promise she re- 
quired. 

Though well aware how easily a sneer may 
be raised at the simple details of this domestic 
scene, I have yet ventured to put it on record, 
as affording an instance of the gentle and wo- 
manly watchfulness, — the Providence, as it 
may be called, of the little world of home, — by 
which, although placed almost in the very cur- 
rent of so headlong a movement, and living 
familiarly with some of the most daring of those 
who propelled it, I yet was guarded from any 
participation in their secret oaths, counsels, or 
plans, and thus escaped all share in that wild 
struggle to which so many far better men than 
myself fell victims. 

In the meanwhile, this great conspiracy was 
hastening on, with fearful precipitancy, to its 
outbreak ; and vague and shapeless as are now 
known to have been the views, even of those 
who were engaged practically in the plot, it 
is not any wonder that to the young and un- 
initiated like myself it should have opened 
prospects partaking far more of the wild 
dreams of poesy than of the plain and honest 
prose of real life. But a crisis was then fast 
approaching, when such self-delusions could no 
longer be indulged ; and when the mystery 
which had hitherto hung over the plans of the 
conspirators was to be rent asunder by the 
stern hand of power. 

Of the horrors that fore-ran and followed the 
frightful explosion of the year 1798, I have 
neither inclination nor, luckily, occasion to 
speak. But among those introductory scenes, 
which had somewhat prepared the public mind 
for such a catastrophe, there was one, of a 
painful description, which, as having been my- 
self an actor in it, I may be allowed briefly to 
notice. 

It was not many weeks, I think, before this 
crisis, that, owing to information gained by the 
college authorities of the rapid spread, among 

delegates, at Oliver Bond's, in the month of March, 1798, we 
found, to our astonishment and sorrow, that he was one of 
the number. 

To those unread in the painful history of this period, it is 
right to mention that almost all the leaders of the United 
Irish conspiracy were Protestants. Among those companions 
of my own alluded to in these pages, I scarcely remember a 
single Catholic. 



32 



PREFACE. 



the students, not only of the principles but the 
organization of the Irish Union,* a solemn 
Visitation was held by Lord Clare, the vice- 
chancellor of the University, with the view of 
inquiring- into the extent of this branch of the 
plot, and dealing- summarily with those engaged 
in it. 

Imperious and harsh as then seemed the 
policy of thus setting up a sort of inquisitorial 
tribunal, armed with the power of examining 
witnesses on oath, and in a place devoted to the 
instruction of youth, I cannot but confess that 
the facts which came out in the course of the 
evidence went far towards justifying even this 
arbitrary proceeding ; and to the many who, 
like myself, were acquainted only "with the 
general views of the Union leaders, without 
even knowing, except from conjecture, who 
those leaders were, or what their plans or objects, 
it was most startling to hear the disclosures 
which every succeeding witness brought forth. 
There were a few, — and among that number 
poor Robert Emmet, John Erown, and the 
two ****** s ,f whose total absence from 
the whole scene, as well as the dead silence 
that, day after day, followed the calling out of 
their names, proclaimed how deep had been 
their share in the unlawful proceedings inquired 
into by this tribunal. 

But there was one young friend of mine, 
****** * ? whose appearance among the 
suspected and examined as much surprised as 
it deeply and painfully interested me. He and 
Emmet had long been intimate and attached 
friends ; — their congenial fondness for mathe- 
matical studies having been, I think, a far more 
binding sympathy between them than any ari- 
sing out of their political opinions. From his 
being called up, however, on this day, when, as 
it appeared afterwards, all the most important 
evidence was brought forward, thele could be 
little doubt that, in addition to his intimacy 
with Emmet, the college authorities must have 
possessed some information which led them to 
suspect him of being an accomplice in the con- 



* In the Report from the Secret Committee of the Irish 
House of Lords, this extension of the plot to the College is 
noticed as " a desperate project of the same faction to corrupt 
the youth of the country by introducing their organized sys- 
tem of treason into the University." 

| One of these brothers has long been a general in the 
French army ; having taken a part in all those great enter- 



spiracy. In the course of his examination, 
some questions were put to him which he 
refused to answer, — most probably from their 
tendency to involve or inculpate others ; and 
he was accordingly dismissed, with the melan- 
choly certainty that his future prospects in life 
were blasted ; it being already known that the 
punishment for such contumacy was not merely 
expulsion from the University, but also exclu- 
sion from all the learned professions. 

The proceedings, indeed, of this whole day 
had been such as to send me to my home in the 
evening with no very agreeable feelings or 
prospects. I had heard evidence given affect- 
ing even the lives of some of those friends whom 
I had long regarded with admiration as well as 
affection ; and what was still worse than even 
their danger, — a danger ennobled, I thought, 
by the cause in which they suffered, — was the 
shameful spectacle exhibited by those who had 
appeared in evidence against them. Of these 
witnesses, the greater number had been them- 
selves involved in the plot, and now .«,me for- 
ward either as voluntary informers, or else 
were driven by the fear of the consequences of 
refusal to secure their own safety at the ex- 
pense of companions and friends. 

I well remember the gloom, so unusual, that 
hung over our family circle on that evening, as, 
talking together of the events of the day, we dis- 
cussed the likelihood of my being among those 
who would be called up for examination on the 
morrow. The deliberate conclusion to which 
my dear honest advisers came, was that, over- 
whelming as the consequences were to all their 
plans and hopes for me, yet, to the questions 
leading to criminate others, which had been 
put to almost all examined on that da) T , and 
which poor ******* alone had refused 
to answer, I must, in the same manner, and at 
all risks, return a similar refusal. I am not 
quite certain whether I received any intimation, 
on the following morning, that I was to be one 
of those examined in the course of the day ; 
but I rather think some such notice had been 



prises of Napoleon which have now become matter of history. 
Should these pages meet the eye of General *****«*, they 
will call to his mind the days we passed together in Nor- 
mandy, a few summers since; — more especially our excur- 
sion to Bayenx, when, as we talked on the way of old college 
times and friends, all the eventful and stormy scenes he had 
passed through since seemed quite forgotten. 



PREFACE. 



33 



conveyed to me ; — and, at last, my awful turn 
came, and I stood in presence of the formida- 
ble tribunal. There sat, with severe look, the 
rice-chancellor, and, by his side, the memora- 
ble Doctor Duigenan, — memorable for his eter- 
nal pamphlets against the Catholics. 

The oath was proffered to me. " I have an 
objection, my Lord," said I, " to taking this 
oath." "What is your objection!" he asked 
sternly. " I have no fears, my Lord, that any 
thing I might say would criminate myself; but 
it might tend to involve others, and I despise 
the character of the person who could be led, 
under any such circumstances, to inform against 
his associates." This was aimed at some of the 
revelations of the preceding day ; and, as I 
learned afterwards, was so understood. " How 
old are. you, Sir ?" he then asked. " Between 
seventeen and eighteen, my Lord." He then 
turned to his assessor, Duigenan, and exchanged 
a few words with him, in an under tone of 
voice. " We cannot," he resumed, again ad- 
dressing me, " suffer any one to remain in our 
University who refuses to take this oath." 
" I shall, then, my Lord," I replied, " take the 
oath, — still reserving to myself the power of 
refusing to answer any such questions as I have 
just described." " We do not sit here to argue 
with you, Sir," he rejoined sharply ; upon which 
T took the oath, and seated myself in the wit- 
nesses' chair. 

The following are the questions and answers 
that then ensued. After adverting to the 
proved existence of United Irish Societies in 
the University, he asked, " Have you ever 
belonged to any of these societies 1" " No, 
my Lord." " Have you ever known of any 
of the proceedings that took place in them]" 
" Xo, my Lord." " Did you ever hear of a 
proposal at any of their meetings, for the pur- 
chase of arms and ammunition!" "Never, 

* There had been two questions pnt to all those examined 
on the first day, — u Were you ever asked to join any of these 
societies?" — and "By whom were you asked 7"— which I 
should have refused to answer, and must, of eourse, have 
abided the consequences. 

t For the correctness of the above report of this short ex- 
amination, I can pretty confidentially answer. It may amuse, 
therefore, my readers, — as showing the manner in which 
biographers make the most of small facts, — to see an extract 
or two from another account of this affair, published not many 
years since by an old and zealous friend of our family. After 
stating with tolerable correctness one or two of my answers, 
the writer thus proceeds : — " Upon this, Lord Clare repeated 
I the question, and young Moore made such an appeal, as 



my Lord." " Did you ever hear of a propo- 
sition made, in one of these societies, with 
respect to the expediency of assassination V 
" Oh no, my Lord." He then turned again to 
Duigenan, and, after a few words with him, 
said to me : — " When such are the answers you 
are able to give,* pray what was the cause of 
your great repugnance to taking the oath V 
" I have already told your Lordship my chief 
reason ; in addition to which, it was the first 
oath I ever took, and the hesitation was, I think, 
natural."! 

I was now dismissed without any further 
questioning ; and, however trying had been this 
short operation, was amply repaid for it by the 
kind zeal with which my young friends and 
companions flocked to congratulate me ; — not 
so much, I was inclined to hope, on my acquittal 
by the court, as on the manner in which I had 
acquitted myself. Of my reception, on return- 
ing home, after the fears entertained of so very 
different a result, I will not attempt any de- 
scription ; — it was all that such a home alone 
could furnish. 

I have continued thus down to the very 
verge of the warning outbreak of 1798, the 
slight sketch of my early days which I ven- 
tured to commence in the First Volume of this 
Collection : nor could I have furnished the 
Irish Melodies with any more pregnant illus- 
tration, as it was in those times, and among^the 
events then stirring, that the feeling which 
afterwards found a voice in my country's music, 
was born and nurtured. 

I shall now string together such detached 
notices and memoranda respecting this work, 
as I think may be likely to interest my readers. 

Of the few songs written with a concealed 
political feeling, — such as " When he who 
adores thee," and one or two more, — the most 
successful, in its day, was " When first I met 

caused his lordship to relax, austere and rigid as he was. 
The words I cannot exactly remember ; the substance was 
as follows : — that he entered college to receive the education 
of a scholar and a gentleman ; that he knew not how to 
compromise these characters by informing against his col- 
lege companions ; that his own speeches in the debating 
society had been ill construed, when the worst that could be 
said of them was, if truth had been spoken, that they were 
patriotic .... that he was aware of the high-minded no- 
bleman he had the honor of appealing to, and if his lord- 
ship could for a moment condescend to step from his high 
station and place himself in his situation, then say how he 
would act under such circumstances, it would be nis gui- 
dance." — Herbert's Irish Varietitt. London, 16J6. 



34 



PREFACE. 



thee warm and young," which alluded, in its 
hidden sense, to the Prince Regent's desertion 
of his political friends. It was little less, I 
own, than profanation to disturb the sentiment 
of so beautiful an air by any connection with 
such a subject. The great success of this song, 
soon after I wrote it, among a large party stay- 
ing at Chatsworth, is thus alluded to in one of 
Lord Byron's letters to me : — " I have heard 
from London that you have left Chatsworth 

and all there full of ' entusymusy' 

and, in particular, that ' When first I met thee' 
has been quite overwhelming in its effect. I 
told you it was one of the best things you ever 
wrote, though that dog * * * * wanted you to 
omit part of it." 

It has been sometimes supposed that " Oh, 
breathe not his name," was meant to allude to 
Lord Edward Fitzgerald : but this is a mistake ; 
the song having been suggested by the well- 
known passage in Robert Emmet's dying 
speech, " Let no man write my epitaph .... 
let my tomb remain uninscribed, till other times 
and other men shall learn to do justice to my 
memory." 

The feeble attempt to commemorate the 
glory of our great Duke — "When History's 
Muse," &c. — is in so far remarkable, that it 
made up amply for its want of poetical spirit, 
by an outpouring, rarely granted to bards in 
these days, of the spirit of prophecy. It was 
in the year 1815 that the following lines first 
made their appearance : — 

And still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, 
The grandest, the purest, ev'n thou hast yet known ; 

Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining, 
Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. 

At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast stood, 
Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame, &c. 

About fourteen years after these lines were 
written, the Duke of Wellington recommended 
to the throne the great measure of Catholic 
Emancipation. 

The fancy of the " Origin of the Irish Harp," 
was (as I have elsewhere acknowledged*) 
suggested, by a drawing made under pecu- 
liarly painful circumstances, by the friend so 

* "When, in consequence of the compact entered into be- 
tween government and the chief leaders of the conspiracy, 
the State Prisoners, before proceeding intoexile.were allowed 
to see their friends, I paid a visit to Henry Hudson, in the jail 
of Kilmainham, where he had then lain immured for four or 
five months, hearing of friend after friend being led out to 
death, and expecting every week his own turn to come. I 



often mentioned in this sketch, Edward Hud- 
son. 

In connection with another of these match- 
less airs, — one that defies all poetry to do it jus- 
tice, — I find the following singular and touching 
statement in an article of the Quarterly Review. 
Speaking of a young and promising poetess, 
Lucretia Davidson, who died very early from 
nervous excitement, the Reviewer says, " She 
was particularly sensitive to music. There was 
one song (it was Moore's Farewell to his Harp) 
to which she took a special fancy. She wished 
to hear it only at twilight, — thus (with that 
same perilous love of excitement which made 
her place the iEolian harp in the window when 
she was composing) seeking to increase the 
effect which the song produced upon a nervous 
system, already diseasedly susceptible ; for i is 
said that, whenever she heard this song, she 
became cold, pale, and almost Minting ; yet it 
was her favorite of all songs, and gave occa- 
sion to those verses addressed in her fifteenth 
year to her sister."f 

With the Melody entitled " Love, Valor, and 
Wit," an incident is connected, which awaken- 
ed feelings in me of proud, but sad pleasure — 
as showing that my songs had reached the 
hearts of some of the descendants of those 
great Irish families, who found themselves 
forced, in the dark days of persecution, to seek 
in other lands a refuge from the shame and 
ruin of their own ; — those, whose story I have 
thus associated with one of their country's 
most characteristic airs : — 

Ye Blakes and O'Donnells, whose fathers resign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find 
That repose which at home they had sigh'd for in vain. 

From a foreign lady, of this ancient extraction, 
— whose names, could I venture to mention 
them, would lend to the incident an additional 
Irish charm, — I received, about two years since, 
through the hands of a gentleman to whom it had 
been intrusted, a large portfolio, adorned inside 
with a beautiful drawing, representing Love, 
Wit, and Yalor, as described in the song. In 
the border that surrounds the drawing are intro- 

found that to amuse his solitude he had made a large draw- 
ing with charcoal on the wall of his prison, representing that 
fancied origin of the Irish Harp which, some years after, I 
adopted as the subject of one of the ' Melodies.' —Life a*d 
Death of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, vol. i. 
t Quarterly Review, vol. xli. p. 294. 



PREFACE. 



35 



duced the favorite emblems of Erin, the harp, 
the shamrock, the mitred head of St. Patrick, 
together with scrolls containing each, inscribed 
in letters of gold, the name of some favorite 
melody of the fair artist. 

This present was accompanied by the fol- 
lowing letter from the lady herself; and her 
Irish race, I fear, is but too discernible in the 
generous indiscretion with which, in this in- 
stance, she allows praise so much to outstrip 
desert : — 



" Le 25 Aout, 1836. 

u Monsieur, 

" Si les poetes n'etoient en quelque 
sorte une propriete intellectuelle dont chacun 
prend sa part a raison de la puissance qu'ils 
exercent, je ne saurois en verite comment faire 
pour justifier mon courage ! — car il en falloit 
beaucoup pour avoir ose consacrer mon pauvre 
talent d'amateur a vos delicieuses poesies, et 
plus encore pour en renvoyer le pale reflet a 
son veritable auteur. 

" J'espere toutefois que ma sympathie pour 
l'lrlande vous fera juger ma foible production 
avec cette heureuse partialite qui impose si- 
lence a la critique : car, si je n'appartiens pas 
a Tile Verte par ma naissance, ni mes relations, 
je puis dire que je m'y interesse avec un coeur 
Irlandais, et que j'ai conserve plus que le nom 
de mes peres. Cela seul me fait esperer que 
mes petits voyageurs ne subiront pas le triste 
noviciat des etrangers, Puissent-ils remplir 
leur mission sur le sol natal, en agissant con- 
jointement et toujours pour la cause Irlandaise, 
et amener enfin une ere nouvelle pour cette 
heroique et malheureuse nation : — le moyen 
de vaincre de tels adversaries s'ils ne font 
qu'un 1 

" Vous dirai-je, Monsieur, les doux moments 
que je dois a vos ouvrages 1 ce seroit repeter 
une fois de plus ce que vous entendez tous les 
jours et de tous les coins de la terre. Aussi 
j'ai garde de vous ravir un tems trop precieux 
par l'echo de ces vieilles verites. 

" Si jamais mon etoile me conduit en Irlande, 
je ne m'y croirai pas etrangere. Je sais que le 
passe y laisse de longs souvenirs, et que la con- 
formite des desirs et des esperances rapproche 
en depit de l'espace et du tems. 

" Jusque la, recevez, je vous prie, l'assurance 



de ma parfaite consideration, avec laquelle j'ai 
l'honneur d'etre, 

" Monsieur, 
" Votre tres-humble Servante, 

" La Comtesse * * * * *." 

Of the translations that have appeared of the 
Melodies in different languages, I shall here 
mention such as have come to my knowledge. 

Latin. — " Cantus Hibernici," Nicholas Lee 
Torre, London, 1835. 

Italian. — G. Flechia, Torino, 1836. — Adele 
Custi, Milano, 1836. 

French. — Madame Belloc, Paris, 1823. — 
Loeve Veimars, Paris, 1829. 

Russian. — Several detached Melodies, by 
the popular Russian poet Kozlof. 



PREFACE 

TO 

THE FIFTH VOLUME. 

In spite of the satirist's assertion, that 

"next to singing, the most foolish thing 
Is gravely to harangue on what we sing,"— 

I shall yet venture to prefix to this Volume a 
few introductory pages, not relating so much to 
the Songs which it contains, as to my own 
thoughts and recollections respecting song- 
writing in general. 

The close alliance known to have existed 
between poetry and music, during the infancy 
of both these arts, has sometimes led to the 
conclusion that they are essentially kindred to 
each other, and that the true poet ought to be, 
if not practically, at least in taste and ear, a 
musician. That such was the case in the early 
times of ancient Greece, and that her poets 
then not only set their own verses to music, 
but sung them at public festivals, there is every 
reason, from all we know on the subject, to 
believe. A similar union between the two arts 
attended the dawn of modern literature in the 
twelfth century, and was, in a certain degree, 
continued down as far as the time of Petrarch, 
when, as it appears from his own memo- 
randums, that poet used to sing his verses, in 



36 



PREFACE. 



composing them ;* and when it was the cus- 
tom with all writers of sonnets and canzoni to 
prefix to their poems a sort of key-note, by 
which the intonation in reciting or chanting 
them was to be regulated. 

As the practice of uniting in one individual, 
— whether Bard, Scald, or Troubadour, — the 
character and functions both of musician and 
poet, is known to have been invariably the mark 
of a rude state of society, so the gradual separ- 
ation of these two callings, in accordance with 
that great principle of Political Economy, the 
division of labor, has been found an equally 
sure index of improving civilization. So far, 
in Engjand, indeed, has this partition of work- 
manship been carried, that, with the signal ex- 
ception of Milton, there is not to be found, I 
believe, among all the eminent poets of Eng- 
land, a single musician. It is but fair, at the 
same time, to acknowledge, that out of the 
works of these very poets might be produced 
a select number of songs, surpassing, in fancy, 
grace, and tenderness, all that the language, 
perhaps, of any other country could furnish. 

We witness, in our own times, — as far as the 
knowledge or practice of music is concerned, 
— a similar divorce between the two arts ; and 
my friend and neighbor, Mr. Bowles, is the 
only distinguished poet of oar day whom I can 
call to mind as being also a musician. f Not to 
dwell further, however, on living writers, the 
strong feeling, even to tears, with which I have 
seen Byron listen to some favorite melody, 
has been elsewhere described by me ; and the 
musical taste of Sir Walter Scott I ought to be 
the last person to call in question, after the very 
cordial tribute he has left on record to my own 
untutored minstrelsy. % But I must say, that, 
pleased as my illustrious friend appeared really 
to be, when I first sung for him at Abbotsford, 
it was not till an evening or two after, at his 
own hospitable supper-table, that I saw him in 
his true sphere of musical enjoyment. No 

* The following is a specimen of these memorandums, as 
given by Foscolo : — " I must make these two verses over 
again, singing them, and I must transpose them — 3 o'clock, 
a. M. 19th October." Frequently to sonnets of that time such 
notices as the following were prefixed : — " Intonatum per 
Francum" — " Scripts dedit sonum." 

t The late Rev. William Crowe, author of the noble poem 
of" Lewisden Hill," was likewise a musician, and has left 
a Treatise on English versification, to which his knowledge 
of the sister art lends a peculiar interest. 

So little does even the origin of the word " lyrick," as ap- 



sooner had the guaigh taken its round, after 
our repast, than his friend, Sir Adam, was 
called upon, with the general acclaim of the 
whole table, for the song of " Hey tuttie 
tattie," and gave it out to us with all the 
true national relish. But it was during the 
chorus that Scott's delight at this festive scene 
chiefly showed itself. At the end of every 
verse, the whole company rose from their 
seats, and stood round the table with arms 
crossed, so as to grasp the hand of the neigh- 
bor on each side. Thus interlinked, we con- 
tinued to keep measure to the strain, by mov- 
ing our arms up and down, all chanting forth 
vociferously, " Hey tuttie >attie, Hey tuttie 
tattie." Sir Walter's enjoyme: of this old 
Jacobite chorus, — a little increased, doubt- 
less, by seeing how I entered into the spirit 
of it, — gave to the whole scene, I confess, a 
zest and charm in my eyes such as the finest 
musical performance could not have bestowed 
on it. 

Having been thus led to allude to this visit, 
I am tempted to mention a few other circum- 
stances connected with it. From Abbotsford I 
proceeded to Edinburgh, whither Sir Walter, 
in a few days after, followed ; and during my 
short stay in that city an incident occurred 
which, though already mentioned by Scott, 
in his Diary,§ and owing its chief interest 
to the connection of his name with it, ought 
not to be omitted among these memoranda. 
As I had expressed a desire to visit the Edin- 
burgh theatre, which opened but the evening 
before my departure, it was proposed to Sir 
Walter and myself, by our friend Jeffrey, that 
we should dine with him at an early hour for 
that purpose, and both were good-natured 
enough to accompany me to the theatre. Hav- 
ing found, in a volume|| sent to me by some 
anonymous correspondent, a more circumstan- 
tial account of the scene of that evening than 
Sir Walter has given in his Diary, I shall here 

plied to poetry, seem to be present to the minds of some 
writers, that the poet, Young, has left us an Essay on Lyric 
Poetry, in which there is not a single allusion to Music, from 
beginning to end. 

t Life by Lockhart, vol. vi. p. 128. 

$ " We went to the theatre together, and the house being 
luckily a good one, received T. M. with rapture I could 
have hugged them, for it paid back the debt of the kind re- 
ception I met with in Ireland. ' 

|| Written by Mr. Benson Hill. 



PREFACE. 



37 



avail myself of its graphic and (with one ex- 
ception) accurate details. After adverting to 
the sensation produced by the appearance of 
the late Duchess of St. Alban's in one of the 
boxes, the writer thus proceeds : — " There was 
a general buzz and stare, for a few seconds ; 
the audience then turned their backs to the 
lady, and their attention to the stage, to wait 
till the first piece should be over ere they in- 
tended staring again. Just as it terminated, 
another party quietly glided into a box near 
that filled by the Duchess. One pleasing 
female was with the three male comers. In a 
minute the cry ran round : — ' Eh, yon's Sir 
Walter, wi' Lockhart an' his wife,* and wha's 
the wee bit bodie wi' the pawkie een 1 Wow, 
but it's Tam Moore, just — Scott, Scott ! 
Moore, Moore !' — with shouts, cheers, bravos, 
and applause. But Scott would not rise to 
appropriate these tributes. One could see that 
he urged Moore to do so ; and he, though 
modestly reluctant, at last yielded, and bowed 
hand on heart, with much animation. The 
cry for Scott was then redoubled. He gathered 
himself up, and, with a benevolent bend, ac- 
knowledged this deserved welcome. The or- 
chestra played alternately Scotch and Irish 
Melodies." 

Among the choicest of my recollections of 
that flying visit to Edinburgh, are the few days 
I passed with Lord Jeffrey at his agreeable 
retreat, Craig Crook. I had then recently 
written the words and music of a glee contain- 
ed in this volume, " Ship a hoy !" which there 
won its first honors. So often, indeed, was I 
called upon to repeat it, tha he upland echoes 
of Craig Crook ought long to have had its bur- 
den by heart. 

Having thus got on Scottish ground, I find 
myself awakened to the remembrance of a name 
which, whenever song-writing is the theme, 
ought to rank second to none in that sphere of 
poetical fame. Robert Burns was wholly un- 
skilled in music ; yet the rare art of adapting 
words successfully to notes, of wedding verse 

* The writer was here mistaken. There was one lady of 
our party ; but neither Mr. nor Mrs. Lockhart was present. 

t It appears certain, notwithstanding, that he was, in his 
youth, wholly insensible to music. In speaking of him and 
his brother, Mr. Murdoch, their preceptor, says, " Robert's 
ear, in particular, was remarkably dull, and his voice untu- 
nable. It was long before I could get him to distinguish one 
tune from another." 



in congenial union with melody, which, were 
it not for his example, I should say none but 
a poet versed in the sister-art ought to at- 
tempt, has yet, by him, with the aid of a music 
to which my own country's strains are alone 
comparable, been exercised with so work- 
manly a hand, and with so rich a variety of 
passion, playfulness, and power, as no song- 
writer, perhaps, but himself, has ever yet dis- 
played. 

That Burns, however untaught, was yet, in 
ear and feeling, a musician,! is clear from the 
skill with which he adapts his verse to the 
structure and character of each different strain. 
Still more strikingly did he prove hi* fitness foi 
this peculiar task, by the sort of instinct with 
which, in more than one instance, he discerned 
the real and innate sentiment which an air 
was calculated to convey, though previously 
associated with words expressing a totally dif- 
ferent cast of feeling. Thus the air of a lu- 
dicrous old song, " Fee ^im, father, fee him," 
has been made the medium of one of Burns's 
most pathetic effusions ; while, still more mar- 
vellously, " Hey tuttie tattie" has been eleva- 
ted by him into that heroic strain, " Scots, 
wha hae wi' Wallace bled ;" — a song which, 
in a great national crisis, would be of more 
avail than all the eloquence of a Demosthenes. J 

It was impossible that the example of Burns, 
in these, his higher inspirations, should not 
materially contribute to elevate the character 
of English song-writing, and even to lead to 
a reunion of the gifts which it requires, if not, 
as of old, in the same individual, yet in that 
perfect sympathy between poet and musician 
which almost amounts to identity, and of which, 
in our own times, we have seen so interesting 
an example in the few songs which bear the ! 
united names of those two sister muses, Mrs. 
Ark wright and the late Mrs. Hemans. 

Very different was the state of the song-de- 
partment of English poesy at the period when 
I first tried my novice hand at the lyre. The 
divorce between song - and sense had then 



1 1 know not whether it has ever been before remarked, that 
the well-known lines in one of Burns's most spirited songs, 
"The title's but the guinea's stamp, 
The man's the gold for a' that," 
may possibly have been suggested by the following passage 
in Wycherley's play, the "Country Wife:"— "I weigh the 
man, not his title; 'tis not the King's stamp can make the 
metal better." 



38 



PREFACE. 



reached its utmost range ; and to all verses 
connected with music, from a Birth-day Ode 
down to the libretto of the last new opera, 
might fairly be applied the solution which 
Figaro gives of the quality of the words of 
songs, in general, — " Ce qui ne vaut pas la 
peine d'etre dit, on le chante." 

It may here be suggested that the convivial 
lyrics of Captain Morris present an exception 
to the general character I have given of the 
songs of this period ; and, assuredly, had 
Morris written much that at all approached 
the following verses of his " Reasons for 
Drinking," (which I quote from recollection,) 
few would have equalled him either in fancy, 
or in that lighter kind of pathos, which comes, 
as in this instance, like a few melancholy notes 
in the middle of a gay air, throwing a soft and 
passing shade over mirth : — 

" My muse, too, when her wings are dry, 

No frolic flights will take ; 
But round a bowl she'll dip and fly, 

Like swallows round a lake. 
If then the nymph must have her share, 

Before she'll bless her swain, 
Why, that I think's a reason foir 

To fill my glass again. 

" Then, many a lad I lik'd is dead, 

And many a lass grown old ; 
And, as the lesson strikes my head, 

My weary heart grows cold. 
But wine awhile holds off despair, 

Nay, bids a hope remain ; — 
And that I think's a reason fKr 

To fill my glass again." 

How far my own labors in this field — if, 
indeed, the gathering of such idle flowers may 
be so designated — have helped to advance, or 
even kept pace with the progressive improve- 
ment I have here described, it is not for me to 
presume to decide. I only know that in a 
strong and inborn feeling for music lies the 
source of whatever talent I may have shown 
for poetical composition ; and that it was the 
effort to translate into language the emotions 
and passions which music appeared to me to 
express, that first led to my writing any poetry 
at all deserving of the name. Dryden has 
happily described music as being " inarticulate 
poetry ;" and I have always felt, in adapting 
words to an expressive air, that I was but 

* I canmt let pass the incidental mention here of this 
social and public-spirited nobleman, without expressing my 
strong sense of his kindly qualities, and lamenting the loss 



bestowing upon it the gift of articulation, and 
thus enabling it to speak to others all that was 
conveyed, in its wordless eloquence, to myself. 
Owing to the space I was led to devote, in our 
last volume, to subjects connected with the 
Irish Melodies, I was forced to postpone some 
recollections, of a very different description, 
respecting the gala at Boyle Farm, by which 
my poem, entitled The Summer Fete, was 
suggested. In an old letter of my own to a 
friend in Ireland, giving an account of this 
brilliant festival, I find some memorandums 
which, besides their reference to the subject of 
the poem, contain some incidents also connected 
with the first appearance before the public of 
one of the most successful of all my writings, 
the story of the Epicurean. I shall give my 
extracts from this letter, in their original diary- 
like form, without alteration or dressing : — 

June 30, 1837. — Day threatening for the 
Fete. Was with Lord Essex* at three o'clock, 
and started about half an hour after. The 
whole road swarming with carriages-and-four 
all the way to Boyle Farm, which Lady de 
Roos has lent, for the occasion, to Henry ; — 
the five givers of the Fete, being Lords 
Chesterfield, Castlereagh, Alvanley, Henry de 
Roos, and Robert Grosvenor, subscribing four 
or five hundred pounds each towards it. The 
arrangements all in the very best taste. The 
pavilion for quadrilles, on the bank of the river, 
with steps descending to the water, quite east- 
ern — like what one sees in Daniel's pictures. 
Towards five the elite of the gay world was 
assembled — the women all looking their best, 
and scarce a single ugly face to be found. 
About half past five, sat down to dinner, 450 
under a tent on the lawn, and fifty to the 
Royal Table in the conservatory. The Tyrolese 
musicians sung during dinner, and there were r 
after dinner, gondolas on the river, with 
Caradori, De Begnis, Velluti, &c, singing 
barcarolles and rowing off occasionally, so as 
to let their voices die away and again return. 
After these succeeded a party in dominos, 
Madame Vestris, Fanny Ayton, &c, who 
rowed about in the same manner, and sung, 
among other things, my gondola song, " Oh 
come to me when daylight sets." The evening 

which not only society, but the cause of sound and progres- 
sive Political Reform, has sustained by his death. 



PREFACE. 



39 



was delicious, and, as soon as it grew dark, the 

groves were all lighted up with colored lamps, 

in different shapes and devices. A little lake 

near a grotto took my fancy particularly, the 

shrubs all round being illuminated, and the 

lights reflected in the water. Six-and-twenty 

of the prettiest girls of the w.°rld of fashion, the 
F * * * * t * rs? Br * d * * * iSj D e R * * s > s> 

Miss F * * Id * * * g, Miss F * x, Miss R * ss *.ll, 
Miss B * * ly, were dressed as Rosieres, and 
opened the quadrilles in the pavilion . 
. . . While talking with D— n, (Lord P.'s 
brother,) he said to me, " I never read any 
thing so touching as the death of your heroine." 
" What !" said I, " have you got so far already l"f 
" Oh, I read it in the Literary Gazette." This 
anticipation of my catastrophe is abominable. 
Soon after, the Marquis P — lm — a said to me, 
as he and I and B — m stood together, looking 
at the gay scene, " This is like one of your 
Fetes." " Oh yes," said B — m, thinking he 
alluded to Lalla Rookh, " quite oriental." 
" Non, non," replied P — lm — a, " je veu? dire 
cette Fete d'Athenes, dont j'ai lu la description 
dans la Gazette d'aujourd'hui." 

Respecting the contents of the present Vol- 
ume I have but a few more words to add. 
Accustomed as I have always been to consider 
my songs as a sort of compound creations, in 
which the music forms no less essential a part 
than the verses, it is with a feeling which T 
can hardly expect my unlyrical readers to un- 
derstand, that I see such a swarm of songs 
as crowd these pages all separated from the 
beautifulairs which have formed hitherto their 
chief ornament and strength — their " decus et 
tutamen." But, independently of this uneasy 
feeling, or fancy, there is yet another incon- 
venient consequence of the divorce of the words 
from the music, which will be more easily, per- 
haps, comprehended, and which, in justice to 
myself, as a metre-monger, ought to be noticed. 
Those occasionalbreaches of the laws of rhythm, 
which the task of adapting words to airs de- 
mands of the poet, though very frequently one 
of the happiest results of his skill, become 
blemishes when the verse is separated from the 



t The Epicurean had been published but the day before. 

| I shall avail myself of this opportunity of noticing the 
charge brought by Mr. Bunting against Sir John Stevenson, 
of having made alterations in many of the airs that formed 
our Irish Collection. Whatever changes of this kind have 



melody, and require, to justify them, the pres- 
ence of the music to whose wildness or sweet- 
ness the sacrifice had been made. 

In a preceding page of this preface, I have 
mentioned a Treatise by the late Rev. Mr. 
Crowe, on English versification ; and I re- 
member his telling me, in reference to the point 
I have just touched upon, that, should another 
edition of that work be called for, he meant to 
produce, as examples of new and anomalous 
forms of versification, the following songs from 
the Irish Melodies : — " Oh the days are gone 
when Beauty bright" — " At the dead hour of 
night, when stars are weeping, I fly," — and, 
" Through grief and through danger thy smile 
hath cheer'd my way."! 



PREFACE 



THE SIXTH VOLUME. 

The Poem, or Romance, of Lalla Rookh, 
having now reached its twentieth edition, a 
short account of the origin and progress of 
a work which has been hitherto, at least, so very 
fortunate in its course, may not be deemed, 
perhaps, superfluous or misplaced. 

It was about the year 1812 that, impelled 
far more by the encouraging suggestions of 
friends than impelled by any confident prompt- 
ings of my own ambition, I was induced to 
attempt a Poem upon some Oriental subject, 
and of those quarto dimensions which Scott's 
late triumphs in that form had then rendered 
the regular poetical standard. A nogotiation 
on the subject was opened with the Messrs. 
Longman in the same year, bat from some 
causes which have now escaped my recollection, 
led to no decisive result ; nor was it till a year 
or two after, that any further steps were taken 
in the matter, — their house being the only 
one, it is right to add, with which, from first to 



been ventured upon, (and they are but few and slight,) the 
responsibility for them rests solely with me , as, leaving the 
Harmonist's department to my friend Stevenson, I reserved 
to myself entirely the selection and management of the airs. 



40 



PREFACE. 



last, I held any communication upon the sub- 
ject. 

On this last occasion, an old friend of mine, 
Mr. Perry, kindly offered to lend me the aid of 
his advice and presence in the interview which 
I was about to hold with the Messrs. Longman, 
for the arrangement of our mutual terms ; and 
what with the friendly zeal of my negotiator 
on the one side, and the prompt and libcial 
spirit with which he was met on the other, 
there has seldom occurred any transaction in 
which Trade and Poesy have shone out so 
advantageously in each other's eyes. The 
short discussion that then took place between 
the two parties, may be comprised in a very 
few sentences. " I am of opinion," said Mr. 
Perry, — enforcing his view of the case by 
arguments which it is not for me to cite, — 
" that Mr. Moore ought to receive for his Poem 
the largest price that has been given, in our 
day, for such a work." " That was," an- 
swered the Messrs. Longman, " three thousand 
guineas." " Exactly so," replied Mr. Perry, 
"and no less a sum ought he to receive." 

It was then objected, and very reasonably, 
on the part of the firm, that they had never 
yet seen a single line of the Poem ; and that a 
perusal of the work ought to be allowed to 
them, before they embarked so large a sum in 
the purchase. But, no ; — the romantic view 
which my friend, Perry, took of the matter, 
was, that this price should be given as a tribute 
to reputation already acquired, without any 
condition for a previous perusal of the new 
work. This high tone, I must confess, not 
a little startled and alarmed me ; but, to the 
honor and glory of Romance, — as well on the 
publisher's side as the poet's, — this very gener- 
ous view of the transaction was, without any 
difficulty, acceded to, and the firm agreed, be- 
fore we separated, that I was to receive three 
thousand guineas for my Poem. 

At the time of this agreement, but little of 
the work, as it stands at present, had yet been 
written. But the ready confidence in my suc- 
cess shown by others, made up for the deficiency 
of that requisite feeling within myself; while 
a strong desire not wholly to disappoint this 
" auguring hope," became almost a substitute 
for inspiration. In the year 1815, therefore, 

* April 10, 1815. 



having made some progress in my task, I wrote 
to report the state of the work to the Messrs. 
Longman, adding, that I was now most willing 
and ready, should they desire it, to submit the 
manuscript for their consideration, Their 
answer to this offer was as follows : — ?• We 
are certainly impatient for the perusal of the 
Poem ; but solely for our gratification. Your 
sentiments are always honorable."* 

I continued to pursue my task for another 
year, being likewise occasionally occupied with 
the Irish Melodies, two or three numbers of 
which made their appearance during the period 
employed in writing Lalla Rookh. At length, 
in the year 1816, I found my work sufficiently 
advanced to be placed in the hands of the pub- 
lishers. But the state of distress to which 
England was reduced, in that dismal year, by 
the exhausting effects of the series of wars 
she had just then concluded, and the general 
embarrassment of all classes, both agricultural 
and commercial, rendered it a juncture the 
least favorable that could well be conceived 
for the first launch into print of so light and 
costly a venture as Lalla Rookh. Feeling 
conscious, therefore, that, under such circum- 
stances, I should act but honestly in putting it 
in the power of the Messrs. Longman to re- 
consider the terms of their engagement with 
me, — leaving them free to postpone, modify, 
or even, should such be their wish, relinquish it 
altogether, I wrote them a letter to that effect, 
and received the following answer : — " We 
shall be most happy in the pleasure of seeing 
you in February. We agree with you, indeed, 
that the times are most inauspicious for ' poetry 
and thousands ;' but we believe that your 
poetry would do more than that of any other 
living poet at the present moment, "f 

The length of time I employed in writing 
the few stories strung together in Lalla Rookh 
will appear, to some persons, much more than 
was necessary for the production of such easy 
and " light o'love" fictions. But, besides that 
I have been, at all times, a far more slow and 
painstaking workman than would ever be 
guessed, I fear, from the result, I felt that, 
in this instance, I had taken upon myself a 
more than ordinary responsibility, from the 
immense stake risked by others on my chance 

t November 9, 1816. 



PREFACE. 



41 



of success. For a long time, therefore, after 
the agreement had been concluded, though 
generally at work with a view to this task, I 
made but very little real progress in it, and I 
have still by me the beginnings of several 
stories, continued, some of them, to the length 
of three or four hundred lines, which, after in 
vain endeavoring to mould them into shape, 
I threw aside, like the tale of Cambuscan, "left 
half-told." One of these stories, entitled The 
Peri's Daughter, was meant to relate the loves 
of a nymph of this aerial extraction with a 
youth of mortal race, the rightful Prince of 
Ormuz, who had been, from his infancy, brought 
up, in seclusion, on the banks of the river 
Amou, by an aged guardian named Mohassan. 
The story opens with the first meeting of these 
destined lovers, then in their childhood ; the 
Peri having wafted her daughter to this holy 
retreat, in a bright, enchanted boat, whose first 
appearance is thus described : — 



For, down the silvery tide afar, 
There came a boat, as swift and bright 

As shines, in heav'n, some pilgrim-star, 
That leaves its own high home, at night, 
To shoot to distant shrines of light. 
" It comes, it comes," young Orian cries, 
And panting to Mohassan flies. 
Then, down upon the flowery grass 
Reclines to see the vision pass ; 
With partly joy and partly fear, 
To find its wondrous light so near, 
And hiding oft his dazzled eyes 
Among the flowers on which he lies 
***** 

Within the boat a baby slept, 

Like a young pearl within its shell ; 
While one, who seem'd of riper years, 
But not of earth, or earth-like spheres, 

Her watch beside the slumberer kept ; 

Gracefully waving, in her hand, 
The feathers of some holy bird, 
With which, from time to time, she stirr'd 

The fragrant air, and coolly fann'd 

The baby's brow, or brush'd away 
The butterflies that, bright and blue 

As on the mountains of Malay, 
Around the sleeping infant flew. 

And now the fairy boat hath stopp'd 

Beside the bank,— the nymph has dropp'd 

Her golden anchor in the stream ; 

***** 

A song is sung by the Peri in approaching, 
of which the following forms a part : — 

My child she is but half divine, 

Her father sleeps in the Caspian water ; 

Sea-weeds twine 

His funeral shrine, 
But he lives again in the Peri's daughter. 



Fain would I fly from mortal sight 

To my own sweet bowers of Peristan ; 
But, there, the flowers are all too bright 

For the eyes of a baby born of man. 
On flowers of earth her feet must tread ; 
So hither my light-wing'd bark hath brought her . 
Stranger, spread 
Thy leafiest bed, 
To rest the wandering Peri's daughter. 

In another of these inchoate fragments, a 
proud female saint, named Banou, plays a 
principal part ; and her progress through the 
streets of Cufa, ci: the night of a great illumi- 
nated festival, I find thus described : — 

It was a scene of mirth that drew 

A smile from ev'n the Saint Bancr. 

As, through the hush'd, admiring throng, 

She went with stately steps along, 

And counted o'er, that all might sec, 

The rubies of her rosary. 

But none might see the worldly smile 

That lurk'd beneath her veil, the while : — 

Alia forbid ! for, who would wait 

Her blessing at the temple's gate, — 

What holy man would ever run 

To kiss the ground she knelt upon, 

If once, by luckless chance, he knew 

She look'd and smiled as others do. 

Her hands were join'd, and from each wrist 

By threads of pearl and golden twist, 

Hung relics of the saints of yore, 

And scraps of talismanic lore, — 

Charms for the old, the sick, the frail, 

Some made for use, and all for sale. 

On either side, the crowd withdrew, 

To let the Saint pass proudly through ; 

While turban'd heads, of every hue, 

Green, white, and crimson, bow'd around, 

And gay tiaras touch'd the ground,— 

As tulip-bells, when o'er their beds 

The musk-wind passes, bend their heads. 

Nay, some there were, among the crowd 

Of Moslem heads that round her bow'd, 

So fill'd with zeal, by many a draught ■ 

Of Shiraz wine profanely quaff'd, 

That, sinking low in reverence then, 

They never rose till morn again. 

There are yet two more of these unfinished 
sketches, one of which extends to a much 
greater length than I was aware of; and, as 
far as I can judge from a hasty renewal of my 
acquaintance with it, is not incapable of being 
yet turned to account. 

In only one of these unfinished sketches, the 
tale of The Peri's Daughter, had I yet ventured 
to invoke that most home-felt of all my inspi- 
rations, which has lent to the story of The 
Fire-worshippers its main attraction and in- 
terest. That it was my intention, in the con- 
cealed Prince of Ormuz, to shadow out some 
impersonation of this feeling, I take for granted 



42 



PREFACE. 



from the prophetic words supposed to be ad- 
dressed to him by his aged guardian : — 

Bright child of destiny ! even now 
I read the promise on that brow, 
That tyrants shall no more defile 
The glories of the Green-Sea Isle, 
But Ormuz shall again be free, 
And hail her native Lord in thee ! 

In none of the other fragments do I find any 
trace of this sort of feeling, either in the sub- 
ject or the personages of the intended story ; 
and this was the reason, doubtless, though 
hardly known, at the time, to myself, that, 
finding my subjects so slow in kindling my 
own sympathies, I began to despair of their 
ever touching the hearts of others ; and felt 
often inclined to say, 

" Oh no, I have no voice or hand 
For such a song, in such a land." 

Had this series of disheartening experiments 
been carried on much further, I must have 
thrown aside the work in despair. But, at 
last, fortunately, as it proved, the thought 
occurred to me of founding a story on the 
fierce struggle so long maintained between 
the Ghebers,* or ancient Fire-worshippers of 
Persia, and their haughty Moslem masters. 
From that moment, a new and deep interest in my 
whole task took possession of me. The cause 
of tolerance was again my inspiring theme ; 
and the spirit that had spoken in the melodies 
of Ireland soon found itself at home in the East. 

Having thus laid open the secrets of the 
workshop to account for the time expended in 
writing this work, I must also, in justice to my 
own industry, notice the pains I took in long 
and laboriously reading for it. To form a store- 
house, as it were, of illustration purely Oriental, 
and so familiarize myself with its various treas- 
ures, that as quick as Fancy, in her airy 
spiritings, required the assistance of fact, the 
memory was ready, like another Ariel, at her 
" strong bidding," to furnish materials for the 
spell-work, — such was, for a long while, the 
sole object of my studies ; and whatever time 
and trouble this preparatory process may have 
cost me, the effects resulting from it, as far as 
the humble merit of truthfulness is concerned, 
have been such as to repay me more than suffi- 
ciently for my pains.* I have not forgotten how 

* Voltaire, in his tragedy of" Les Guebres," written with 
a similar under-current of meaning, was accused of having 
transformed his Fire-worshippers into Jansenists :— " duel- 



great was my pleasure, when told by the late 
Sir James Mackintosh, that he was once asked 
by Colonel Wilks, the historian of British 
India, " whether it was true that Moore had 
never been in the East ?" " Never," answered 
Mackintosh. " Well, that shows me," replied 
Colonel Wilks, " that reading over D'Herbelot 
is as good as riding on the back of a camel." 

I need hardly subjoin to this lively speech, 
that although D'Herbelot's valuable work was, 
of course, one of my manuals, I took the whole 
range of all such Oriental reading as was acces- 
sib_e to me ; and became, for the time, indeed, 
far more conversant with all relating to that 
distant region, than I have ever been with the 
scenery, productions, or modes of life of any of 
those countries lying most within my reach. 
We know that D'Anville, though never in his 
life out of Paris, was able to correct a number 
of errors in a plan of the Troad taken by De 
Choiseul, on the spot ; and, for my own very 
different, as well as far inferior, purposes, the 
knowledge I had thus acquired of distant lo- 
calities, seen only by me in day-dreams, was 
no less ready and useful. 

An ample reward for all this painstaking has 
been found in such welcome tributes as I have 
just cited ; nor can I deny myself the gratifica- 
tion of citing a few more of the same descrip- 
tion. From another distinguished authority on 
Eastern subjects, the late Sir John Malcolm, I 
had myself the pleasure of hearing a similar 
opinion publicly expressed ; — that eminent per- 
son having remarked, in a speech spoken by 
him at a Literary Fund Dinner, that together 
with those qualities of the poet which he much 
too partially assigned to me, was combined also 
"the truth of the historian." 

Sir William Ouseley, another high authority, 
in giving his testimony to the same effect, thus 
notices an exception to the general accuracy 
for which he gives me credit : — " Dazzled by 
the beauties of this composition, f few readers 
can perceive, and none surely can regret, that 
the poet, in his magnificent catastrophe, has 
forgotten, or boldly and most happily violated, 
the precept of Zoroaster, above noticed, which 
held it impious to consume any portion of a 
human body by fire, especially by that which 

ques figuristes," he says, " pretendent que les Guebres sont 
les Jansenistes." 
t The Fire-worshippers 



PREFACE. 



43 



glowed upon their altars." Having long lost, 
I fear, most of my Eastern learning, I can 
only cite, in defence of my catastrophe, an old 
Oriental tradition, which relates that Nimrod, 
when Abraham refused, at his command, to 
worship the fire, ordered him to be thrown into 
the midst of the flames.* A precedent so an- 
cient for this sort of use of the worshipped 
element, appears, for all purposes at least of 
poetry, to be fully sufficient. 

In addition to these agreeable testimonies, 
I have also heard, and, need hardly add, with 
some pride and pleasure, that parts of this work 
have been rendered into Persian, and have 
found their way to Ispahan. To this fact, as I 
am willing to think it, allusion is made in some 
lively verses, written many years since, by my 
friend, Mr. Luttrell : — 

" I'm told, dear Moore, your lays are sung, 
(Can it be true, yon lucky man ?) 
By moonlight, in the Persian tongue, 
Along the streets of Ispahan." 

That some knowledge of the work may 
have really reached that region, appears not 
improbable from a passage in the Travels of 
Mr. Frazer, who says, that " being delayed for 
some time at a town on the shores of the Cas- 
pian, he was lucky enough to be able to amuse 
himself with a copy of Lalla Rookh, which a 
Persian had lent him." 

Of the description of Balbec, in " Paradise 
and the Peri," Mr. Carne, in his Letters from 
the East, thus speaks : " The description in 
Lalla Rookh of the plain and its ruins is exquis- 
itely faithful. The minaret is on the declivity 
near at hand, and there wanted only the muez- 
zin's cry to break the silence." 

I shall now tax my readers' patience with 
but one more of these generous vouchers. 
Whatever of vanity there may be in citing such 
-tributes, they show, at least, of what great value, 
even in poetry, is that prosaic quality, industry ; 
since, as the reader of the foregoing pages is 
now fully apprized, it was in a slow and labori- 
ous collection of small facts, that the first foun- 
dations of this fanciful Romance were laid. 

The friendly testimony I have just referred 
to, appeared, some years since, in the form in 

* Tradunt autem Hebroei hanc fabulam quod Abraham in 
ignem missus sit quia ignem adorare noluit— St. Hieron. 
in Qumst. in Genes im. 

t Lalla Roukh, Divertissement mele de Chants et de 



which I now give it, and, if I recollect right, in 
the Athenaeum : — 

" I embrace this opportunity of bearing my 
individual testimony (if it be of any value) to 
the extraordinary accuracy of Mr. Moore, in 
his topographical, antiquarian, and character- 
istic details, whether of costume, manners, or 
less-changing monuments, both in his Lalla 
Rookh, and in the Epicurean. It has been my 
fortune to read his Atlantic, Bermudean, and 
American Odes and Epistles, in the countries 
and among the people to which and to whom 
they related ; I enjoyed also the exquisite 
delight of reading his Lalla Rookh, in Persia 
itself; and I have perused the Epicurean, while 
all my recollections of Egypt and its still ex- 
isting wonders are as fresh as when I quitted 
the banks of the Nile for Arabia: — I owe it, 
therefore, as a debt of gratitude (though the 
payment is most inadequate) for the great 
pleasure I have derived from his productions, 
to bear my humble testimony to their local 
fidelity. 

"J. S. B." 

Among the incidents connected with this 
work, I must not omit to notice the splendid 
Divertissement, founded upon it, which was 
acted at the Chateau Royal of Berlin, during 
the visit of the Grand Duke Nicholas to that 
capital, in the year 1822. The different stories 
composing the work were represented in Ta- 
bleaux Vivans and songs ; and among the 
crowd of royal and noble personages engaged 
in the performances, I shall mention those only 
who represented the principal characters, and 
whom I find thus enumerated in the published 
account of the Divertissement. f 

"Fadladin.Grand-Nasir, . S Comte Haack, (JVarechal 
i de Cour.) 
Aliris, Roi de Bucharie, . . S. A. I. Le Grand Due. 
Lalla Roukh, S.A. I. La Grand Duchesse. 

Aurungzeb, le Grand Mogol, j S ' *' R ' Le Prince Guil - 
< laume, frere da Roi. 

Abdallah, Pere d'Aliris, . . \ S -^- R - Le D ™ d * Cum- 
t berland. 

La Reine, son epouse, . . $*••*•*• La Princesse 
I Louise Radzivill." 

Besides these and other leading personages, 



Danses, Berlin, 1822. The work contains a series of colored 
engravings, representing groups, processions, &c, in different 
Oriental costumes. 



44 



PREFACE. 



there were also brought into action, under the 
various denominations of Seigneurs et Dames 
de Bucharie, Dames de Cachemire, Seigneurs 
et Dames dansans a la Fete des Roses, &c, 
nearly 150 persons. 

Of the manner and style in which the Ta- 
bleaux of the different stories are described in 
the work from which I cite, the following ac- 
count of the performance of Paradise and the 
Peri will afford some specimen : — 

" La decoration representoit les portes bril- 
lantes du Paradis, entourees de nuages. Dans 
le premier tableau on voyoit la Peri, triste et 
desolee, couchee sur le seuil des portes fermees, 
et l'Ange de lumiere qui lui addresse des con- 
solations et des conseils. Le second represente 
le moment, ou la Peri, dans l'espoir que ce don 
lui ouvrira l'entree du Paradis recueille la der- 
niere goutte de sang que vient de verser le 
jeune guerrier Indien 

" La Peri et l'Ange de lumiere repondoient 
pleinement a l'image et a l'idee qu'on est tente 
de se faire de ccs deux individus, et l'impres- 
sion qu'a faite generalement la suite des ta- 
bleaux de cet episode delicat et interessant est 
loin de s'effacer de notre souvenir." 

In this grand Fete, it appears, originated the 
translation of Lalla Rookh into German verse, 
by the Baron de la Motte Fouque ; and the 
circumstances which led him to undertake the 
task are described by himself, in a Dedicatory 
Poem to the Empress of Russia, which he has 
prefixed to his translation. As soon as the 
performance, he tells us, had ended, Lalla 
Rookh (the Empress herself) exclaimed, with 
a sigh, " Is it, then, all over \ are we now at 
the close of all that has given us so much de- 
light ? and lives there no poet who will impart 
to others, and to future times, some notion of 
the happiness we have enjoyed this evening ?" 
On hearing this appeal, a Knight of Cachmere 
(who is no other than the poetical Baron him- 
self) comes forward and promises to attempt to 
present to the world " the Poem itself in the 
measure of the original :" — whereupon Lalla 
Rookh, it is added, approvingly smiled. 



PREFACE 

TO 

THE SEVENTH VOLUME. 

The station assigned to " The Fudge Family" 
in the following pages, immediately after Lalla 
Rookh, agrees but too closely with the actual 
order in which these two works were originally 
written and published. The success, far ex- 
ceeding my hopes and deserts, with which 
Lalla Rookh was immediately crowned, re- 
lieved me at once from the anxious feeling of 
responsibility under which, as my readers have 
seen, that enterprise had been commenced, and 
which continued for some time to hauni ,:ie 
amidst all the enchantments of my task. I was 
therefore in the true holyday mood, when a 
dear friend, with whose name is associated 
some of the brightest and pleasantest hours of 
my past life,* kindlv offered me a seat in his 
carriage for a short visit to Paris. This pro- 
posal I, of course, most gladly accepted ; and, 
in the autumn of the year 1817, found myself, 
for the first time, in that gay capital. 

As the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty 
was still of too recent a date for any amalgama- 
tion to have yet taken place between the new 
and ancient order of things, all the most prom- 
inent features of both regimes were just then 
brought, in their fullest relief, into juxtaposi- 
tion ; and, accordingly, the result was such as 
to suggest to an unconcerned spectator quite 
as abundant matter for ridicule as for grave 
political consideration. It would be difficult, 
indeed, to convey to those who had not them- 
selves seen the Paris of that period, any clear 
notion of the anomalous aspect, both social and 
political, which it then presented. It was as 
if, in the days succeeding the Deluge, a small 
coterie of antediluvians had been suddenly 
evoked from out of the deep to take the com- 
mand of a new and freshly-starting world. 

To me, the abundant amusement and interest 
which such a scene could not but afford, was a 
good deal heightened by my having, in my 
youthful days, been made acquainted with some 
of those personages who were now most in- 
terested in the future success of the Legitimate 

* Mr. Rogers. 



PREFACE, 



45 



cause. The Comte D'Artois, or Monsieur, I 
had met in the year 1500-3, at Donington 
Park, the seat of the Earl of Moira, under ; 
whose prineelv roof I used often and lour, in 
those days, to find a most hospitable home. A 
small party of distinguished French emigrants 
were already staying on a visit in the house ■ 
when Monsieur and his .suite arrived ; and 
among those were the present King of France 
and his two brothers, the Due de Montpensier, 
and the Comte de Beaujolais. 

Some doubt and uneasiness had, I remem- ; 
ber. been felt by the two latter brothers, as to 
sception they were likely to encounter 
the new guest ; and as, in those times, a j 
cropped and unpowdered head was regarded j 
generally as a symbol of Jacobinism, the Comte 
Beaujolais, who, like many other young men, < 
wore his hair in this fashion, thought it, on the 
present occasion, most prudent, in order to 

all risk of offence, not only to put pow- ! 
der in his hair, but also to provide himself with 
an artificial queue. This measure of precau- ! 
tion, however, led to a slight incident after din- j 
ner. which, though not very royal or dignified, '■ 
was at least creditable to the social good-hu- 
mor of the future Charles X. On the depar- 
ture of the ladies from the dining-room, we had 
hardly seated ourselves in the old-fashioned 
style, round the fire, when Monsieur, who had 
happened to place himself next to Beaujolais, 
caught a glimpse of the ascititious tail, — which, 
having been rather carelessly put on. had a 
good deal straggled out of its place. With a 
sort of scream of jocular pleasure, as if delight- 
ed at the discovery. Monsieur seized the stray 
appendage, and, bringing it round into full 
view, to the great amusement of the whole 
company, popped it into poor grinning Beau- 
jolais" mouth. 

On one of the evenings of this short visit of 
Monsieur. I remember Curran arriving unex- 
pectedly, on his way to London ; and, having 
come too late for dinner, he joined our party 
in the evening. As the foreign portion of 
the company was then quite new to him. I was 
able to be useful, by informing hirn of the 
names, rank, and other particulars of the party 
he found assembled, from Monsieur himself, 



down to the old Due de Lorge and the Baron 
de Rolle. "When I had gone through the 
whole list, '''• Ah, poor fellows !" he exclaimed, 
with a mixture of fun and pathos in his look, 
truly Irish, 4i Poor fellows, all dismounted 
cavalry !" 

On the last evening of Monsieur's stay, I 
was made to sing for him, among other songs, 
•'■ Farewell Bessy ! M one of my earliest attempts 
at musical composition. As soon as I had 
finished, he paid me the compliment of reading | 
aloud the words as written under the music ; 
and most royal havoc did he make, as to this 
day I well remtinber, of whatever little sense 
or metre they could boast 

Among my earlier poetic writings, more 
than one grateful memorial may be found of 
the happy days I passed in this hospitable 
mansion, — * 

Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights 
Ou Donington's green lawns and breezy heights. 

But neither verse nor prose could do any 
justice to the sort of impression I still retain 
of those long-vanished days. The library at 
Donington wasf extensive and valuable ; and 
through the privilege kindly granted to me of 
retiring thither for study, even when the family 
were absent, I frequently passed whole weeks 
alone in that fine library, indulging in all the 
first airv castle -building of authorship. The 
various projects, indeed, of future works that 
used then to pass in fruitless succession through 
my mind, can be compared only to the waves 
as described by the poet, — 

u And one no sooner tonch'd the shore, and died, 
Than a new follower rose." 

With that library is also connected another 
of my earlier poems, — the verses addressed to 
the Duke of Montpensier on his portrait of the 
Lady Adelaide Forbes :| for it was there that 
this truly noble lady, then in the first dawn of 
her beauty, used to sit for that picture ; while, 
in another part of the library, the Duke of 
Orleans. — engaged generally at that time with 
a volume of Clarendon, — was by such studies 
unconsciously preparing himself for the high 
and arduous destinv, which not onlv the Good 



* See p. 154 of this edition. injustice, whose Glial wish I know it is to keep all at Do- 

t In employing the past tense here, I do the present lord ' ning:on exactly as his noble father left it 

X See p. 143 of this edition. 



46 



PREFACE. 



Genius of France, but his own sagacious and 
intrepid spirit, had early marked out for him. 

I need hardly say how totally different were 
all the circumstances under which Monsieur 
himself and some of his followers were again 
seen by me in the year 1817 ; — the same act- 
ors, indeed, but with an entirely new change 
of scenery and decorations. Among the variety 
of aspects presented by this change, the ridicu- 
lous certainly predominated ; nor could a sat- 
irist who, like Philoctetes, was smitten with a 
fancy for shooting at geese,* ask any better 
supply of such game than the high places, in 
France, at that period, both lay and ecclesias- 
tical, afforded. Not being versed, however, 
sufficiently in French politics to venture to 
meddle with them, even in sport, I found a 
more ready conductor of laughter — for which 
I was then much in the mood — in those groups 
of ridiculous English who were at that time 
swarming in all directions throughout Paris, 
and of all whose various forms of cockney- 
ism and nonsense I endeavored, in the per- 
sonages of the Fudge Family, to collect the 
concentrated essence. The result, as usual, 
fell very far short of what I had myself precon- 
ceived and intended. But, making its appear- 
ance at such a crisis, the work brought with it 
that best seasoning of all such jeux-d" 1 esprit, 
the a-propos of the moment ; and, accordingly, 
in the race of successive editions, Lalla Rookh 
was, for some time, kept pace with by Miss 
Biddy Fudge. 

The series of trifles contained in this volume, 
entitled " Rhymes on the Road," were written 
partly as their title implies, and partly at a 
subsequent period from memorandums made 
on the spot. This will account for so many 
of those pieces being little better, I fear, than 
" prose fringed with rhyme." The journey 
to a part of which those Rhymes owed their 
existence, was commenced in company with 
Lord John Russell in the autumn of the year 
1819. After a week or two passed at Paris, to 
enable Lord John to refer to Barillon's Letters 
for a new edition of his Life of Lord Russell 
then preparing, we set out together for the 
Simplon. At Milan, the agreeable society of 
the late Lord Kinnaird detained us for a few 



* " Pinnigero, non armigero in corpore tela exerceantur :" 
the words put by Accius in the mouth of Philoctetes. 



days ; and then my companion took the route 
to Genoa, while I proceeded on a visit to Lord 
Byron, at Venice. 

It was during the journey, thus briefly de- 
scribed, I addressed the well-known Remon- 
strance to my noble friend, f which has of late 
been frequently coupled with my prophetic 
verses on the Duke of Wellington,;}; from the 
prescient spirit with which it so confidently 
looked forward to all that Lord John has since 
become in the eyes of the world. 

Of my visit to Lord Byron, — an event to 
me so memorable, — I have already detailed 
all the most interesting particulars in my pub- 
lished Life of the poet ; and shall here only 
cite, from that work, one passage, %s having 
some reference to a picture mentioneu in the 
following pages. " As we were conversing 
after dinner about the various collections of 
paintings I had seen that morning, on my 
saying that, fearful as I was of ever praising 
any picture, lest I should draw on myself the 
connoisseur's sneer, for my pains, I would yet, 
to him, venture to own that I had seen a pic- 
ture at Milan, which ' The Hagar !'$ he 

exclaimed, eagerly interrupting me ; and it 
was, in fact, that very picture I was about to 
mention to him as having awakened in me, by 
the truth of its expression, more real emotion 
than any I had yet seen among the chefs- 
(Pceuvre of Venice." 

In the society I chiefly lived with, while at 
Rome, I considered myself singularly fortunate ; 
though but a blind and uninitiated worshipper 
of those powers of Art of which my companions 
were all high-priests. Canova himself, Chan- 
trey, Lawrence, Jackson, Turner, Eastlake, — 
such were the men of whose presence and 
guidance I enjoyed the advantage in visiting 
all that unrivalled Rome can boast of beautiful 
and grand. That I derived from this course 
of tuition any thing more than a very humbling 
consciousness of my own ignorance and want 
of taste, in matters of art, I will not be so dis- 
honest as to pretend. But, to the stranger in 
Rome every step forms an epoch ; and, in addi- 
tion to all its own countless appeals to memory 
and imagination, the agreeable auspices under 
which I first visited all its memorable places 



t See Miscellaneous Poems. X See p. 250, of this edition. 
$ Abraham dismissing Hagar, by Guercino. 



PREFACE. 



47 



could not but render every impression I re- 
ceived more vivid and permanent. Thus, with 
my recollection of the Sepulchre of St. Peter, 
and its ever-burning lamps, for which splendid 
spot Can ova was then meditating a statue,* 
there is always connected in my mind the ex- 
clamation which I heard break from Chantrey 
after gazing, for a few moments, in silence, 
upon that glorious site, — " What a place to 
work for !" 

In one of the poems contained in this vol- 
ume,! allusion is made to an evening not easily 
forgotten, when Chantrey and myself were 
taken by Canova to the Borghese Palace, for 
the purpose of showing us, by the light of a 
taper — his favorite mode of exhibiting that 
work — his beautiful statue of the Princess 
Borghese, called the Venere Vincitrice. In 
Chantrey's eagerness to point out some grace 
or effect that peculiarly struck him, he snatched 
the light out of Canova's hand ; and to this cir- 
cumstance the following passage of the poem 
referred to was meant to allude : — 

When he, thy peer in art and fame, 
Hung o'er the marble with delight ;% 
And. while his ling'ring hand would steal 

O'er every grace the taper's rays, 
Gave thee, with all the gen'rous zeal 
Such master-spirits only feel, 

The best of fame — a rival's praise. 

One of the days that still linger most pleas- 
antly in my memory, and which, I trust, neither 
Lady Calcott nor Mr. Eastlake have quite for- 
gotten, was that of our visit together to the 
Palatine Mount, when, as we sauntered about 
that picturesque spot, enjoying the varied views 
of Rome which it commands, they made me, 
for the first time, acquainted with Guidi's 
spirited Ode en the Arcadians, in which there 
is poetry enough to make amends for all the 
nonsense of his rhyming brethren. Truly and 
grandly does he exclaim, — 

" Indomita e superba ancor e Roma 
Benche si veggia col gran busto a terra ; 
***** 
Son piene di splendor le sue mine, 
E il gran cenere suo si mostra eterno." 

With Canova, while sitting to Jackson for 
a portrait ordered by Chantrey, I had more 
than once some interesting conversation, — or, 
rather, listened while he spoke, — respecting 



* A statue, I believe, of Pius VI. 
t See Rhymes on the Road, Extr. xv. 



the political state of Europe at that period, 
and those " bricconi,'" as he styled them, the 
sovereigns of the Holy Alliance ; and, before I 
left Rome, he kindly presented to me a set of 
engravings from some of his finest statues, to- 
gether with a copy of the beautifully printed 
collection of Poems, which a Roman poet, 
named Missirini, had written in praise of his 
different " Marmi." 

When Lord John Russell and myself parted, 
at Milan, it was agreed between us, that after a 
short visit to Rome, and (if practicable within 
the allowed time) to Naples, I was to rejoin 
him at Genoa, and from thence accompany him 
to England. But the early period for which 
Parliament was summoned, that year, ow jig to 
the violent proceedings at Manchester, rendered 
it necessary for Lord John to hasten his return 
to England. I was, therefore, most fortunate, 
under such circumstances, in being permitted 
by my friends Chantrey and Jackson to join in 
their journey homeward ; through which luck} 
arrangement, the same precious privilege I 
had enjoyed, at Rome, of hearing the opinions 
of such practised judges, on all the great works 
of art I saw in their company, was continued 
afterwards to me through the various collec- 
tions we visited together, at Florence, Bologna, 
Modena, Parma, Milan, and Turin. 

To some of those pictures and statues that 
most took my fancy, during my tour, allusions 
will be found in a few of the poems contained 
in this volume. But the great pleasure I de- 
rived from these and many other such works 
arose far more from the poetical nature of their 
subjects than from any judgment I had learned 
to form of their real merit as works of art, 
— a line of lore in which, notwithstanding my 
course of schooling, I remained, I fear, unen- 
lightened to the last. For all that was lost 
upon me, however, in the halls of Art, I was 
more than consoled in the cheap picture- 
gallery of Nature ; and a glorious sunset I 
witnessed in ascending the Simplon is still 
remembered by me with a depth and freshness 
of feeling which no one work of art I saw in 
the galleries of Italy has left behind. 

I have now a few words to devote to a some- 
what kindred subject, with which a poem or 



X A slight alteration here has rendered these verses more 
true to the actual fact than they were in the original form. 



48 



PREFACE. 



two contained in the following pages are closely 
connected.* In my Preface to the first Vol- 
ume of this collection, I briefly noticed the 
taste for Private Theatrical Performances which 
prevailed during the latter half of the last cen- 
tury among the higher ranks in Ireland. This 
taste continued for nearly twenty years to sur- 
vive the epoch of the Union, and in the per- 
formances of the Private Theatre of Kilkenny 
gave forth its last, as well as, perhaps, brightest 
flashes. The life and soul of this institution 
was our manager, the late Mr. Richard Power, 
a gentleman who could boast a larger circle of 
1 attached friends, and through a life more free 
from shadow or alloy, than any individual it 
has ever been my lot to know. No livelier 
proof, indeed, could be required of the sort of 
feeling entertained towards him than was once 
shown in the reception given to the two follow- 
ing homely lines which occurred in a Prologue 
I wrote to be spoken by Mr. Corry in the char- 
acter of Vapid. 

'Tis said our worthy manager intends 

To help iny night, and he, you know, has friends.f 

These few simple words I wrote with the as- 
sured conviction that they would produce more 
eifect, from the homefelt truism they contained, 
than could be effected by the most labored 
burst of eloquence ; and the result was just 
what I had anticipated, for the house rung, for 
a considerable time, with the heartiest plaudits. 
The chief comic, or rather farcical, force of 
the company lay in my friend Mr. Corry, and 
" longo intervallo,' 1 myself; and though, as 
usual with low comedians, we were much 
looked down upon by the lofty lords of the 
buskin, many was the sly joke we used to 
indulge together at the expense of our heroic 
brethren. Some waggish critic, indeed, is said 
to have declared that of all the personages of 
our theatre he most admired the prompter, — 
" because he was least seen and best heard." 
But this joke was, of course, a mere good- 
humored slander. There were two, at least, 
of our dramatic corps, Sir Wrixon Becher and 
Mr. Rothe, whose powers, as tragic actors, few 
amateurs have ever equalled ; and Mr. Corry 
— perhaps alone of all our company — would 
have been sure of winning laurels on the public 
stage. 

* See page 512. 



As to my own share in these representations, 
the following list of my most successful char- 
acters will show how remote from the line of 
the Heroic was the small orbit through which 
I ranged ; my chief parts having been Sam, in 
" Raising the Wind," Robin Roughhead, Mungo, 
Sadi, in the " Mountaineers," Spado, and Peep- 
ing Tom. • In the part of Spado there occur 
several allusions to that gay rogue's shortness 
of stature, which never failed to be welcomed 
by my auditors with laughter and cheers ; and 
the words " Even Sanguino allows I am a 
clever little fellow" was always a signal for 
this sort of friendly explosion. One of the 
songs, indeed, written by O'Keefe for the char- 
acter of Spado, so much abounds with points 
thus personally applicable, that many supposed, 
with no great compliment either to my poetry 
or my modesty, that the song had been written, 
expressly for the occasion, by myself. The 
following is the verse to which I allude, and 
for the poetry of which I was thus made re- 
sponsible : — 

" Though born to be little's my fate, 
Yet so was the great Alexander; 
And, when I walk under a gate, 

I've no need to stoop like a gander. 
I'm no lanky, long hoddy-doddy, 

Whose paper-kite sails in the sky; 
Though wanting two feet, in my body, 
In soul, I am thirty feet high." 
• 

Some further account of the Kilkenny The- 
atre, as well as of the history of Private The- 
atricals in general, will be found in an article I 
wrote on the subject for the Edinburgh Re- 
view, vol. xlvi. No. 92, p. 368. 



PREFACE 



THE EIGHTH VOLUME. 

On my return from the interesting visit to 
Rome, of which some account has been given 
in the preceding Preface, I took up my abode 
in Paris, and, being joined there by my family, 
continued to reside in that capital, or its en- 

f See page 512. 



PREFACE. 



49 



virons, till about the close of the year 1822. 
As no life, however sunny, is without its clouds, 
I could not escape, of course, my share of such 
passing shadows ; and this long estrangement 
from our happy English home, towards which 
my family yearned even more fondly than 
myself, had been caused by difficulties of a 
pecuniary nature, and to a large amount, in 
which I had been involved by the conduct of 
the person who acted as my deputy in the small 
office I held at Bermuda. 

That I should ever have come to be chosen 
for such an employment, seems one of those 
freaks or anomalies of human destiny which 
baffle all ordinary speculation ; and went far, 
indeed, to realize Beaumarchais' notion of the 
sort of standard by which, too frequently, 
qualification for place is regulated, — " II fallut 
un calculateur ; ce fut un danseur qui l'obtint." 

Bnt however much, in this instance, I suf- 
fered from my want of schooling in matters of 
business, and more especially from my having 
neglected the ordinary precaution of requiring 
security from my deputy, I was more than 
consoled for all such embarrassment, were it 
even ten times as much, by the eager kindness 
with which friends pressed forward to help 
to release me from my difficulties. Could I 
venture to name the persons, — and they were 
many, — who thus volunteered their aid, it 
would be found they were all of them men 
whose characters enhanced such a service, and 
that, in all, the name and the act reflected 
honor upon each other. 

I shall so far lift the veil in which such deli- 
cate generosity seeks to shroud itself, as to men- 
tion briefly the manner in which one of these 
kind friends, — himself possessing but limited 
means, — proposed to contribute to the object 
of releasing me from my embarrassments. After 
adverting, in his letter, t3 my misfortunes, and 
" the noble way," as he was pleased to say, 
" in which I bore them," he adds, — " would 
it be very impertinent to say, that I have 5001. 
entirely at your disposal, to be paid when you 
like ; and as much more that I could advance, 
upon any reasonable security, payable in seven 
years ?" The writer concludes by apologizing 
anxiously and delicately for " the liberty which 
he thus takes," assuring me that " he would not 
have made the offer if he did not feel that he 
would most readily accept the same assistance 



from me." I select this one instance from among 
the many which that trying event of my life 
enables me to adduce, both on account of the 
deliberate feeling of manly regard which it 
manifests, and also from other considerations 
which it would be out of place here to mention, 
but which rendered so genuine a mark of 
friendship from such a quarter peculiarly touch-* 
ing and welcome to me. 

When suet. ,vere the men who hastened to 
my aid in this emergency, I need hardly say, it 
was from no squeamish pride, — for the pride 
would have been in receiving favors from such 
hands, — that I came to the resolution of grate- 
fully declining their offers, and endeavoring 
to work out my deliverance by my own efforts. 
With a credit still fresh in the market of liter- 
ature, and with publishers ready as ever to 
risk their thousands on my i \me, I could not 
but feel that, however gratifying was the gener- 
ous zeal of such friends, I should best show 
that I, in some degree, deserved their offers, 
by declining, under such circumstances, to ac- 
cept them. 

Meanwhile, an attachment had issued against 
me from the Court of Admiralty ; and as a 
negotiation was about to be opened with the 
American claimants, for a reduction o£ their 
large demand upon me, — supposed, at that 
time, to amount to six thousand pounds, — it 
was deemed necessary that, pending the treaty, 
I should take up my abode in France. 

To write for the means of daily subsistence, 
and even in most instances to " forestall the 
slow harvest of the brain," was for me, un- 
luckily, no novel task. But I had now, in 
addition to these home calls upon the Muse, a 
new, painful, and, in its first aspect, overwhelm- 
ing exigence to provide for; and, certainly, 
Paris, swarming throughout as it was, at that 
period, with rich, gay, and dissipated English, 
was, to a person of my social habits and multi- 
farious acquaintance, the very worst possible 
place that could have been resorted to for even 
the semblance of a quiet or studious home. 
The only tranquil, and, therefore, to me, most 
precious portions of that period were the two 
summers passed by my family and myself with 
our kind Spanish friends, the V ******* Is, 
at their beautiful place, La Butte Coaslin, on 
the road up to Bellevue. There, in a cottage 
belongdnsr to M. V ******* i and but a 



50 



PREFACE. 



few steps from his house, we contrived to 
conjure up an apparition of Sloperton ;* and I 
was able for some time to work with a feeling 
of comfort and home. I used frequently to 
pass the morning in rambling alone through 
the noble park of St. Cloud, with no apparatus 
for the work of authorship but my memo- 
randum-book and pencils, forming sentences to 
run smooth and moulding verses into shape. 
In the evenings I generally joined with Madame 
V*******lin Italian duetts, or, with far 
moie pleasure, sat as listener, while she sung to 
the Spanish guitar those sweet songs of her own 
country to which few voices could do such justice. 

One of the pleasant circumstances connected 
with our summer visits to La Butte was the 
near neighborhood of our friend Mr. Kenny, 
the lively dramatic writer, who was lodged 
picturesquely in the remains of the Palace of 
the King's Aunts, at Bellevue. I remember, 
on my first telling Kenny the particulars of my 
Bermuda mishap, his saying, after a pause of 
real feeling, " Well, — it's lucky you're a poet ; 
— a philosopher never could have borne it." 
Washington Irving also was, for a short time, 
our visiter ; and still recollects, I trust, his 
reading to me some parts of his then forth- 
coming work, Bracebridge Hall, as we sat 
together on the grass walk that leads to the 
Rocher, at La Butte. 

Among the writings, then but in embryo, to 
which I looked forward for the means of my 
enfranchisement, one of the most important, 
as well as most likely to be productive, was 
my intended Life of Sheridan. But I soon 
found that, at such a distance from all those 
living authorities from whom alone I could 
gain any interesting information respecting 
the private life of one who left behind him 
so little epistolary correspondence, it would be 
wholly impossible to proceed satisfactorily with 
this task. Accordingly I wrote to Mr. Murray 
and Mr. Wilkie, who were at that time the in- 
tended publishers of the work, to apprize them 
of this temporary obstacle to its progress. 

Being thus baffled in the very first of the 
few resources I had looked to, I next thought 
of a Romance in verse, in the form of Letters, 
or Epistles ; and with this view sketched out a 



* " A little cot, with trees arow, 
And, like its master, very low. 



Pope. 



story, on an Egyptian subject, differing not 
much from that which, some years after, formed 
the groundwork of the Epicurean. After la- 
boring, however, for some months, at this 
experiment, amidst interruption, dissipation, 
and distraction, which might well put all the 
Nine Muses to flight, I gave up the attempt 
in despair ; — tiilly convinced of the truth of 
that warning conveyed in some early verses of 
my own, addressed to the Invisible Girl : — 

Oh hint to the bard, 'tis retirement alone 
Can hallow its harp or ennoble its tone : 
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, 
His song to the world let him utter unseen, 

&c. fcc.f 

It was, indeed, to the secluded life I led during 
the years 1813 — 1816, in a lone cottage among 
the fields in Derbyshire, that I owed the in- 
spiration, whatever may have been its value, 
of some of the best and most popular portions 
of Lalla Rookh. It was amidst the snows of 
two or three Derbyshire winters that I found 
myself enabled, by that concentration of thought 
which retirement alone gives, to call up around 
me some of the sunniest of those Eastern scenes 
which have since been welcomed in India itself, 
as almost native to its clime. 

But, abortive as had now been all my efforts 
to woo the shy spirit of Poesy, amidst such 
unquiet scenes, the course of reading I found 
time to pursue, on the subject of Egypt, was 
of no small service in storing my mind with 
the various knowledge respecting that country, 
which some years later I turned to account, in 
writing the story of the Epicurean. The kind 
facilities, indeed, towards this object, which 
some of the most distinguished French scholars 
and artists afforded me, are still remembered 
by me with thankfulness. Besides my old 
acquaintance, Denon, whose drawings of Egypt, 
then of some value, I frequently consulted, I 
found Mons. Fourier and Mons. Langles no less 
prompt in placing books at my disposal. With 
Humboldt, also, who was at that time in Paris, 
I had more than once some conversation on the 
subject of Egypt, and remember his expressing 
himself in no very laudatory terms respecting 
the labors of the French savans in that country. 

I had now been foiled and frustrated in two 

t See p. 127 of this edition. 



PREFACE. 



51 



of those literary projects on which I had 
counted most sanguinely in the calculation of 
rny resources ; and, though I had found sufficient 
time to furnish my musical publisher with the 
Eighth Number of the Irish Melodies, and also 
a Number of the National Airs, these works 
alone, I knew, would yield but an insufficient 
supply, compared with the demands so closely 
and threateningly hanging over me. In this 
difficulty I called to mind a subject, — the East- 
ern allegory of the Loves of the Angels, — on 
which I had, some years before, begun a prose 
story, but in which, as a theme for poetry, I 
had now been anticipated by Lord Byron, in 
one of the most sublime of his many poetical 
miracles, " Heaven and Earth." Knowing 
how soon I should be lost in the shadow into 
which so gigantic a precursor would cast me, 
I had endeavored, by a speed of composition 
which must have astonished my habitually 
slow pen, to get the start /»f my noble friend 
in the time of publication, and thus afford 
myself the sole chance I could perhaps expect, 
under such unequal rivalry, of attracting to 
my work the attention of the public. In this 
humble speculation, however, I failed ; for both 
works, if I recollect right, made their appear- 
ance at the same time. 

In the mean while, the negotiation which had 
been entered into with the American claim- 
ants, for a reduction of the amount of their 
demands upon me, had continued to " drag its 
slow length along ;" nor was it till the month 
of September, 1822, that, by a letter from the 
Messrs. Longman, I received the welcome 
intelligence that the terms offered, as our ulti- 
matum, to the opposite party, had been at last 
accept ?d, and that I might now with safety 
return to England. I lost no time, of course, 
in availing myself of so welcome a privilege ; 
and as all that remains now to be told of this 
trying episode in my past life maybe comprised 
within a small compass, I shall trust to the 
patience of my readers for tolerating the recital. 

On arriving in England I learned, for the 
first time, — having been, till then, kept very 
much in darkness on the subject, — that, after 
a long and frequently interrupted course of 
negotiation, the amount of the claims of the 
American merchants had been reduced to the 
sum of one thousand guineas, and that towards 
the payment of this the uncle of my deputy, — 



a rich London merchant, — had been brought, 
with some difficulty, to contribute three hun- 
dred pounds. I was likewise informed, that a 
very dear and distinguished friend of mine, to 
whom, by his own desire, the state of the nego- 
tiation was, from time to time, reported, had, 
upon finding that there appeared, at last, some 
chance of an arrangement, and learning also the 
amount of the advance made by my deputy's 
relative, immediately deposited in the hands of 
a banker the remaining portion (750/.) of the 
required sum, to l e there in readiness for the 
final settlement of the del, and. 

Though still adhering to my original pur- 
pose of owing to my own exertions alone the 
means of relief from these difficulties, I yet 
felt a pleasure in allowing this thoughtful de- 
posite to be applied to the generous purpose for 
which it was destined ; and having employed 
in this manner the 750Z., I then transmitted to 
my kind friend, — I need hardly say with what 
feelings of thankfulness, — a check on my pub- 
lishers for the amount. 

Though this effort of the poet's purse was 
but, as usual, a new launch into the Future, — 
a new anticipation of yet unborn means, — the 
result showed that, at least in this instance, I 
had not counted on my bank " in nubibus" too 
sanguinely ; for, on receiving my publishers' 
account, in the month of June following, I 
found WOOL placed to my credit from the sale 
of the Loves of the Angels, and 500/. from the 
Fables of the Holy Alliance. 

I must not omit to mention, that, among the 
resources at that time placed at my disposal, 
was one small and sacred sum, which had been 
set apart by its young possessor for some such 
beneficent purpose. This fund, amounting to 
about 300Z., arose from the proceeds of the 
sale of the first edition of a biographical work, 
then recently published, which will long be 
memorable, as well from its own merits and 
subject, as from the lustre that has been since 
shed back upon it from the public career of its 
noble author. To a gift from such hands might 
well have been applied the words of Ovid, 

acceptissima semper 

Munera sunt, auctor qure pretiosa facit. 

In this volume, and its immediate successor, 
will be found collected almost all those delin- 
quencies of mine, in the way of satire, which 
have appeared, from time to time, in the pub- 



52 



PREFACE. 



lie journals, during the last twenty or thirty 
years. The comments and notices required to 
throw light on these political trifles must be 
reserved for our next volume. 



PREFACE 



THE NINTH VOLUME. 

In one of those Notices, no less friendly 
than they are able and spirited, which this new 
Edition of my Poetical Works has called forth 
from a leading political journal, I find, in 
reference to the numerous satirical pieces con- 
tained in these volumes, the following sug- 
gestion :* — " It • is now more than a quarter 
of a century since this bundle of political pas- 
quinades set the British public in a roar ; and 
though the events to which they allude may 
be well known to every reader, 

" Cujus octavum trepidavit aeias 
Claudere lustrum," 

there are many persons, now forming a part of 
the literary public, who have come into ex- 
istence since they happened, and who cannot 
be expected, even if they had the leisure and 
opportunity, to rummage the files of our old 
newspapers for a history of the perishable facts 
on which Mr. Moore has so often rested the 
flying artillery of his wit. Many of those facts 
will be considered beneath the notice of the 
grave historian ; and it is, therefore, incumbent 
on Mr. Moore— if he wishes his political squibs, 
imbued as they are with a wit and humor 
quite Aristophanic, to be relished, as they 
deserve to be relished, by our great-grand- 
children — to preface them with a rapid sum- 
mary of the events which gave them birth." 

Without pausing here to say how gratifying 
it is to me to find my long course of Anti- 
Tory warfare thus tolerantly, and even gen- 
erously spoken of, and by so distinguished an 
organ of public opinion, I shall, as briefly as I 
can, advert to the writer's friendly suggestion, 
and then mention some of those reasons which 
have induced me to adopt it. That I was dis- 
posed, at first, to annex some such commentary 

* The Tines Jan. 9, 1841. 



to this series of squibs, may have been collected 
from the concluding sentences of my last Pre- 
face ; but a little further consideration has led 
me to abandon this intention. 

To that kind of satire which deals only with 
the lighter follies of social life, with the passing 
modes, whims, and scandal of the day, such 
illustrative comments become, after a short 
time, necessary. But the true preserving salt 
of political satire is its applicability to future 
times and generations, as well as to those 
which had first called it forth ; its power of 
transmitting the scourge of riclk lie through 
succeeding periods, with a lash still fresh for 
the back of the bigot and the oppressor, under 
whatever new shape they may present them- 
selves. I can hardly flatter myself with the 
persuasion that any one of the satirical pieces 
contained in this Volume is lately to possess this 
principle of vitality ; but I feel quite certain that, 
without it, not all the notes and illustrations in 
which even the industry of Dutch commentator- 
ship could embalm them would ensure to these 
trifles a life much beyond the present hour. 

Already, to many of them, that sort of relish 
— by far the least worthy source of their suc- 
cess-— which the names of living victims lend 
to such sallies, has become, in the course of 
time, wanting. But, as far as their apposite- 
ness to the passing political events of the day 
has yet been tried — and the dates of these sa- 
tires range over a period of nearly thirty years 
— their ridicule, thanks to the undying nature 
of human absurdity, appears to have lost, as 
yet, but little of the original freshness of its 
first application. Nor is this owing to any 
peculiar felicity of aim in the satire itself, but 
to the sameness, throughout that period, of all 
its original objects ; — the unchangeable nature 
of that spirit of Monopoly by which, under all 
its various impersonations, commercial, reli- 
gious, and political, these satires had been first 
provoked. To refer but to one instance, the 
Corn Question, — assuredly, the entire apposite- 
ness, at this very moment, of such versicles as 
the following, redounds far less to the credit of 
poesy than to the disgrace of legislation, — 

How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all 
The Peers of the realm about cheap'ning the corn, 

When you know if one hasn't a very high rental, 
'Tis hardly worth while to be very high-born. 

That, being by nature so little prone to spleen 



PREFACE. 



53 



or bitterness, I should yet have frequented so 
much the thorny paths of satire, has always, to 
myself and those best acquainted with me, been 
a matter of surprise. By supposing the imagin- 
ation, however, to be, in such cases, the sole 
or chief prompter of the satire — which, in my 
own instance, I must say, it has generally been 
— an easy solution is found for the difficulty. 
The same readiness of fancy which, with but 
little help from reality, can deck out "the 
Cynthia of the minute" with all possible attrac- 
tions, will likewise be able, when in the vein, 
to shower ridicule on a political adversary, 
without allowing a single feeling of real bitter- 
ness to mix itself with the operation. Even 
that sternest of all satirists, Dante, who, not 
content with the penal fire of the pen, kept an 
Inferno ever ready to receive the victims of his 
wrath, — even Dante, on becoming acquainted 
with some of the persons whom he had thus 
doomed, not only revoked their awful sentence, 
but even honored them with warm praise ;* 
and probably, on a little further acquaintance, 
would have admitted them into his Paradise 
When thus loosely and shallowly even the sub- 
lime satire of Dante could strike its roots in 
his own heart and memory, it is easy to con- 
ceive how light and passing may be the feeling 
of hostility with which a partisan in the field of 
satire plies his laughing warfare ; and how 
often it may happen that even the pride of hit- 
ting his mark outlives but a short time the flight 
of the shaft. 

I cannot dismiss from my hands these politi- 
cal trifles, — 

" This swarm of themes that settled on my pen, 
Which I, like summer-flies, shake off again," — 

without venturing to add that I have now to 
connect with them one mournful recollection — 
one loss from among the circle of those I have 
longest looked up to with affection and admira- 
tion — which I little thought, when I began this 
series of prefatory sketches, I should have to 
mourn before their close. I need hardly add, 
that, in thus alluding to a great light of the so- 
cial and political world recently gone out, I 
mean the late Lord Holland. 

It may be recollected, perhaps, that, in men- 



* In his Convito he praises very warmly some persons 
whom he had before abused. — See Foscolo, Discorso sul 
Testo di Dante. 

t This will be seen whenever those valuable papers come 



tioning some particulars respecting an early 
squib of mine, — the Parody on the Prince 
Regent's Letter, — I spoke of a dinner at which 
I was present on the very day of the first pub- 
lication of that Parody, when it was the subject 
of much conversation at table, and none of the 
party, except our host, had any suspicion that 
I was the author of it. This host was Lord 
Holland ; and as such a name could not but 
lend value to any anecdote connected with lit- 
erature, I only forbore the pleasure of adding 
such an ornament to my page, from knowing 
that Lord Holland had long viewed with disap- 
probation and regret much of that conduct 
of the Whig party towards the Recent in 
1812-13,f of the history of which this squib, 
and the welcome reception it met with, forms 
an humble episode. 

Lord Holland himself, in addition to his 
higher intellectual accomplishments, possessed 
in no ordinary degree the talent of writing 
easy and playful vers de sociele ; and, among 
the instances I could give of the lightness of 
his hand at such trifles, there is one no less 
characteristic of his good-nature than' his wit, 
as it accompanied a copy of the octavo edition 
of Bayle,J which, on hearing me rejoice one 
day that so agreeable an author had been at 
last made portable, he kindly ordered for me 
from Paris. 

So late, indeed, as only a month or two be- 
fore his lordship's death, he was employing 
himself, with all his usual cheerful eagerness, 
in translating some verses of Metastasio ; and 
occasionally consulted both Mr. Rogers and 
myself as to different readings of some of the 
lines. In one of the letters which I received 
from him while thus occupied, I find the follow- 
ing postscript : — 

" 'Tis thus I turn th' Italian's song, 
Nor deem I read his meaning wrong. 
But with rough English to combine 
The sweetness that's in every line, 
Asks for your Muse, and not for mine. 
Sense only will not quit the score ; 
We must have that, and — little More." 

He then adds, " I send you, too, a melan- 
choly Epigram of mine, of which I have seen 
many, alas, witness the truth : — 

to be published, which Lord Holland left behind him, enn- 
taining Memoirs of his own times and of those immediately 
preceding them. 
J In sixteen volumes, published at Paris, by Desoer. 



54 



PREFACE. 



" A minister's answer is always so kind ! 
I starve, and he tells me he'll keep me in mind. 
Half his promise, God knows, would my spirits restore: 
Let him keep me— and, faith, I will ask for no more." 

The only portion of the mass of trifles con- 
tained in this volume, that first found its way 
to the public eye through any more responsible 
channel than a newspaper, was the Letters of 
the Fudge Family in England, — a work which 
was sure, from its very nature, to encounter 
the double risk of being thought dull as a mere 
sequel, and light and unsafe as touching on 
follies connected with the name of Religion. 
Into the question of the comparative dulness 
of any of my productions, it is not for me, of 
course, to enter ; but to the charge of treating 
religious subjects irreverently, I shall content 
myself with replying in the words of Pascal, — 
" II a bien de la difference entre rire de la re- 
ligion et rire de ceux qui la profanent par leurs 
opinions extravagantes." 



PREFACE 



THE TENTH VOLUME. 

The Story which occupies this volume was 
intended originally to be told in verse ; and a 
great portion of it was at first written in that 
form. This fact, as well as the character, per- 
haps, of the whole work, which a good deal 
partakes of the cast and coloring of poetry, 
have been thought sufficient to entitle it to a 
place in this general collection of my poetical 
writings. 

How little akin to romance or poesy were 
some of the circumstances under which this 
work was first projected by me, the reader may 
have seen from a preceding preface ;* and the 
following rough outline, which I have found 
among my papers, dated Paris, July 25, 1820, 
will show both my first general conception, or 
foreshadowing of the story, and likewise the 
extent to which I thought right, in afterwards 
working out this design, to reject or modify 
some of its details. 

" Began my Egyptian Poem, and wrote 

* Preface to the Eighth Volume, p. 40 of this edition. 



about thirteen or fourteen lines of it. The 
story to be told in letters from a young Epicu- 
rean philosopher, who, in the second century 
of the Christian era, goes to Egypt for the 
purpose of discovering the elixir of immortal- 
ity, which is supposed to be one of the secrets 
of the Egyptian priests. During a Festival on 
the Nile, he meets with a beautiful maiden, 
the daughter of one of the priests lately dead. 
She enters the catacombs, and disappears. He 
hovers around the spot, and at last finds the 
well and secret passages, &c, by which those 
who are initiated enter. He sees this maiden 
in one of those theatrical spectacles which 
formed a part of the subterranean Elysium of 
the Pyramids — finds opportunities of conver- 
sing with her — their intercourse in this myste- 
rious region described. They are discovered ; 
and he is thrown into those subterranean pris- 
ons, where they who violate the rules of Ini- 
tiation are confined. He is liberated from 
thence by the young maiden, and taking flight 
together, they reach some beautiful region, 
where they linger, for a time, delighted, and 
she is near becoming a victim to his arts. But 
taking alarm, she flies ; and seeks refuge with 
a Christian monk, in the Thebaid, to whom her 
mother, who was secretly a Christian, had con- 
signed her in dying. The struggles of her 
love with her religion. A persecution of the 
Christians takes place, and she is seized (chiefly 
through the unintentional means of her lover) 
and suffers martyrdom. The scene of her mar- 
tyrdom described, in a letter from the Solitary 
of the Thebaid, and the attempt made by the 
young philosopher to rescue her. He is carried 
off from thence to the cell of the Solitary. 
His letters from that retreat, after he has be- 
come a Christian, devoting his thoughts en- 
tirely to repentance and the recollection of 
the beloved saint who had gone before him. — 
If I don't make something out of all this, the 
deuce is in't." 

According to this plan, the events of the 
story were to be told in Letters, or Epistolary 
Poems, addressed by the philosopher to a 
young Athenian friend ; but, for greater va- 
riety, as well as convenience, I afterwards dis- 
tributed the task of narration among the chief 
personages of the Tale. The great difficulty, 
however, of managing, in rhyme, the minor 
details of a story, so as to be clear without 



PREFACE. 



55 



growing prosaic, and still more, the diffuse 
length to which I saw narration in verse would 
extend, deterred me from following this plan 
any further ; and I then commenced the tale 
anew in its present shape. 

Of the Poems written for my first experi- 
ment, a few specimens, the best I could select, 
were introduced into the prose story ; but the 
remainder I had thrown aside, and nearly for- 
gotten even their existence, when a circum- 
stance somewhat characteristic, perhaps, of 
that trading spirit which has now converted 
Parnassus itself into a market, again called my 
attention to them. The late Mr. Macrone, to 
whose general talents and enterpriJfe in business 
all who knew him will bear ready testimony, 
had long been anxious that I should undertake 
for him some new Poem or Story, affording 
such subjects for illustration as might call into 
play the fanciful pencil of Mr. Turner. Other 
tasks and ties, however, had rendered my com- 
pliance with this wish impracticable ; and he 
was about to give up all thoughts of attaining 
his object, when on learning from me acciden- 
tally that the Epicurean was still my own prop- 
erty, he proposed to purchase of me the use 
of the copyright for a single illustrated edition. 

The terms proffered by him being most 
liberal, I readily acceded to the proposed ar- 



rangement ; but, on further consideration, 
there arose some difficulty in the way of our 
treaty — the work itself being found insufficient 
to form a volume of such dimensions as would 
yield any hope of defraying the cost of the 
numerous illustrations then intended for it. 
Some modification, therefore, of our terms was 
thought necessary ; and then first was the 
notion suggested to me of bringing forth from 
among my papers the original sketch, or open- 
ing of the story, and adding these fragments, 
as a sort of make-weight, in the mutual adjust- 
ment of our terms. 

That I had myself regarded the first experi- 
ment as a failure, was sufficiently shown by 
my relinquishment of it. But, as the published 
work had then passed through several editions, 
and had been translated into most of the lan- 
guages of Europe, it was thought that an in- 
sight into the anxious process by which such 
success had been attained, might, as an encour- 
agement, at least, to the humble merit of 
painstaking, be deemed of some little use. 

The following are the translations of this 
Tale which have reached me': viz. two in 
French ; two in Italian, (Milan, 1836 — Venice, 
1835;) one in German, (Inspruc, 1828;) and 
one in Dutch, by M. Herman van Loghem, 
(Deventer, 1829.) 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



THOMAS MOORE. 



ODES OF ANACREON 



TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE. 



WITH NOTES. 



H!S ROYAL HX3HNESS 

THE PRINCE OJ WALES. 

Sir, 

In allowing me to dedicate this Work 
to Your Royal Highness, you hate conferred upon 
me an honor which I feel very sensibly : and I have 
only to regret, that the pages which you have 
thus distinguished are not more deserving of such 
illustrious patronage. 

Believe me, Sir, 
With every sentiment of respect, 

Your Royal Highness's 
Very grateful and devoted Servant, 

Thomas Moore. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It may be necessary to mention, that, in arrang- 
ing the Odes, the Translator has adopted the order 
of the Vatican MS. For those who wish to refer to 
the original, he has prefixed an Index, which marks 
the number of eaeh Ode in Barnes and the other 
editions. 



INDEX. 

ODE BARMS. 

1. ANAKPESUX ituv pe - - - 63. 

2. Aots jxoi 'Xvptjv 'Ojxrjpov - 48. 

3. Ays, laypacpuv apiarc - - - - 49. 

4. Tov apyvpov roptviav - - - 17. 

5. KaWtTExva p.oi ropevcov - 18. 

6. "Zre<pos irXsKuv nod' shpov - 59. 

7. Asyovciv al yvvaiKss ----- 11. 

8. Ou jxoi (xs\si ra Fvyov - 15. 

9. AQsg p.s tovs Ssovs aoi - 31. 

10. Tt aoi SeXa? Trotrjaii) - - - - 12. 

11. Epwra Ktjpivov Tts - 10. 

12. Ol (isv KaXrjv Kv6r)6tjv - - - - 13. 

13. GfXw, 5e\o) (pi\t]aat - . - - - - 14. 

14. Et ^»XXa iravra devSpoiv - 32. 

15. ~Epaap.it] irsXsia ------ 9. 

16. Ays. ^wypa^wv apiare - 28. 

17. Ypatys p.oi BaOvWov ovru> - 29. 

18. Aots fioi, Sore yvvaiKss - 21. 

19. Ilapa tt]v aKitjv, BaOvWe - 22. 

20. Al Movaai tov Epcura - 30. 

21. *H yt] usXaiva nivsi - - - - - 19. 

22. 'H TavraXpu nor tart) • - - - 20. 

23. OeXw Xtysiv Arpstoas - - - - 1. 

24. Qvais Ktpara ravpoig ----- 2. 

25. S« fisv (pi\r) ^fXi&uv ----- 33. 



58 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



_„_ BARNES. 

26. 2i> ptv \eyets ra 6»?&JJ - - - -16. 

27. E t to-x'°'5 /^£i' i 7 "™ 1 " " " " " 

28. 'O ai>J?p 6 r»7f Kv0>7p»?f - - - -45. 

29. Xa\eirov to pv ^i\r>crai - - - - 46. 

30. E(5oko»v ovap rpoxa^v - 44 

31. 'YaKivOiva us fraSSa 7 - 

32. Eti fxvpaivais repeivats - - - - 4. 

33. MccrojnjKriojj 7ro0' wpatj - - - - 3. 

34. MaKapfyntv as, tettiI - - - - 43. 

35. Epw? ttot iv fioSoun ----- 40. 

36. ' O ttXovtos tiyt xpvarov - - - - 23. 

37. Ata vDKrof eyKaOevSuv - - - - a. 

38. 'lAapot ttiwuev otvov - - - - -41. 

39. 3>tXw ytpovra Ttpxvov - - - - 47. 

40. EireiSn Pporos £tv X Q*IV - 24 

41. Tt /coXov eon /3a<5t$£tv - - - - 66. 

42. Uodeo) utv Aiovvaov - 42. 

43. Sr£0«VOVS «£»> KpOTCHpOlGl «• 

44. To ^ooov ro rwv Epwrwv - - - - 5. 

45. 'Orav rtvu> rov otvov ... - 25. 

46. Id's, 7tws iapos tyavzvTos - - - 37. 

47. Eyw yzpwv uev eiut ----- 38. 

48. 'Orav 6 Baicxos uciXBtt - - - - 26. 

49. Tov Aiog b rati Bukxos - - " - 27. 

50. 'Or' £ya> 7ria) rov otvov » 39. 

51. M»y u£ <pvyt)S opwca ----- 34. 

52. Tt u£ rovs vouous St&asKEis - - - 36. 

53. 'Or' eyo) vewv bpiXov - 54. 

54. ' O ravpos ovtos, a> 7rat - - - - 35. 

55. "Zrecpavrjtyopov ptr Hpoj - 53. 

56. * O tov tv Ttovois aTiipr} - - - - 50. 

57. A pa tis Toptvae ttovtov ... - 51. 

58. ' O SpcnrsTTjs 6 xpvooj - 65, 

59. Toy ixe\avoxpo>Ta fioTpvv - - - - 52. 

60. Ava Pap&iTov Sovqoisi - - - - 64. 

***** 

61. IloXtOl pZV T}piV T}SlJ - - - - - 56. 

62. Ay£ &T], 0£p' rip.iv, o) nat - - - - 57. 

63. Tov Epwra yap tov aSpov - - - - 58. 

64. Towovpai o-' e\a(j>r)6o\e - 60. 

65. IlwXe QptjKtT), ti hrj ps - - - - 61. 

66. Qeawv avaava, Kvnpi - 62. 

67. ii 7rai napdzviov fiXntuv - - - - 67. 

68. Eyw 5* ovt' av AftaX0£t»7S - - - - 68. 

For the order of the rest, see the Notes. 



AN ODE 

BY THE TRANSLATOR. 

EIII f>v6ivois ramjet, 
TtfFoj ttot' 6 pe\i<TTJ]S 
'iXapof ye\o}v ekeito, 
Meflvuv re Kai Avpt^wv" 
Aptyi avTov ol 8* epoiTtg 
'A7raXoi avvtxoptvsav' 

* O jSeXj; to. ttjs Kvdrjprjs 

E7TOt£t, ^X" c o'lCTOVi' 

' O <Je Xevko tt txpvpoiffi 
Kpiva ovv podoiai 7rX£^as, 
E^tAet ot£^(ijj/ y£povra* 
' H of -^fawv avaaca, 
SO$IH 7Tor' f| OXu/;7ro» 
Eaopwo' kvaicptovTa, 
Ecoptoca -ou ? £puras, 

* rTTO//££5j.*£< 05 ££7T£* 

Y.o<p£ 6' u)$ Avaxpeovra 
Tov ao(pu)TaTov atravTi^v, 
KaXfiODoiv ol cocpiaTat, 
Tt, y£pWV, T£0V /3jov p.tv 
Tots epwcri, Tip Aua«f>, 

K' OV/C £/X0t KpUTElV £^01K<5 J 

Tt (pi>,ripa ttjs KvOrjprjs, 
Tt KU7T£XXa tou Avaiov 
Aiei y' eTpvcprxrag aduv, 

OVK EjlOVS VOpOVS ^JO<OK(jjy> 

Ouk £/iov Xax^v aoi'ov ', 
' O ^£ T?7'toj pzkiaTli 
Mvtc 8vc%epaivE. (prjat, 
' Ort, ^£a, erou y' avEV ftev, 
'O GOQttiTaTos faavTWV 
Hapa rwv co^v KaXoujuas" 
$lX£0), 7rtw, Aupt^w, 
Meto rwv /aXwv yvvaiKav 
A^eXw? J/ T£p7rva Trat^w, 
' iis Xup? yap, £/tov Jjrop 
Ava-Kvt. fiovovs £pwras" 
"fl^£ fioTov ya\r}vriv 
$>i\zov p.a\iGTa TtavTm, 
Ov fofyos p.E'Xwb'os eiyn ; 

TiS (7O0WT£pOff ^l£V tffTi ; 



CORRECTIONS OF THE PRECEDING ODE, 

SUGGESTED BY AN EMINENT GREEK SCHOLAR. 



1. iropfvpiots vox trisyllabica. Anacr. Fragm. xxix. 3. 
ed. Fischer. iropQvpzri r' 'A<ppoSiTn. Anacr. Fragm. xxxvi. 
1. mpatpri ievrt M £ iroptpvpir,, ut legendum plane ex Atbenaeo. 



'Elir nopcpvpiois Tdirrjcri 
Tjji'ds ttot' ipSoirotbs 
i\apbs yfXwv £«£tro, 
psdvwv te Kai 'kvpi^wv' 



E7rt f>o8tvots Tairrjn 
TyioiVOT *o ps\iaTris 



WntopQtipois TonrriGi dixit Pseud-Anacreon, Od. viii. 2. 
Theocr. Id. xv. 125. rropQvpEoi 61 rdnriTes ava, pa\aK&Tepoi 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



59 



repl <$' avrov ap^' "Epwrej 
rpofxEpolg irooiv )(aptvov. 
ra QiXEfiv' 1 5 fiev Kvdrjpys 
iroiei kuX?/?, diarovs 
nvp6evrag, ek Ktpavvov' 
b 8e \svica KaXX«j>vXXois 
Koiva ffiiv pdioiai irXi^as, 
k<pi\ei oricpuv yipovra. 
Kara 8' ti<dv$ it; 'OXvfnrov 
Xo<plrj Simva j3a<ra, 
laopiba ^AvaKpiovra, 
EGop&aa rocs 'Epwraf, 
VTrofiEiSiwad (pjjaC 
Ydcp', — iirtl JSporuiv <re tovto 
KaXeovai (puXa navra, 
KaXtovaiv o\ co&iaTax, — 
rt, yepwv, ndrrjv oSeveis 
($t6rov rpifiov teov uev 
fieri r<3v KaXaSv 'Epwrwv, 
jierd rov KaXov Avaiov 
ffxf 8' u)8s Xu£ dri^cis ', 
ri /piXrjpa rfjf Kvdripris, 
ri Kr'nrsXXa rov Avaiov, 
eo-ad rpv<p(ov aeiSets, 
tfid Sic-fii' oh SiSdo-KWV, 
ifibv ov Xax&v awrov ; 
b If Trjiog p.tXu>8b;, 
Y.v irapiK \6ov ye pf) ftoi 
XaXfTtaive, (pf/a^, dvevOe 
bri asv co<pos KaXovfiai 
Tapd t&v o~o(p<Jiv arrdvruiv. 
(piXlu), via, Xvpt^bo, 
fterd ruiv KaXuv yvvaiK&v, 
a<peXuis 8e TEO-vd Trai^o)' 
KiQdprj yap, ws KEap fiev, 
dva-VEi fidvovs > Epwraj. 
0i6rov 8e rijv yaXfivrjv 
(piXiu>v fidXiara ~dvT<av i 
crofd; oi fxeXycids eipa ; 



15 



19 



25 



30 



AfMpi avrov o\ <3' Epuores 
'AxaXoi o~u]/ex°P^ vaa v 

E^ojet, *pvx]r]s oiarovs 



' H 8s Ssauv avaasa 



'YirofiEiSiao-aas tit:t 
Tvv aodxararov dvavroiv 



ToTff Epcoo-t, ra» Avatcp 
K' ovk Efioi Kpareiv eoWaj 



Aiei y erpvcpTjrrag q8u>v 
Ovk Efiovs vofiovs 8i8aCKO>v 
Ovk efiov Xa\uv aurov 

Mrjre 8vcx^9 alv£ i , 7 (rt 

'On, Sea, cov y" avev fiev 
'O o-odwrards axavroiv 



36 



41 



'S.S Xvprj yap, Ejiov r\rop 
' &8e fiiorov yaXrjvrjv 
Ov ao<pos neXySos eifit 



5. Tmesis pro ducpexopEvov. Theocr. Id. vii. 142. kutuv- 
to lovBai -Epl niSaxas dfji<pi fiiXiao-ai, h. e. d/KpETTUTuvTO. 

6. Pseud- Anacr. Od. lii. 12. rpo/iEpoTi noalv x°P £ vei. 

7. 10. b filv, hie — b 8e, Me. Bion. Id. I. 82. %w fxiv di'orcjf, 
| Si 8' E-l to\ov i0atv\ k. t. X. itidem de Amoribus. 

8.9. ETTOiEi — ek Ktpavvov. Pseud-Anacr.Od.xxvni.18.ro 
8l fSXififia vvv dXr)du>i \ d~d tov xvpos Troirfo-ov. 

10, 11. KaXXi<pi<\Xots — p68oiffi. Pseud-Anacr. Od. v. 3. to 
poiov to KaXXi<pvXXov. 

13. Tmesis pro /cara^ao-a. Pseud-Anacr. Od. m. 15. dva 
J' EvOv Xv~x vnv « l /" z ?i n - e ' dva\pas. 

18. Supple ovojia, quo tovto referatnr. Eurip. Phcen. 12. 
tovto yap xaTiip | idero. h. e. tovto ovofia. [Spordv fyvXa 
-dvra adumbratum ex Pseud-Anacr. Od. in. 4. n£p6iruv 8i 
(pvXa irdvTa. 

21. Pseud-Anacr. Od. xxiv. 2. f3i6rov rpifiov bSEvetv. 

25. iEsch. Eumen. 538. p.rjSe viv, \ K£p8os i8div, dflecd no8\ 
Xa£ dri- \ ays. 

32. napiK voov ye pf\ <ioi xiXiiraive, ne -prater rationem in 
me seevi. II. Y. 133. "Hpr], pf} xaXsiratve iraptK v6ov. Similem 
positionem particularum uf\ [xoi exhibit Pseud-Anacr. Od. 
xxviii. 13. 

1 He is quoted by Athenaeus ev rw nEpi rov AvaKpeovros. 

* The History of Anacreon, by Gacon (le Poete sans fard, 
as he styles himself,) is professedly a romance ; nor does 



ti Gotp&repov yivoiT* av j 

ifxidev cocpuTEpos ri$ ', 45 Tis co^urepos /lev eari 



REMARKS ON ANACREON. 

There is but little known with certainty of the 
life of Anacreon. Chameeleon Heracleotes, 1 who 
wrote upon the subject, has been lost in the general 
wreck of ancient literature. The editors of the 
poet have collected the few trifling anecdotes which 
are scattered through the extant authors of anti- 
quity, and, supplying the deficiency of materials by 
fictions of their own imagination, have arranged, 
what they call, a life of Anacreon. These specious 
fabrications are intended to indulge that interest 
which we naturally feel in the biography of 
illustrious men ; but it is rather a dangerous kind of 
illusion, as it confounds the limits of history and 
romance, 2 and is too often supported by unfaithful 
citation. 3 

Our poet was born in the city of Teos, 4 in the 
delicious region of Ionia, and the lime of his birth 
appears to have been in the sixth century before 
Christ. 5 He flourished at that remarkable period, 
when, under the polished tyrants Hipparchus and 
Polycrates, Athens and Samos were become the 
rival asylums of genius. There is nothing certain 
known about his family, and those who pretend to 
discover in Plato that he was a descendant of the 
monarch Codrus, show much more of zeal than of 
either accuracy or judgment. 6 



Mademoiselle Scuderi, from whom he borrowed the idea, 
pretend to historical veracity in her account of Anacreon 
and Sappho. These, then, are allowable. But how can 
Barnes be forgiven, who, with all the confidence of a bio- 
grapher, traces every wandering of the poet, and settles him 
at last, in his old age, at a country villa near Teos ? 

3 The learned Bayle has detected some infidelities of quo- 
tation in Le Fevre. (Dictionnaire Historique, &c.) Madame 
Dacier is not more accurate than her father: they have 
almost made Anacreon prime minister to the monarch of 
Samos. 

4 The Asiatics were as remarkable for genius as for luxury. 
" Ingenia Asiatica inclyta per gentes fecere Poeta?, Anacieon, 
inde Mimnermus et Antimachus," &c. — Solinus. 

s I have not attempted to define the particular Olympiad, 
but have adopted the idea of Bayle, who says, "Je n'ai 
point marque d'Olympiade ; car pour un homme qui a vecu 
85 ans, il me semble que Ton ne doit point s'enfermer dans 
des bornes si etroites." 

6 This mistake is founded on a false interpretation of a 
very obvious passage in Plato's Dialogue on Temperance ; it 
originated with Madame Dacier, and has been received im- 
plicitly by many. Gail, a late editor of Anacreon, seems to 
claim to himself the merit of detecting this error ; but Bayle 
had observed it before him. 



60 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The disposition and talents of Anacreon recom- 
mended him to the monarch of Samos, and he was 
formed to be the friend of such a prince as Poly- 
crates. Susceptible only to the pleasures, he felt 
not the corruptions of the court ; and, while Pythag- 
oras fled from the tyrant, Anacreon was celebrating 
lib praises on the lyre. We are told too by Maxi- 
mus Tyrius, that, by the influence of his amatory 
songs, he softened the mind of Polycrates into a' 
spirit of benevolence towards his subjects. 1 

The amours of the poet, and the rivalship of 
the tyrant, 2 I shall pass over in silence ; and there 
are few, I presume, who will regret the omission 
of most of those anecdotes, which the industry of 
some editors has not only promulged, but dis- 
cussed. Whatever is repugnant to modesty and 
virtue is considered in ethical science, by a suppo- 
sition very favorable to humanity, as impossible ; 
and this amiable persuasion should be much more 
strongly entertained, where the transgression wars 
with nature as well as virtue. But why are we 
not allowed to indulge in the presumption ? Why 
are we officiously reminded that there have been 
really such instances of depravity? 

Hipparchus, who now maintained at Athens the 
power which his father Pisistratus had usurped, 
was one of those princes who may be said to have 
polished the fetters of their subjects. He was the 
first, according to Plato, who edited the poems of 
Homer, and commanded them to be sung by the 
rhapsodists at the celebration of the Panathensea. 
From his court, which was a sort of galaxy of 
genius, Anacreon could not long be absent. Hip- 
parchus sent a barge for him ; the poet readily 
embraced the invitation, and the Muses and the 
Loves were wafted with him to Athens. 3 

The manner of Anacreon's death was singular. 

i Avaxpewv Hapnois Ho^vKpamv ftnepwae. Maxim. Tyr. §21. 
Maximus Tyrius mentions this among other instances of the 
influence of poetry. If Gail had read Maximus Tyrius, how 
could he ridicule this idea in Moutonnet, as unauthenticated ? 

2 In the romance of Clelia, the anecdote to which I allude 
is told of a young girl, with whom Anacreon fell in love while 
she personated the god Apollo in a mask. But here Made- 
moiselle Scuderi consulted nature more than truth. 

3 There is a very interesting French poem founded upon 
this anecdote, imputed to Desyvetaux, and called " Anacreon 
Citoyen." 

* Fabricius appears not to trust very implicitly in this 
story. ,! Uvae passae acino tandem suffocatus, si credimns 
Suidae in oivonorris; alii enim hoc mortis genere periise tra- 
dunt Sophoclem." — Fabricii Bibliothec. Grac. lib. ii.cap. 15. 
It must be confessed that Lucian, who tells us that Sophocles 
was choked by a grape-stone v in the very same treatise men- 
tions the longevity of Anacreon, and yet is silent on the 
manner of his death. Could he have been ignorant of such 
a remarkable coincidence, or, knowing, could he have neg- 
lected to remark it 1 See Regnier's introduction to his 
Anacreon. 



We are told that in the eighty-fifth year of his age 
he was choked by a grape-stone ;* and, however 
we may smile at their enthusiastic partiality, who 
see in this easy and characteristic death a peculiar 
indulgence of Heaven, we cannot help admiring 
that his fate should have been so emblematic of 
his disposition. Cselius Calcagninus alludes to this 
catastrophe in the following epitaph on our poet : B — 

Those lips, then, hallow'd sage, which pour'd along 
A music sweet as any cygnet's song, 

The grape hath closed forever ! 
Here let the ivy kiss the poet's tomb, 
Here let the rose he loved with laurels t7oom, 

In bands that ne'er shall sever 
But far be thou, oh ! far, unholy vine, 
By whom the favorite minstrel of the Nine 

Lost his sweet vital breath ; 
Thy God himself now blushes to confess, 
Once hallow'd vine ! he feels he loves thee less 

Since poor Anacreon's death. 

It has been supposed by some writers that A nac- 
reon and Sappho were contemporaries ; and the 
very thought of an intercourse between persons so 
congenial, both in warmth of passion and delicacy 
of genius, gives such play to the imagination, that 
the mind loves to indulge in it. But the vision 
dissolves before historical truth ; and Chamaeleon 
and Hermesianax, who are the source of the sup- 
position, are considered as having merely indulged 
in a poetical anachronism. 6 

• To infer the moral dispositions of a poet from 
the tone of sentiment which pervades his works, 
is sometimes a very fallacious analogy j but the 
soul of Anacreon speaks so unequivocally through 
his odes, that we may safely consult them as the 
faithful mirrors of his heart. 7 We find him there 
the elegant voluptuary, diffusing the seductive 
charm of sentiment over passions and propensities 

6 At te, sancte senex, acinus sub Tartara misit ; 
Cygneae clausit qui tibi vocis iter. 
Vos, hederae, tumulum, tumulum vos cingite, lauri, 

Hoc rosa perpetuo vernet odora loco ; 
At vitis procul hinc, procul hinc odiosa facessat, 

Quae causam dira? protulit, uva, necis, 
Creihtur ipse minus vitem jam Bacchus amare, 
In vatem tantum quae fuit ausa nefas. 
The author of this epitaph, Caelius Calcagninus, has 
translated or imitated the epigrams as rr\v Mvpuvos Sow, 
which are given under the name of Anacreon. 

6 Barnes is convinced (but very gratuitously) of the syn- 
chronism of Anacreon and Sappho. In citing his authorities, 
he has strangely neglected the line quoted by Fulvius Ursi- 
nus, as from Anacreon, among the testimonies to Sappho:— 

Et/u Xafluv eiaapas San-^w irapBevov ativipwvov. 
Fabricius thinks that they might have been contemporary, 
but considers their amour as a tale of imagination. Vossius 
rejects the idea entirely ; as do also Olaus Borrichius and 
others. 

7 An Italian poet, in some verses on Belleau's translation 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



61 



et which rigid morality must frown. His heart, 
devoted to indolence, seems to have thought that 
there is wealth enough in happiness, but seldom 
happiness in mere wealth. The cheerfulness, in- 
deed, with which he brightens his old age is inter- 
esting and endearing : like his own rose, he is fra- 
grant even in decay. But the most peculiar feature 
of his mind is that love of simplicity which he 
attributes to himself so feelingly, and which breathes 
characteristically throughout all that he has sung. 
In truth, if we omit those few vices in our estimate 
which religion, at that time, not only connived at, 
but consecrated, we shall be inclined to say that the 
disposition of our poet was amiable ; that his morality 
was relaxed, but not abandoned ; and that Virtue, 
with her zone loosened, may be an apt emblem of 
the character cf Anacreon. 1 

Of his person and physiognomy time has pre- 
served such uncertain memorials, that it were bet- 
ter, perhaps, to leave the pencil to fancy ; and few 
can read the Odes of Anacreon without imagining 

of Anacreon, pretends to imagine that our bard did not feel 
as he wrote :— 

Lyffium, Venerem, Cupidinemque 
Senex lusit Anacreon poeta. 
Sed quo tempore nee capaciores 
Rogabat cyathos, nee inquietis 
Urebatur amoribus, sed ipsis 
Tan turn versibus et jocis amabat, 
Nullum prae se habiturn gerens amantis. 

To Love and Bacchus ever young 

While sage Anacreon touch'd the lyre, 
He neither felt the loves he sung, 

Nor fill'd his bowl to Bacchus higher. 
Those flowery days had faded long, 

When youth could act the lover's part ; 
And passion trembled in his song, 

But never, never, reach'd his heart. 

1 Anacreon's character has been variously colored. Barnes 
lingers on it with enthusiastic- admiration ; but he is always 
extravagant, if not sometimes also a little profane. Baillet 
runs too much into the opposite extreme, exaggerating also 
the testimonies which he has consulted ; and we cannot 
surely agree with him when he cites such a compiler as 
Athenaeus, as "un des plus savans critiques de l'antiquite." 
—Jugetnent des Scavans, M. CV. 

Barnes could hardly have read the passage to which he 
refers, when he accuses Le Fevre of having censured our 
poet's character in a note on Longinus ; the note in question 
being manifest irony, in allusion to some censure passed 
upon Le Fevre for his Anacreon. It is clear, indeed, that 
praise rather than censure is intimated. See Johannes Vul- 
pius, (de Utilitate Poetices,) who vindicates our poet's repu- 
tation. 

2 It is taken from the Bibliotheca of Fulvius Ursinus. 
Bellori has copied the same head into his Imagines. Johannes 
Faber, in his description of the coin of Ursinus, mentions 
another head on a very beautiful cornelian, which he sup- 
poses was worn in a ring by some admirer of the poet. In 
the Iconographia of Canini there is a youthful head of Anac- 
reon from a Grecian medal, with the letters TEIOS around 
it ; on the reverse there is a Neptune, holding a spear in his 



to themselves the form of the animated old bard, 
crowned with roses, and singing cheerfully to his 
lyre. But the head of Anacreon, prefixed to this 
work, 2 has been considered so authentic, that we 
scarcely could be justified in the omission of it ; and 
some have even thought that it is by no means 
deficient in that benevolent suavity of expression 
which should characterize the countenance of such 
a poet. 

After the very enthusiastic eulogiums bestowed 
both by ancients and moderns upon the poems of 
Anacreon, 3 we need not be dirnc.ent in expressing 
our raptures at their beauty, nor hesitate to pro- 
nounce them the most polished remains of anti- 
quity. 4 They are, indeed, all beauty, all enchant- 
ment. 5 He steals us so insensibly t'«bng with him, 
that we sympathize even in his excesses In his 
amatory odes there is a delicacy of compliment not 
to be found in any other ancient poet. Love a t 
that period was rather an unrefined emotion : and 
the intercourse of the sexes was animated more by 

right hand, and a dolphin, with the word TIANilN inscribed, 
in the left ; " volendoci denotare (says Canini) che quelle 
cittadini laconiassero in honore del suo compatriota poeta." 
There is also among the coins of De Wilde one, which 
though it bears no efligy, was probably struck to the memory 
of Anacreon. It has the word THIilN, encircled with an ivy 
crown. " At quidni respicit haec corona Anacreontem, nobi- 
lem lyricum V—De Wilde. 

3 Besides those which are extant, he wrote hymns, elegies, 
epigrams, &c Some of the epigrams still exist. Horace, in 
addition to the mention of him, (lib. iv. od. 9,) alludes also 
to a poem of his upon the rivalry of Circe and Penelope in 
the affections of Ulysses, lib. i. od. 17 ; and the scholiast 
upon Nicander cites a fragment from a poem upon Sleep by 
Anacreon, and attributes to him likewise a medicinal trea- 
tise. Fulgentius mentions a work of his upon the war be- 
tween Jupiter and the Titans, and the origin of the conse- 
cration of the eagle. 

4 See Horace, Maximus Tyrius, &c. "His style (says 
Scaliger) is sweeter than the juice of the Indian reed." — 
P'Oet. lib. i. cap. 44. " From the softness of his verses (says 
Olaus Borrichius) the ancients bestowed on him the epithets 
sweet, delicate, graceful, &c." — Dissertatiortes Jlcademicce, 
dePoetis, diss. 2. Scaliger again praises him thus in a pun ; 
speaking of the fie\os, or ode, " Anacreon autem non solum 
dedit hax ixe\n sed etiam in ipsis mella." See the passage 
of Rapin, quoted by all the editors. I cannot omit citing 
also the following very spirited apostrophe of the author of 
the Commentary prefixed to the Parma edition : " O vos 
sublimes aftimas, vos Apollinis alumni, qui post unum Alc- 
manem in tola). Hellade lyricam poesim exsuscitastis, coluis- 
tis, amplificastis, quaeso vos an ullus unquam fuerit vates 
qui Teio cantori vel naturae candore vel metri suavitate 
palmam praeripuerit." See likewise Vincenzo Gravini della 
Rag. Poetic, libro primo, p. 97. Among the Ritratti of Ma- 
rino, there is one of Anacreon beginning "Cingetemi la 
fronte," &c. &c. 

5 " We may perceive," says Vossius, " that the iteration of 
his words conduces very much to the sweetness of his style." 
Henry Stephen remarks the same beauty in a note on the 
forty-fourth ode, This figure of iteration is his most appro- 
priate grace: — but the modern writers of Juvenilia andBasia 
have adopted it to an excess which destroys Jhe effect. 



62 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



passion than by sentiment. They knew not those 
little tendernesses which form the spiritual part of 
affection ; their expression of feeling was therefore 
rude and unvaried, and the poetry of love deprived 
it of its most captivating graces. Anacreon, how- 
ever, attained some ideas of this purer gallantry ; 
and the same delicacy of mind which led him to this 
refinement, prevented him also from yielding to the 
freedom of language which has sullied the pages 
of all the other poets. His descriptions are warm ; 
but the warmth is in the ideas, not the words. He 
is sportive without being wanton, and ardent with- 
out being licentious. His poetic invention is always 
most brilliantly displayed in those allegorical fictions 
which so many have endeavored to imitate, though 
all have confessed them to be inimitable. Sim- 
plicity is the distinguishing feature of these odes, 
and they interest by their innocence, as much as 
they fascinate by their beauty. They may be said, 
indeed, to be the very infants of the Muses, and to 
lisp in numbers. 

I shall not be accused of enthusiastic partiality 
by those who have read and felt the original ; but, 
to others, I am conscious, this should not be the 
language of a translator, whose faint reflection 
of such beauties can but ill justify his admiration 
of them. 

In the age of Anacreon music and poetry were 
inseparable. These kindred talents were for a long 
time associated, and the poet always sung his own 
compositions to the lyre. It is probable that they 
were not set to any regular air, but rather a kind 
of musical recitation, which was varied according 
to the fancy and feelings of the moment. 1 The 
poems of Anacreon were sung at banquets as late 
as the time of Aulus Gellius, who tells us that he 
heard one of the odes performed at a birthday enter- 
tainment. 2 

. The singular beauty of our poet's style, and the 
apparent facility, perhaps, of his metre, have at- 
tracted, as I have already remarked, a crowd of 



1 In the Paris edition there are four of the original odes 
set to music, by Le Sueur, Gossec, Mehul, and Cherubini. 
" On chante du Latin, et de l'ltalien," says Gail, " quelque- 
fois meme sans les entendre ; qui empeche que nous ne 
chantions des odes Grecques ?" The chromatic learning of 
these composers is very unlike what we are told of the 
simple melody of the ancients ; and they have all, as it ap- 
pears to me, mistaken the accentuation of the words. 

2 The Parma commentator is rather careless in referring 
to this passage of Aulus Gellius, (lib. xix. cap. 9.) The ode 
was not sung by the rhetorician Julianus, as he says, but by 
the minstrels of both sexes, who were introduced at the 
entertainment. 

3 See what Colomesius, in his " Literary Treasures," has 
quoted from Alcyonius de Exilio ; it may be found in Bax- 
ter. Colomesius, after citing the passage, adds, "Haec auro 
contra cara non potui non apponere." 



imitators. Some of these have succeeded with 
wonderful felicity, as may be discerned in the few 
odes which are attributed to writers of a later 
period. But none of his emulators have been half 
so dangerous to his fame as those Greek ecclesi- 
astics of the early ages, who, being conscious of 
their own inferiority to their great prototypes, deter- 
mined on removing all possibility of comparison, 
and, under a semblance of moral zeal, deprived the 
world of some of the most exquisite treasures of 
ancient times. 3 The works of Sappho and Alcseus 
were among those flowers «jf Grecian literature 
which thus fell beneath the :ade hand of ecclesi- 
astical presumption. It is true they pretendtd that 
this sacrifice of genius was hallowed by the inter- 
ests of religion ; but I have already assigned the 
most probable motive ; 4 and if Gregorius Nazian- 
zenus had not written Anacreontics, we might 
now perhaps have the works of the Teian unmu- 
tilated, and be empowered to say exultingly with 
Horace, 

Nee si quid olim lusit Anacreon 
Delevit setas. 

The zeal by which these bishops professed to be 
actuated, gave birth more innocently, indeed, to an 
absurd species of parody, as repugnant to piety as 
it is to taste, where the poet of voluptuousness was 
made a preacher of the gospel, and his muse, like 
the Venus in armor at Lacedaemon, was arrayed in 
all the severities of priestly instruction. Such was 
the " Anacreon Recantatus," by Carolus de Aquino, 
a Jesuit, published 1701, which consisted of a series 
of palinodes to the several songs of our poet. Such, 
too, was the Christian Anacreon of Patriganus, 
another Jesuit, 5 who preposterously transferred to a 
most sacred subject all that the Grecian poet had 
dedicated to festivity and love. 

His metre has frequently been adopted by the 
modem Latin poets ; and Scaliger, Taubman, 
Barthius, 6 and others, have shown that it is by no 



4 We may perceive by the beginning of the first hymn of 
Bishop Synesius, that he made Anacreon and Sappho his 
models of composition. 

Aye \xoi, Xiyeia (j>opixiy%, 
Mcra Trj'Cav aotSav, 
Mcra Aeoftiav rt fxoXirav. 

Margunius and Damascenus were likewise authors of pious 
Anacreontics. 

6 This, perhaps, is the "Jesuita quidam Graeculus" al- 
luded to by Barnes, who has himself composed an AvaKpeoiv 
Xpio-Tiai>os, as absurd as the rest, but somewhat more skil- 
fully executed. 

6 I have seen somewhere an account of the MSS. of Bar- 
thius, written just after his death, which mentions many 
more Anacreontics of his than I believe have ever been 
published. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



63 



means uncongenial with that language. 1 The 
Anacreontics of Scaliger, however, scarcely deserve 
the name ; as they glitter all over with conceits, and, 
though often elegant, are always labored. The 
beautiful fictions of Angerianus 2 preserve more hap- 
pily than any others the delicate turn of those alle- 
gorical fables, which, passing so frequently through 
the mediums of version and imitation, have gener- 
ally lost their finest rays in the transmission. Many of 
the Italian poets have indulged their fancies upon the 
subjects, and in the manner of Anacreon. Bernardo 
Tasso first introduced the metre, which was after- 
wards polished and enriched by Chabriera and others. 3 

To judge by the references of Degen, the Ger- 
man language abounds in Anacreontic imitations; 
and Hagedorn 4 is one among many who have as- 
sumed him as a model. La Farre, Chaulieu, and 
the other light poets of France, have also professed 
to cultivate the muse of Teos ; but they have at- 
tained all her negligence with little of the simple 
grace that embellishes it. In the delicate bard of 
Schiras 5 we find the kindred spirit of Anacreon: 
some of his gazelles, or songs, possess all the char- 
acter of our poet. 

We come now to a retrospect of the editions of 
Anacreon. To Henry Stephen we are indebted for 
having first recovered his remains from the obscurity 
in which, so singularly, they had for many ages re- 
posed. He found the seventh ode, as we are told, 
on the cover of an old book, and communicated it 
to Victorius, who mentions the circumstance in his 
" Various Readings." Stephen was then very young ; 
and this discovery was considered by some critics of 
that day as a literary imposition. 6 In 1554, how- 
ever, he gave Anacreon to the world, 7 accompanied 



i Thus too Albertus, a Danish poet :— 

Fidii t_i sinister 
Gaudebo semper esse, 
Gaudebo semper illi 
Li tare thure mulso ; 
Gaudebo semper ilium 
Laudare pumilillis 
Anacreonticillis. 
See the Danish Poets collected by Rotsgaard. 

These pretty littlenesses defy translation. A beautiful Anac- 
reontic by Hugo Grotius, may be found Lib. i. Farraginis. 

2 To Angerianus Prior is indebted for some of his happiesl 
mythological subjects. 

3 See Crescimbeni, Historia della Volg. Poes. 

* "L'aimable Hagedorn vaut quelquefois Anacreon." — 
Dorat, Idee de la Po'esie Mlemande. 

5 See Toderini on the learning of the Turks, as translated 
by de Cournard. Prince Cantemir has made the Russians 
acquainted with Anacreon. See his Life, prefixed to a trans- 
lation of his Satires, by the Abbe de Guasco. 

6 Robortellus, in his work " De Ratione corrigendi," pro- 
nounces these verses to be the triflings of some insipid 
Graecist. 



with annotations and a Latin version of the greater 
part of the odes. The learned still hesitated to re- 
ceive them as the relics of the Teian bard, and sus- 
pected them to be the fabrication of some monks 
of the sixteenth century. This was an idea from 
which the classic muse recoiled ; and the Vatican 
manuscript, consulted by Scaliger and Salmasius, 
confirmed the antiquity of most of the poems. A 
very inaccurate copy of this MS. was taken by 
Isaac Vossius, and this is the authority which Barnes 
has followed in his collation. Accordingly he mis- 
represents almost as often as he quotes; and ue 
subsequent editors, relying upon his authority, have 
spoken of the manuscript with not less confidence 
than ignorance. The literary world, however, b.as 
at length been gratified with this curious memorial v.i 
the poet, by the mdustry of the Abbe Spaletti, who 
published at Rome, in 1781, a fac-simile of those 
pages of the Vatican manuscript which contained 
the odes of Anacreon. 8 

A catalogue has been given by Gail of all the 
different editions and translations of Anacreon. 
Finding their number to be much greater than I 
could possibly have had an opportunity of consult- 
ing, I shall here content myself with enumerating 
only those editions and versions which it has been 
in my power to collect ; and which, though very- 
few, are, I believe, the most important. 

The edition by Henry Stephen, 1554, at Paris — 
the Latin version is attributed by Colomesius to John 
Dorat. 9 

The old French translations, by Ronsard and 
Belleau — the former published in 1555, the latter in 
1556. It appears from a note of Muretus upon one 
of the sonnets of Ronsard, that Henry Stephen com- 

* Ronsard commemorates this event :-— 

Je vay boire a Henrie Etienne 

Qui des enfers nous a rendu, 

Du vieil Anacreon perdu, 

La douce lyre Te'ienne. Ode xv book 5. 

I fill the bowl to Stephen's name, 
Who rescued from the gloom of night 

The Teian bard of festive fame, 
And brought his living lyre to light. 

8 This manuscript, which Spaletti thinks as old as the 
tenth century, was brought from the Palatine into the Vati- 
can library; it is a kind of anthology of Greek epigrams, and 
in the 676th page of it are found the 'Ha/^/?ta Xt>/*7roo-ja/ca 
of Anacreon. 

9 "Le meme (M. Vossius) m'a dit qu'il avoit possede un 
Anacreon, ou Scaliger avoit marque de sa main, qu'Henri 
Etienne n'etoit pas l'auteur de la version Latine des odes de 
ce poete, mais Jean Dorat." — Paulus Colomesius, Particu- 
larites. 

Colomesius, however, seems to have relied too implicitly 
on Vossius :— almost all these Particularites begin with 
" K. Vossius m'a dit." 



64 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



municated to this poet his manuscript of Anacreon, 
before he promulgated it to the world. 1 

The edition by Le Fevre, 1660. 

The edition by Madame Dacieiy 1681, with a 
prose translation. 2 

The edition by Longepierre, 1684, with a transla- 
tion in verse. 

The edition by Baxter ; London, 1695. 

A French translation by la Fosse, 1704. 

" L'Histoire des Odes d' Anacreon," by Ga9on ; 
Rotterdam, 1712. 

A translation in English verse, by several hands, 
1713, in which the odes by Cowley are inserted. 

The edition by Barnes; London, 1721. 

The edition by Dr. Trapp, 1733, with a Latin 
version in elegiac metre. 

A translation in English verse, by John Addison, 
1735. 

A collection of Italian translations of Anacreon, 
published at Venice, 1736, consisting of those by 
Corsini, Regnier, 3 Salvini, Marchetti, and one by 
several anonymous authors. 4 

A translation in English verse, by Fawkes and 
Doctor Broome, 1760.* 

Another, anonymous, 1768. 

The edition by Spaletti, at Rome, 1781 ; with the 
fac-simile of the Vatican MS. 

The edition by Degen, 1786, who published 
also a German translation of Anacreon, esteemed 
the best. 

A translation in English verse, by Urquhart, 
1787. 

i "La fiction de ce sonnet, corame l'autenr meme m'adit, 
est prise d'une ode d' Anacreon, encore non imprimee, qu'il 
a depuis traduit, Hv p.tv a%i\t] %£At<W." 

2 The author of Nouvelles de la Repub. des Lett, bestows 
on this translation much more praise than its merits appear 
to me to justify. 

3 The notes of Regnier are not inserted in this edition ; 
but they must be interesting, as they were for the most part 
communicated by the ingenious Menage, who, we may per- 
ceive, from a passage in the Menagiana, bestowed some re- 
search on the subject. " C'est anssi lui (M. Bigot) qui s'est 
donne la peine de conferer des manuscrits enJtalie dans le 
terns que je travaillois sur Anacreon." — Menagiana, seconde 
partie. 

4 I find in Haym's Notizia de' Libri rari, Venice, 1670, an 
Italian translation by Cappone, mentioned. 

5 This is the most complete of the English translations. 



8 This ode is the first of the series in the Vatican manu- 
script, which attributes it to no other poet than Anacreon. 
They who assert that the manuscript imputes it to Basilius, 
have been misled by the words Tov avrov /?a<nAiKwj in the 
margin, which are merely intended as a title to the follow- 
ing ode. Whether it be the production of Anacreon or not, 
it has all the features of ancient simplicity, and is a beauti- 
ful imitation of the poet's happiest manner. 

T Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 
Through the mist of soft desire.] " How could he know 



The edition by Gail, at Paris, 1799, with a prose 
translation. 



ODES OF ANACREON, 



DDE I. 



I saw the smiling bard of pleasure, 
The minstrel of the Teian measure ; 
'Twas in a vision of the night, 
He beam'd upon my wondering sight. 
I heard his voice, and warmly press' d, 
The dear enthusiast to my breast. 
His tresses wore a silvery dye, 
But beauty sparkled in his eye ; • 
Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 
Through the mist of soft desire. 7 
His lip exhaled, whene'er he sigh'd, 
The fragrance of the racy tide ; 
And, as with weak and reeling feet 
He came my cordial kiss to meet, 
An infant, of the Cyprian band, 
Guided him on with tender hand. 
Quick from his glowing brows he drew 
His braid, of many a wanton hue ; 
I took the wreath, whose inmost twine 
Breathed of him and blush'd with wine. 8 



at the first look (says Baxter) that the poet was $i\ewos ?" 
There are surely many tell-tales of this propensity ; and the 
following are the indices, which the physiognomist gives, 
describing a disposition perhaps not unlike that of Anacreon : 
O<p6a\noi kXv^uixevoi, Kvpaivovres tv avrois, sis a<ppo6i<ria xai 
evrradeiav enrorivTar ovre de o6ikoi, ovre Kanovpyoi, ovre 
(pweus $av\ris, ovre apovaoi. — Adamantius. "The eyes 
that are humid and fluctuating show a propensity to pleasure 
and love ; they bespeak too a mind of integrity and benefi- 
cence, a generosity of disposition, and a genius for poetry." 

Baptista Torta tells us some strange opinions of the an- 
cient physiognomists on this subject, their reasons for which 
were curious, and perhaps not altogether fanciful. Vide 
Physiognom. Johan. Baptist. Ports. 

8 / took the wreath, whose inmost twine 
Breathed of him, &c] Philostratus has the same thought 
in one of his EpMTiKa, where he speaks of the garland which 
he had sent to his mistress. Ei 6e /3ov\ei n q\t\u> xapi&a- 
0ai,Ta \eiipava avTirefiipov, priKeri irvsovra poScov jxovov aWa 
nai uov, " If thon art inclined to gratify thy lover, send him 
back the remains of the garland, no longer breathing of roses 
only, bu*t of thee !" Which pretty conceit is borrowed (as 
the author of the Observer remarks) in a well-known little 
song of Ben Jonson's :— 

" But thou thereon didst only breathe 
And sent it back to me ; 
Since when it looks and smells, I swear, 
Not of itself, but thee!" 



ODES OF ANACREON. 65 


I hung it o'er my thoughtless brow 


Many a city, revelling free, 


And ah ! I feel its magic now i 1 


Full of loose festivity. 


I feel that even his garland's touch 


Picture then a rosy train, 


Can make the hosom love too much. 


Bacchants straying o'er the plain ; 




Piping, as they roam along, 




Roundelay or shepherd-song. 
Paint me next, if painting may 






Such a theme as this portray, 


ODE II. 


All the earthly heaven of love 


Give me the harp of epic song, 


These delighted mortals prove. 


Which Homer's finger thrilFd along ; 




But tear away the sanguine string, 
For war is not the theme I sing. 






Proclaim the laws of festal rite, 2 




I'm monarch of the board to-night ; 


ODE IV.* 


And all around shall brim as high, 


Vulcan ! hear your glorious task ; 


And quaff the tide as deep as I. 


I do not from your labors ask 


And when the cluster's mellowing dews 


In gorgeous panoply to shine, 


Their warm enchanting balm infuse, 


For war was ne'er a sport of mine. 


Our feet shall catch th' elastic bound, 


No — let me have a silver bowl, 


And reel us through the dance's round. 


Where I may cradle all my soul ; 


Great Bacchus ! we shall sing to thee, 


But mind that, o'er its simple frame 


In wild but sweet ebriety ; 


No mimic constellations flame ; 


Flashing around such sparks of thought, 


Nor grave upon the swelling side, 


As Bacchus could alone have taught. 


Orion, scowling o'er the tide. 




I care not for the glitt'ring wain, 


Then, give the harp of epic song, 


Nor yet the weeping sister train. 


Which Homer's finger thrill'd along ; 


But let the vine luxuriant roll 


But tear away the sanguine string, 


Its blushing tendrils round the bowl, 


For war is not the theme I sing. 


While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant maid 




Is culling clusters in their shade. 




Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes, 
Wildly press the gushing grapes, 






And flights of Loves, in wanton play, 


ODE ra.3 


Wing through the air their winding way ; 


Listen to the Muse's lyre, 


While Venus from her harbor green, 


Master of the pencil's fire ! 


Looks laughing at the joyous scene, 


Sketch'd in painting's bold display, 


And young Lyaeus by her side 


Many a city first portray ; 


Sits, worthy of «so bright a bride. 


i And ah ! I feel its magic note :] This idea, as Longepierre 


considerable interpolations of his own, which he thinks are 


remarks, occurs in an epigram of the seventh book of the 


indispensably necessary to the completion of the description. 


Anthologia. 


* This ode, Aulus Gellius tells us, was performed at an 




entertainment where he was present. 


Efore [ioi xivovtl ovvsoraovo-a. ~Xapix\(x) 




Aadprj tovs iSiovs a/ACpcfiaXs areQavovs, 


5 While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant maid, <$-c] I have 


Ilvp o\oov iairrsi /u£. 


availed myself here of the additional lines given in the 




Vatican manuscript, which have not been accurately in- 


While I unconscious quafFd my wine, 


serted in any of the ordinary editions : — 


'Tvvas then thy fingers slyly stole 




Upon my brow that wreath of thine, 


Jloino-ov afirreXovs pot 


Which since has madden'd all my soul. 


Kai florpvas Kar' avrcov 




Kai naivadas rpvycoiras. 


2 Proclaim the laws of festal rite.] The ancients prescribed 


Tloui Se Xrjvov oivov, 


certain laws of drinking at their festivals, for an account of 


ArivoParas iraTovvra;, 


which see the commentators. Anacreon here acts the sym- 


Tovsa arvpovs yeXcovTas, 


posiarch, or master of the festival. I have translated accord- 


Kat xP V!T0Vi T0VS tpuras, 


ing to those who consider nvireWa ■Swjuwi' as an inversion of 


Kai Kvdepr)v ytXwaav, 


§£<rnovs KVTTsWclH/. 


'O/iOV AcaXa) Avaid), 


3 La Fosse has thought proper to lengthen this poem by 

! 


Epwra k' 'A<ppo6iTr]V. 



66 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ODE V.i 
Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul, 
Grave for me an ample bowl, 
Worthy to shine in hall or bower, 
When spring-time brings the reveller's hour. 
Grave it with themes of chaste design, 
Fit for a simple board like mine. 
Display not there the barbarous rites 
In which religious zeal delights ; 
Nor any tale of tragic fate 
Which History shudders to relate. 
No — cull thy fancies from above, 
Themes of heav'n and themes of love. 
Let Bacchus, Jove's ambrosial boy, 
Distil the grape in drops of joy, 
And while he smiles at every tear, 
Let warm-eyed Venus, dancing near, 
With spirits of the genial bed, 
The dewy herbage deftly tread. 
Let Love be there, without his arms, 3 
In timid nakedness of charms ; 
And all the Graces, link'd with Love, 
Stray, laughing, through the shadowy grove ; 



i Degen thinks that this ode is a more modern Imitation of 
the preceding. There is a poem by Caelius Calcagninus, in 
the manner of both, where he gives instructions about the 
making of a ring. 

Tornabis annulum mihi 

Et fabre, et apte, et commode, &c. &c. 

2 Let Love be there, without his arms, <$-c] Thus Sannaz- 
aro in the eclogue of Gallicio nell' Arcadia : — 

Vegnan li vaghi Amori 
Senza fiammelle, strali, 
Scherzando insieme pargoletti e nudi. 
Fluttering on the busy wing, 

A train of naked Cupids came, 
Sporting around in harmless ring, 

Without a dart, without a flame. 
And thus in the Pervigilium Veneris :— 

Ite nymphae, posuit arma, feriatus est amor. 
Love is disarm'd— ye nymphs, in safety stray, 
Your bosoms now may boast a holiday ! 

3 But ah ! if there Jlpollo toys, 

J tremble for the rosy boys.] An allusion to the fable, that 
Apollo had killed his beloved boy Hyacinth, while playing 
with him at quoits. " This (says M. La Fosse) is assuredly 
the sense of the text, and it cannot admit of any other." 

The Italian translators, to save themselves the trouble of a 
note, have taken the liberty of making Anacreon himself 
explain this fable. Thus Salvini, the most literal of any of 
them : — 

Ma con lor non giuochi Apollo ; 

Che in fiero risco 

Col duro disco 

A Giacinto fiacc5 il collo. 

< This beautiful fiction, which the commentators have at- 
tributed to Julian, a royal poet, the Vatican MS. pronounces 
to be the genuine offspring of Anacreon. It has, indeed, all 
the features of the parent :— 



While rosy boys disporting round, 
In circlets trip the velvet ground. 
But ah ! if there Apollo toys, 
I tremble for the rosy boys. 3 



ODE VI.< 



As late I sought the spangled bowers, 
To cull a wreath of matin flowers, 
Where many an early rose was weeping 
found the urchin Cupid sleeping. 6 
caught the boy, a goblet's tiae 
Was richly mantling by my side, 
I caught him by his downy wing, 
And whelm'd him in the racy spring. 
Then drank I down the poison'd bowl, 
And Love now nestles in my soul 
Oh yes, my soul is Cupid's nest, 
I feel him fluttering in my breast. 



et facile insciis 
Noscitetur ab omnibus. 

6 Where many an early rose was weeping, 
1 found the urchin Cupid sleeping.] This idea is prettily 
imitated in the following epigram by Andreas Naugerius : — 

Florentes dum forte vagatis mea Hyella per hortos 

Texit odoratis lilia cana rosis, 
Ecce rosas inter latitantem invenit Amorem 

Et simul annexis floribus implicuit. 
Luctatur primo, et contra nitentibus alis 

Indomitus tentat solvere vincla puer: 
Mox ubi lacteolas et dignas matre papillas 

Vidit et ora ipsos nata movere Deos, 
Impositosque comas ambrosios ut sentit odores 

Quosque legit diti messe beatus Arabs ; 
"I (dixit) mea, quaere novum tibi, mater, Amorem 

Imperio sedes hnec erit apta meo." 

As fair Hyella, through the bloomy grove, 
A wreath of many mingled flow'rets wove, 
Within a rose a sleeping Love she found, 
And in the twisted wreaths the baby bound. 
Awhile he struggled, and impatient tried 
To break the rosy bonds the virgin tied ; 
But when he saw her bosom's radiant swell, 
Her features, where the eye of Jove might dwell ; 
And caught th' ambrosial odors of her hair, 
Rich as the breathings of Arabian air ; 
"Oh ! mother Venus," (said the raptured child, 
By charms, of more than mortal bloom, beguiled,) 
" Go, seek another boy, thou'st lost thine own, 
"Hyella's arms shall now be Cupid's throne !" 

This epigram of Naugerius is imitated by Lodovico Dolce 
in a poem, beginning 

Mentre raccoglie hor uno, hor altro fiore 
Vicina a un rio di chiare et lucid' onde, 
Lidia, &c. &c. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



67 



OPE VII.1 

TnE women tell me every day 

That all my bloom has pass'd away. 

" Behold," the pretty wantons cry, 

" Behold this mirror with a sigh ; 

The locks upon thy brow are few, 

And, like the rest, they're withering too !" 

Whether decline has thinn'd my hair, 

I'm sure I neither know nor care ; a 

But this I know, and this I feel, 

As onward to the tomb I steal, 

That still as death approaches nearer, 

The joys of life are sweeter, dearer ; 3 

And had I but an hour to live, 

That little hour to bliss I'd give. 



ODE vin.4 



I care not for the idle state 
Of Persia's king, 5 the rich, the great : 
I envy not the monarch's throne, 
Nor wish the treasured gold my own. 

i Alberti has imitated this ode in a poem, beginning 
Nisa mi dice e Clori 
Tirsi, tu se' pur veglio. 

2 Whether decline has thinn'd my hair, 

Vm sure I neither know nor care ;] Henry Stephen very 
justly remarks the elegant negligence of expression in the 
original here : 

Eya) 5s rag Kouag fitv, 
Etr eigiv, eir' annXdov, 
Ovk oiSa. 
And Longepierre has adduced from Catullus, what he thinks 
a similar instance of this simplicity of manner : — 

Ipse quis sit, utrum sit, an non sit, id quoque nescit 
Longepierre was a good critic ; but perhaps the line which 
he has selected is a specimen of a carelessness not very com- 
mendable. At the same time I confess, that none of the 
Latin poets have ever appeared to me so capable of imitating 
the graces of Anacreon as Catullus, if he had not allowed a 
depraved imagination to hurry him so often into mere vulgar 
licentiousness. 

3 That still as death approaches nearer, 

The joys of life are siceeter, dearer;] Pontanus has a very 
delicate thought upon the subject of old age: 

Quid rides, Matrona 1 senem quid temnis amantem ? 
Quisquis amat nulla est conditione senex. 
Why do you scorn my want of youth, 
And with a smile my brow behold ? 
Lady dear ! believe this truth, 
That he who loves cannot be old. 

* " The German poet Lessing has imitated this ode. Vol. 
i. p. 24." Degen. Gail de Editionibus. 

Baxter conjectures that this was written upon the occasion 
of our poet's returning the money to Polycrates, according 
to the anecdote in Stobseus. 

6 J care not for the idle state 

Of Persia's king, &rc] " There is a fragment jf Archilo- 
chus ra Plutarch, ' De tranquillitate animi,' which our poet 
has very closely imitated here ; it begins, 



But oh ! be mine the rosy wreath, 

Its freshness o'er my brow to breathe ; 

Be mine the rich perfumes that flow, 

To cool and scent my locks of snow. 6 

To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine, 

As if to-morrow ne'er would shine : 

But if to-morrow comes, why then — 

I'll haste to quaff my wine again. 

And thus while all our days are bright, 

Nor time has dimm'd their bloomy light, 

Let us the festal hours beguile 

With mantling cup and cordial smile ; 

And shed from each new bowl of wine 

The richest drop on Bacchus' shrine. 

For Death may come, with brow unpleasant. 

May come, when least we wish him present, 

And beckon to the sable shore, 

And grimly bid us — drink no more ! 



ODE IX. 



I pray thee, by the gods above, 7 
Give me the mighty bowl I love, 



Ov uoi ra Tvyeo) rov noXvxpvo-ov /xeXei." Barnes. 
In one of the monkish imitators of Anacreon we find the 
same thought : — 

fvxiv tur^v epaiTOi, 

Ti coi SeXeis yeveaOai ; 

€)eXeis FvyEco ra Kai ra; 

6 Be mine the rich perfumes that flow, 

To cool and scent my locks of snow.] In the original, uvpoi- 
<n /cara/?p£%£t^ vtrrivriv. On account of this idea of perfuming 
the beard, Cornelius de Pauw pronounces the whole ode 
to be the spurious production of some lascivious monk, who 
was nursing his beard with unguents. But he should have 
known, that this was an ancient eastern custom, which, if we 
may believe Sa vary, still exists: "Vous voyez, Monsieur, 
(says this traveller,) que l'usage antique de se parfumer la 
tete et la barbe,* celebre par le prophete Roi, subsiste encore 
de nos jours." Lettre 12. Savary likewise cites this very 
ode of Anacreon. Angerianus has not thought the idea in- 
consistent, having introduced it in the following lines: 
Haec mini cura, rosis et cingere tempora myrto, 

Et curas multo delapidare mero. 
Haec mini cura, comas et barbam tingere succo 

Assyrio et dulces continuare jocos. 
This be my care, to wreathe my brow with flowers, 

To drench my sorrows in the ample bowl ; 
To pour rich perfumes o'er my beard in showers, 
And give full loose to mirth and joy of soul ! 

7 The poet is here in a phrensy of enjoyment, and it is, in- 
deed, " amabilis insania ;" — 

Furor di poesia, 
Dilascivia, e di vino, 
Triplicato furore, 
Baccho, Apollo, et Amore. 

Ritratti del Cavalier Marino. 
This is truly, as Scaliger expresses it, 

Insanire dulce 

Et sapidum furere furorem 
• " Sicut unjruentum in capite quod desceiidit in barbam Aaroait. 
Pseaume exxxiii." 



68 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And let me sing, in wild delight, 
" I will — I will be mad to-night !" 
Alcmaeon once, as legends tell, 
Was phrensied by the fiends of hell ; 
Orestes too, with naked tread, 
Frantic paced the mountain-head ; 
And why ? a murder'd mother's shade 
Haunted them still where'er they stray'd. 
But ne'er could I a murderer be, 
The grape alone shall bleed by me ; 
Yet can I shout, with wild delight, 
" I will — I will be mad to-night." 

Alcides' self, in days of yore, 
Imbrued his hands in youthful gore, 
And brandish'd, with a maniac joy, 
The quiver of th' expiring boy : 
And Ajax, with tremendous shield, 
Infuriate scour'd the guiltless field. 
But I, whose hands no weapon ask, 
No armor but this joyous flask ; 
The trophy of whose frantic hours 
Is but a scatter'd wreath of flowers, 
Ev'n I can sing with wild delight, 
" I will— I will be mad to-night !" 



ODE X.i 



How am I to punish thee, 
For the wrong thou'st done to me, 
Silly swallow, prating thing 2 — 
Shall I clip that wheeling wing ? 
Or, as Tereus did, of old, 3 
(So the fabled tale is told,) 
Shall I tear that tongue away, 
Tongue that utter'd such a lay ? 



i This ode is addressed to a swallow. I find from Degen 
and from Gail's index, that the German poet Weisse has 
imitated it, Scherz. Lieder. lib. ii.carm. 5. ; that Rami er also 
has imitated it, Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 335 ; and some 
others. See Gail de Editionibus. 

We are here referred by Degen to that dull book, the Epis- 
tles of Alciphron, tenth epistle, third book; where Iophon 
complains to Era ston of being awakened by the crowing of a 
cock, from his vision of riches. 

2 Silly swallow, prating- thing, <$-c] The loquacity of the 
swallow was proverbialized ; thus Nicostratus : — 

Ei to cvvexMS xat tto\}i xai ra^eus \a\ctv 
Hv tov (ppoveiv napacrrinov, al %£Xi<5oy£f 
EAsyoir' av fjuwv ouxfrpovcorcpai ttoXv. 

If in prating from morning till night 

A sign of our wisdom there be, 
The swallows are wiser by right, 

For they prattle much faster than we. 



Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been ! 
Long before the dawn was seen, 
When a dream came o'er my mind, 
Picturing her I worship, kind, 
Just when I was nearly blest, 
Loud thy matins broke my rest ! 



ODE XL* 
" Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee, 
What in purchase shall I pay thee 
For this little waxen toy, 
Image of the Paphian boy ?" 
Thus I said, the other day, 
To a youth who pass'd my w£> 
" Sir," (he answer'd, and the wlii e 
Answer'd all in Doric style,) 
" Take it, for a trifle take it ; 
'Twas not I who dared to make it ; 
No, believe me, 'twas not I ; 
Oh, it has cost me many a sigh, 
And I can no longer keep 
Little gods, who murder sleep !" 5 
" Here, then, here," (I said with joy,) 
" Here is silver for the boy : 
He shall be my bosom guest, 
Idol of my pious breast !" 

Now, young Love, I have thee mine, 
Warm me with that torch of thine ; 
Make me feel as I have felt, 
Or thy waxen frame shall melt : 
I must burn with warm desire, 
Or thou, my boy — in yonder fire. 6 



3 Or, as Tereus did, of old, $-c] Modern poetry has con- 
firmed the name of Philomel upon the nightingale ; but many 
respectable authorities among the ancients assigned this 
metamorphose to Progne, and made Philomel the swallow, 
as Anacreon does here. 

< It is difficult to preserve with any grace the narrative 
simplicity of this ode, and the humor of the turn with which 
it concludes. I feel, indeed, that the translation must ap- 
pear vapid, if not ludicrous, to an English reader. 

5 Jlnd I can no longer keep 

Little gods, who murder sleep !] I have not literally ren- 
dered the epithet izavToptKra ; if it has any meaning here, it 
is one, perhaps, better omitted. 

6 I must burn with warm desire, 

Or thou, my boy — in yonder fire.] From this Longepierre 
conjectures, that, whatever Anacreon might say, he felt 
sometimes the inconveniences of old age, and here solicits 
from the power of Love a warmth which he could no longer 
expect from Nature. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



69 



ODE XII. 

They tell how Atys, wild with love, 
Roams the mount and haunted grove ;* 
Cybele's name he howls around, 2 
The gloomy blast returns the sound ! 
Oft too, by Claros' hallow'd spring,* 
The votaries of the laurell'd king 
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream, 
And rave in wild, prophetic dream. 
But phrensied dreams are not for me, 
Great Bacchus is my deity ! 
Full of mirth, and full of him, 
While floating odors round me swim, 4 
While mantling bowls are full supplied, 
And you sit blushing by my side, 
I will be mad and raving too — 
Mad, my girl, with love for you ! 



ODE XIII. 



I will, I will, the conflict's past, 
And I'll consent to love at last. 



1 They tell how Atys, wild with love, 

Roams the mount and haunted grove ;] There are many 
contradictory stories of the loves of Cybele and Atys. It is 
certain that he was mutilated, but whether by his own fury, 
or Cybele's jealousy, is a point upon which authors are not 



2 Cybele's name he howls around, &c] I have here adopted 
the accentuation which Elias Andreas gives to Cybele :— 

Inmontibus Cybelen 
Magno sonans boatu. 

3 Oft too, by Claros'' hallowed spring, <$•<;.] This fountain was 
in a grove, consecrated to Apollo, and situated between Colo- 
phon and Lebedos, in Ionia. The god had an oracle there. 
Scaliger thus alludes to it in his Anacreontica : 

Semel ut concitus oestro, 
Veluti qui Clarias aquas 
Ebibere loquaces, 
Quo plus canunt, plura volunt. 

4 While floating odors, Sec I] Spaletti has quite mistaken the 
import of KopsuOeig, as applied to the poet's mistress — "Mea 
fatigatus arnica ;" — thus interpreting it in a sense which 
must want either delicacy or gallantry ; if not, perhaps, both. 

5 And what did I unthinking do ? 

I took to arms, undaunted, too ;] Longepierre has here 
quoted an epigram from the Anthologia, in which the poet 
assumes Reason as the armor against Love. 

SlirXiananrpos epcora rrept oTepvoio-iXoyiafxov, 

OvSc ixs viKr\asi, jxovvog coiv npos eva~ 
Qvutos <5' aOavarcj avvtXevaojxar nv Se Porjdov 
■ ~RaK%ov e%n, ri jjlovos wpog Sv' fyw 6vvap.ai 

With Reason I cover my breast as a shield, 
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field ; 
Thus fighting his godship, I'll ne'er be dismay'd ; 
But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid, 



Cupid has long, with smiling art, 
Invited me to yield my heart ; 
And I have thought that peace of mind 
Should not be for a smile resign'd : 
\nd so repell'd the tender lure, 
And hoped my heart would sleep secure 

But, slighted in his boasted charms, 
The angry infant flew to arms ; 
He slung his quiver's golden frame, 
He took his bow, his shafts of flame, 
And proudly summon'd me to yield. 
Or meet him on the martial field 
And what did I unthinking do? 
I took to arms, undaunted, too ; 6 
Assumed the corslet, shield, and speu 
And, like Pelides, smiled at fear. 
Then (hear it, all ye powers above !) 
I fought with Love ! I fought with Love ! 
And now his arrows all were shed, 
And I had just in terror fled — 
When, heaving an indignant sigh, 
To see me thus unwounded fly, 
And, having now no other dart, 
He shot himself into my heart ! 6 



Alas ! then, unable to combat the two, 
Unfortunate warrior, what should I do 1 

This idea of the irresistibility of Cupid and Bacchus uni- 
ted, is delicately expressed in an Italian poem, which is so 
truly Anacreontic, that its introduction here may be par- 
doned. It is an imitation, indeed, of our poet's sixth ode. 

Lavossi Amore in quel vicino frame 

Ove giuro (Pastor) che bevend' io 

Bevei le fiamme, anzi l'istesso Dio, 

Ch'or con Thumide piume 

Lascivetto mi scherza al cor intorno. 

Ma che sarei s'io lo bevessi un giorno, 

Bacco, nel tuo liquore 1 

Sarei, piu che non sono ebro d'Amore. 

The urchin of the bow and quiver 

Was bathing in a neighboring river, 

Where, as I drank on yester-eve, 

(Shepherd-youth, the tale believe,) 

'Twas not a cooling, crystal draught, 

'Twas liquid flame I madly quaffd ; 

For Love was in the rippling tide, 

I felt him to my bosom glide ; 

And now the wily, wanton minion 

Plays round my heart with restless pinion. 

A day it was of fatal star, 

But ah, 'twere e'en more fatal far, 

If, Bacchus, in thy cup of fire, 

I found this flutt'ring, young desire: 

Then, then indeed my soul would prove, 

E'en more than ever, drunk with love ! 
6 Jind, having now no other dart, 

He shot himself into my heart '.} Dryden has parodied this 
thought in the following extravagant lines : — 
I'm al I o'er Love ; 

Nay, I am Love, Love shot, and shot so fas^ 

He shot himself into my breast at last. 



70 MOORE'S WORKS. 


My heart — alas the luckless day ! 


All the gentle nymphs I love. 


Received the god, and died away. 


First, of pure Athenian maids 


Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield ! 


Sporting in their olive shades, 


Thy lord at length is forced to yield. 


You may reckon just a score, 


Vain, vain, is every outward care, 


Nay, I'll grant you fifteen more. 


The foe's within, and triumphs there. 


In the famed Corinthian grove, 




Where such countless wantons rove, 8 




Chains of beauties may be found, 






Chains, by which my heart is bound ; 


ODE XIV.i 


There, indeed, are nymphs divine, 


Count me, on the summer trees, 


Dangerous to a soul like mine. 4 


Every leaf that courts the breeze ; 2 


Many bloom in Lesbos' isle ; 


Count me, on the foamy deep, 


Many in Ionia smile ; 


Every wave that sinks to sleep ; 


Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast ; 


Then, when you have number'd these 


Caria too contains a host. 


Billowy tides and leafy trees, 


Sum them all — of brown and fair 


Count me all the flames I prove, 


You may count two thousand there. 


1 The poet, in this catalogue of his mistresses, means noth- 


Oh ! I'm such a roving elf, 


ing more than, by a lively hyperbole, to inform us, that his 


That the Oueen of love herself, 


heart, unfettered by any one object, was warm with devo- 


Though she practised all her wiles, 


tion towards the sex in general. Cowley is indebted to this 


Rosy blushes, wreathed smiles, 


ode for the hint of his ballad, called "The Chronicle ;" and 


All her beauty's proud endeavor 


the learned Menage has imitated it in a Greek Anacreontic, 


Could not chain my heart forever. 


which has so much ease and spirit, that the reader may not 


2 Count me, on the summer trees, 


be displeased at seeing it here :— 


Every leaf, iSrc.j This figure is called, by rhetoricians, the 




Impossible, (aSvvarov,) and is very frequently made use of 


npor bihna 


in poetry. The amatory writers have exhausted a world of 


Et a\a£a)v to. (pv\\a, 


imagery by it, to express the infinite number of kisses which 


Azijiwviovs re Txoiag, 


they require from the lips of their mistresses : in this Catullus 


Ei vvktos aarpa travTn, 


led the way. 


Uapaicriovs rt xpappovg, 


— Quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, 


aXoj t£ KvparcuSr), 


Furtivos hominum vident amores ; 


Avvtj, Bicov, apiOuetv, 


Tarn te basia multa basiare 


Kai tovs epovg epcoras 


Vesano satis, et super, Catullo est : 


Avvr), Biojv, apiQueiv. 


Q.ua3 nee pernumerare curiosi 


Koprjv, yvvauca, Xiypav, 


Possint, nee mala fascinare lingua. Carm. 7. 


2piKprji>, Mearjv, MeyiffTrjv, 


As many stellar eyes of light, 


AevKrjv re Kai Mr.haivav, 


As through the silent waste of night, 


OpeiaSas, Ncnraiag, 


Gazing upon this world of shade, 


tiriprfi'Sas Tt naaag 


Witness some secret youth and maid, 


'0 aog <pi\og (pi\r)ae 


Who fair as thou, and fond as I, 


Hclvtodv Kopog pev iotiv. 


In stolen joys enamor'd lie, — 


Avrrjv vewv ~Ep(x>rwv, 


So many kisses, ere I slumber, 


Aeoiroivav Aqjpodirrjv, 


Upon those dew-bright lips I'll number ; 


Xpvarjv, Ka\r)v yXvKeiav, 


So many kisses we shall count, 


EpaojAiav, ttoOsivtjv, 


Envy can never tell th' amount. 


Af£ povr]v <f>i\r)(rai 


No tongue shall blab the sum, but mine ; 


'Eyaiye pr/ Sovaiprjv. 


No lips shall fascinate, but thine ! 


Tell the foliage of the woods, 


s In the famed Corinthian grove, 


Tell the billows of the floods, 


Where such countless wantons rove, <S-c.J Corinth was very 


Number midnight's starry store, 


famous for the beauty and number of its courtesans. Venus 


And the sands that crowd the shore, 


was the deity principally worshipped by the people, and their 


Then, my Bion, thou mayst count 


constant prayer was, that the gods should increase the num- 


Of my loves the vast amount. 


ber of her worshippers. We may perceive from the applica- 


I've been loving, all my days, 


tion of the verb Kopiv&iageiv, in Aristophanes, that the lu- 


Many nymphs, in many ways ; 


bricity of the Corinthians had become proverbial. 


Virgin, widow, maid, and wife — 


4 There, indeed, are nymphs divine, 


I've been doting all my life. 


Dangerous to a soul like mine /] " With justice has the poet 


Naiads, Nereids, nymphs of fountains, 


attributed beauty to the women of Greece." — Degen. 


Goddesses of groves and mountains, 


M. de Pauw, the author of Dissertations upon the Greeks, 


Fair and sable, great and small, 


is of a different opinion ; he thinks, that by a capricious par- 


Yes, I swear I've loved them all ! 


tiality of nature, the other sex had all the beauty ; and by 


Soon was every passion over, 


this supposition endeavors to account for a very singular de- 


I was but the moment's lover ; 


pravation of instinct among that people. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



71 



What, you stare ? I pray you, peace ! 
More I'll find before I cease. 
Have I told you all my flames, 
'Mong the amorous Syrian dames 1 
Have I number'd every one, 
Glowing under Egypt's sun ? 
Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweet, 
Deck the shrine of Love in Crete ; 
Wher« the God, with festal play, 
Holds eternal holiday ? 
Still in clusters, still remain 
Gades' warm, desiring train $? 
Still there lies a myriad more 
On the sable India's shore ; 
These, and many far removed, 
All are loving — all are loved ! 



ODE XV. 
Tell me, why, my sweetest dove, 3 
Thus your humid pinions move, 
Shedding through the air in showers 
Essence of the balmiest flowers ? 
Tell me whither, whence you rove, 
Tell me all, my sweetest dove. 

Curious stranger, I belong 
To the bard of Teian song ; 
With his mandate now I fly 
To the nymph of azure eye ; — 
She, whose eye has madden'd many,* 
But the poet more than any. 

i Gades'' warm, desiring train ;] The Gaditanian girls were 
like the Baladi'eres of Indi* whose dances are thus described 
by a French author ; " Les danses sont presque toutes des 
pantomimes d'amour ; le plan, le dessein, les attitudes, les 
mesures, les sons et les cadences de ces ballets, tout respire 
cette passion et en exprime les voluptes et les fureurs." — His- 
toire du Commerce des Europ. dans les deux hides. Raynal. 

The music of the Gaditanian females had all the volup- 
tuous character of their dancing, as appears from Martial : — 
Cantica qui Nili, qui Gaditana susurrat. 

Lib. iii. epig. 63. 

Lodovico Ariosto had this ode of our bard in his mind, 
when he wrote his poem " De diversis amoribus." See the 
Anthologia ItaJorum. 

2 The dove of Anacreon, bearing a letter from the poet to 
his mistress, is met by a stranger, with whom this dialogue is 
imagined. 

The ancients made use of letter-carrying pigeons, when 
they went any distance from home, as the most certain means 
of conveying intelligence back. That tender domestic attach- 
ment, which attracts this delicate little bird through every 
danger and difficulty, till it settles in its native nest, affords 
to the atithor of " The Pleasures of Memory" a fine and in- 
teresting exemplification of his subject. 

Led by what chart, transports the timid dove 
The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love ! 



Venus, for a hymn of love, 
Warbled in her votive grove, 4 
('Twas in sooth a gentle lay,) 
Gave me to the bard away. 
See me now his faithful minion. — 
Thus with softly-gliding pinion, 
To his lovely girl I bear 
Songs of passion through the air 
Oft he blandly whispers me, 
" Soon, my bird, I'll set you free." 
But in vain he'll bid me fly, 
I shall serve him till I die. 
Never could my plumes sustain 
Ruffling winds and chilling rain, 
O'er the plains, or ia the dell, 
On the mountain's savage swell, 
Seeking in the desert wood 
Gloomy shelter, rustic food. 
Now I lead a life of ease, 
Far from rugged haunts like these. 
From Anacreon's hand I eat 
Food delicious, viands sweet ; 
Flutter o'er his goblet's brim, 
Sip the foamy wine with him. 
Then when I have wanton'd round 
To his lyre's beguiling sound ; 
Or with gently-moving wings 
Fann'd the minstrel while he sings: 
On his harp I sink in slumbers, 
Dreaming still of dulcet numbers ! 

This is all — away — away — 
You have made me waste the day. 
How I've chatter'd ! prating crow 
Never yet did chatter so. 

See the poem. Daniel Heinsius, in speaking of Dousa, who 
adopted this method at the siege of Leyden, expresses a 
similar sentiment. 

duo patria? non tendit amor 1 Mandata referre 
Postquam hominem nequiit mittere, misit avem. 
Fuller tells us, that at the siege of Jerusalem, the Chris- 
tians intercepted a letter, tied to the legs of a dove, in which 
the Persian Emperor promised assistance to the besieged. — 
Holy War, cap. 24, book i. 

3 Stye, whose eye has madden'd many, <$-c] For rvpavvov, in 
the original, Zeune and Schneider conjecture that we should 
read rvpavvov, in allusion to the strong influence which this 
object of his love held over the mind of Polycrates. See Degen. 

4 Venus, for a hymn of love, 

Warbled in her votive grove, <S-c.J " This passage is invalu- 
able, and I do not think that any thing so beautiful or so 
delicate has ever been said. What an idea does it give of 
the poetry of the man, from whom Venus herself, the mother 
of the Graces and the Pleasures, purchases a little hymn 
with one of her favorite doves !" Longepierre. 

De Pauw objects to the authenticity of this ode, because it 
makes Anacreon his own panegyrist ; but poets have a li- 
cense for praising themselves, which, with some indeed, 
may be considered as comprised under their general privi- 
lege of fiction. 



72 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ODE XVI.i 
Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 
Mimic form and soul infuse, 2 
Best of painters, come, portray 
The lovely maid that's far away. 3 
Far away, my soul ! thou art, 
But I've thy beauties all by heart. 
Paint her jetty ringlets playing, 
Silky locks, like tendrils straying ; 4 
And, if painting hath the skill 
To make the spicy balm distil, 5 
Let every little lock exhale 
A sigh of perfume on the gale. 
Where her tresses' curly flow 
Darkles o'er the brow of snow, 
Let her forehead beam to light, 
Burnish'd as the ivory bright. 

1 This ode and the next may be called companion-pictures ; 
they are highly finished, and give us an excellent idea of the 
taste of the ancients in beauty. Franciscus Junius quotes 
them in his third book " De Pictura Veterum." 

This ode has been imitated by Ronsard, Giuliano Goselini, 
&c. &c. Scaliger alludes to it thus in his Anacreontica : 
Olim lepore blando, 
Litis versibus 
Candidus Anacreon 
Q.uam pingeret amicus 
Descripsit Venerem suam. 
The Teian bard of former days, 
Attuned his sweet descriptive lays, 
And taught the painter's hand to trace 
His fair beloved's every grace. 
In the dialogue of Caspar Barlaeus, entitled " An formosa sit 
ducenda," the reader will find many curious ideas and de- 
scriptions of womanly beauty. 

2 Thou, whose soft and rosy hues, 

Mimic form and soul infuse,] I have followed here the 
reading of the Vatican MS. poSsris. Painting is called "the 
rosy art," either in reference to coloring, or as an indefinite 
epithet of excellence, from the association of beauty with 
that flower. Salvini has adopted this reading in his literal 
translation :— 

Delia rosea arte signore. 

3 The lovely maid that's far away.] If this portrait of the 
poet's mistress be not merely ideal, the omission of her name 
is much to be regretted. Meleager, in an epigram on Anac- 
reon, mentions " the golden Eurypyle" as his mistress. 

Be0\r)Kb)S XP va£r ) v X El P a S £7r ' 'EvpvrrvXrjv. 

4 Paint her jetty ring-lets playing, 

Silky locks like tendrils straying;] The ancients have 
been very enthusiastic in their praises of the beauty of hair. 
Apuleius, in the second book of his Milesiacs, says, that 
Venus herself, if she were bald, though surrounded by the 
Graces and the Loves, could not be pleasing even to her 
husband Vulcan. 

Stesichorus gave the epithet Ka\\nr\oKauos to the Graces, 
and Simonides bestowed the same upon the Muses. See 
Hadrian Junius's Dissertation upon Hair. 

To this passage of our poet, Seldon alluded in a note on 
the Polyolbion of Drayton, Song the Second, where observ- 
ing, that the epithet " black-haired" was given by some of 



Let her eyebrows smoothly rise 
In jetty arches o'er her eyes, 
Each, a crescent gently gliding, 
Just commingling, just dividing. 

But, hast thou any sparkles warm, 
The lightning of her eyes to form r 
Let them effuse the azure rays 
That in Minerva's glances blaze, 
Mix'd with the liquid light that lies 
In Cytherea's languid eyes. 6 
O'er her nose and cheek be shed 
Flushing white and soften'd red ; 
Mingling tints, as when there glows 
In snowy milk the bashful rose. 7 
Then her lip, so rich in blisses, 
Sweet petitioner for kisses, 8 
Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, 
Mutely courting Love's invasion. 

the ancients to the goddess Isis, he says, " Nor will I swear, 
but that Anacreon, (a man very judicious in the provoking 
motives of wanton love,) intending to bestow on his sweet 
mistress that one of the titles of woman's special ornament, 
well-haired, (KaXknrXoKajxos,) thought of this when he gave 
his painter direction to make her black-haired." 

5 And, if painting hath the skill 

To make the spicy balm distil, fyc] Thus Philostratus, 
speaking of a picture : sn-aivco Kai top evSpoaov tuv poduv, 
Kai (f>rj[xi y£ypa(j)9ai avra jjtera 7v?? oouitf. "I admire the 
dewiness of these roses, and could say that their very smell 
was painted." 

6 Mix'd with the liquid light that lies 

In Cytherea's languid eyes.] Marchetti explains thus the 
vypov of the original :— 

Dipingili umidetti 
Tremuli e lascivetti, 
Quai gli ha Ciprigna l'alma Dea d'Amore. 
Tasso has painted in the same manner the eyes of Armida : — 
dual raggio in onda le scintilla un riso 
Negli umidi occhi tremulo e lascivo. 
Within her humid, melting eyes 
A brilliant ray of laughter lies, 
Soft as the broken solar beam, 
That trembles in the azure stream. 
The mingled expression of dignity and tenderness, which 
Anacreon requires the painter to infuse into the eyes of his 
mistress, is more amply described in the subsequent ode. 
Both descriptions are so exquisitely touched, that the artist 
must have been great indeed, if he did not yield in painting 
to the poet. 

7 Mingling tints, as when there glows 

In snowy milk the bashful rose.] Thus Propertius, eleg.3, 
lib. ii. 

Utque roses puro lacte natant folia. 
And Davenant, in a little poem called "The Mistress," 

Catch as it falls the Scythian snow, 

Bring blushing roses steep'd in milk. 
Thus too Taygetus : — 

Qua; lac atque rosas vincis candore rubenti. 
These last words may perhaps defend the " flushing white" 
of the translation. 

8 Then her lip, so rich in blisses, 

Sweet petitioner for kisses,] The " lip, provoking kisses," 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



73 



Next, beneath the velvet chin, 
Whose dimple hides a Love within, 1 
Mould her neck with grace descending, 
In a heaven of beauty ending ; 
While countless charms, above, below, 
Sport and flutter round its snow. 
Now let a floating, lucid veil, 
Shadow her form, but not conceal f 
A charm may peep, a hue may beam, 
And leave the rest to Fancy's dream. 
Enough — 'tis she ! 'tis all I seek ; • 
It glows, it lives, it soon will speak ! 



ODE XVII.3 
And now with all thy pencil's truth, 
Portray Bathyllus, lovely youth ! 
Let his hair, in masses bright, 
Fall like floating rays of light ; 4 

in the original, is a strong and beautiful expression. Achilles 
Tatius speaks of x^ 1 ^ paXQaica T?po$ ra §Ckr\na-ra, " Lips 
soft and delicate for kissing." A grave old commentator, 
Dionysius Lambinus, in his notes upon Lucretius, tells us 
with the apparent authority of experience, that " Suavius 
viros osculantur puellse labiosse, quam qua? sunt brevibus 
labris." And iEneas Sylvius, in his tedious uninteresting 
story of the loves of Euryalus and Lucretia, where he par- 
ticularizes the beauties of the heroine, (in a very false and 
labored style of latinity,) describes her lips thus : — "Ospar- 
vum decensque, labia corallini coloris ad morsum aptissima." 
— Epist. 114, lib. i. 

i Next, beneath the velvet chin, 

Whose dimple hides a love within, (§•«.] Madame Dacier 
has quoted here two pretty lines of Varro : — 

Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo 
Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem. 
In her chin is a delicate dimple, 

By Cupid's own finger impress'd ; 
There Beauty, bewitchingly simple, 
Has chosen her innocent nest. 

2 Now let a floating, lucid veil, 

Shadow her form, but not conceal • fyc] This delicate art 
of description, which leaves imagination to complete the 
picture, has been seldom adopted in the imitations of this 
beautiful poem. Ronsard is exceptionably minute ; and 
Politianus, in his charming portrait of a girl, full of rich and 
exquisite diction, has lifted the veil rather too much. The 
" questo che tu in' intendi" should be always left to fancy. 

3 The reader who wishes to acquire an accurate idea of 
the judgment of the ancients in beauty, will be indulged by 
consulting Junius de Pictura Veterum, lib. in. c. 9, where he 
will find a very curious selection of descriptions and epithets 
of personal perfections. Junius compares this ode with a 
description of Theodoric, king of the Goths, in the second 
epistle, first book, of Sidonius Apollinaris. 

4 Let his hair, in masses bright, 

Fall tkc floating rays of light ; &-c] He here describes 
the sunny hair, the " flava coma," which the ancients so 
much admired. The Romans gave this color artificially to 
their hair. See Stanisl. Kobienzyck. de Luxu Romanorum. 



And there the raven's dye confuse 
With the golden sunbeam's hues. 
Let no wreath, with artful twine, 6 
The flowing of his locks confine ; 
But leave them loose to every breeze, 
To take what shape and course they please. 
- Beneath the forehead, fair as snow, 
But fiush'd with manhood's early glow, 
And guileless as the dews of dawn, 6 
Let the majestic brows be drawn, 
Of ebon hue, enrich' d by gold, 
Such as dark, shining snakes unfold. 
Mix in his eyes t: i power alike, 
With love to win. with awe to strike ; 7 
Borrow from Mars his look of ire, 
From Venus her soft glance of fire ; 
Blend them in such expression here, 
That we by turns may hope and fear ! 

Now from the sunny apple seek 
The velvet down that spreads his cheek ; 

5 Let no wreath, with artful twine, frc] If the original 
here, which is particularly beautiful, can admit of any addi- 
tional value, that value is conferred by Gray's admiration of 
it. See his letters to West. 

Some annotators have quoted on this passage the descrip- 
tion of Photis's hair in Apuleius ; but nothing can be more 
distant from the simplicity of our poet's manner, than that 
affectation of richness which distinguishes the style of Apu- 
leius. 

6 Butflush , d with manhood's early glow, 

And guileless as the dews of dawn, #-c] Torrentius i upon 
the words " insignem tenui fronte," in Horace, Od. 33, lib. i., 
is of opinion, incorrectly, I think, that "tenui" here bears 
the same meaning as the word atrakov. 

7 Mix in his eyes the power alike, 

With love to win, with awe to strike ; &c] Tasso gives a 
similar character to the eyes of Clorinda : — 

Lampeggiar gli occhi, e folgorar gli sguardi 
Dolci ne 1' ira. 
Her eyes were flashing with a heavenly heat, 
A fire that, even in anger, still was sweet. 

The poetess Veronica Cambara is more diffuse upon this 
variety of expression : — 

Occhi lucenti e belli, 

Come esser puo ch' in un medesmo istante 
Nascan de voi si nuove forme et tante 1 
Lieti, mesti, superbi, humil', altieri, 
Vi mostrate in un punto, onde di speme, 
Et di timor, de empiete, &c. &c. 
Oh i tell me, brightly-beaming eye, 
Whence in your little orbit lie 
So many different traits of fire, 
Expressing each a new desire. 
Now with pride or scorn you darkle, 
Now with love, with gladness, sparkle, 
While we who view the varying mirror, 
Feel by turns both hope and terror. 
Chevreau, citing the lines of our poet, in his critique on 
the poems of Malherbe, produces a Latin version of them 
from a manuscript which he had seen, entitled " Joan. Fal- 
conis Anacreontici Lusus." 



74 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And there, if art so far can go, 
Th' ingenuous blush of boyhood show. 
While, for his mouth — but no, — in vain 
Would words its witching charm explain. 
Make it the very seat, the throne, 
That Eloquence would claim her own j 1 
And let the lips, though silent, wear 
A life -look, as if words were there. 2 

Next thou his ivory neck must trace, 
Moulded with soft but manly grace ; 
Fair as the neck of Paphia's boy, 
Where Paphia's arms have hung in joy. 
Give him the winged Hermes' hand, 3 
With which he wa\es his snaky wand ; 
Let Bacchus the broad chest supply, 
And Leda's sons the sinewy thigh ; 
While, through his whole transparent frame, 
Thou show'st the stirrings of that flame, 
Which kindles, when the first love-sigh 
Steals from the heart, unconscious why. 

But sure thy pencil, though so bright, 
Is envious of the eye's delight, 
Or its enamor'd touch would show 
The shoulder, fair as sunless snow, 

1 That Eloquence would claim her own ;] In the original, 
as in the preceding ode, Pitho, the goddess of persuasion, or 
eloquence. It was worthy of the delicate imagination of 
the Greeks to deify Persuasion, and give her the lips for her 
throne. We are here reminded of a very interesting frag- 
ment of Anacreon, preserved by the scholiast upon Pindar, 
and supposed to belong to a poem reflecting with some se- 
verity on Simonides, who was the first, we are told, that 
ever made a hireling of his muse : — 

Ov<5' apyvpsr] 7ror' eXapxpe HetOco. 
Nor yet had fair Persuasion shone 
In silver splendors, not her own. 

2 And let the lips, though silent, wear 

A life-look, as J words were there.] In the original XaXwv 
oncoirii. The mistress of Petrarch "parla con silenzio," 
which is perhaps the best method of female eloquence. 

3 Give him the winged Hermes' 1 hand, &c.] In Shakspeare's 
Cymbeline there is a similar method of description : — 

this is his hand, 

His foot mercurial, his martial thigh, 
The brawns of Hercules. 
We find it likewise in Hamlet. Longepierre thinks that the 
hands of Mercury are selected by Anacreon, on account of 
the graceful gestures which were supposed to characterize 
the god of eloquence ; but Mercury was also the patron of 
thieves, and may perhaps be praised as a light-fingered,deity. 

4 But hold — forbear — 

I see the siin-god's portrait there ;] The abrupt turn here 
is spirited, but requires some explanation. While the artist 
is pursuing the portrait of Bathyllus, Anacreon, we must 
suppose, turns round and sees a picture of Apollo, which 
was intended for an altar at Samos. He then instantly tells 
the painter to cease his work ; that this picture will serve 
for Bathyllus; and that, when he goes to Samos, he may 
make an Apollo of the portrait of the boy which he had begun. 



Which now in veiling shadow lies, 
Removed from all but Fancy's eyes. 
Now, for his feet — but hold — forbear — 
I see the sun-god's portrait there ; 4 
Why paint Bathyllus ? when, in truth, 
There, in that god, thou'st sketch'd the youtk 
Enough — let this bright form be mine, 
And send the boy to Samos' shrine ; 
Phoebus shall then Bathyllus be, 
Bathyllus then, the deity ! 



ODE XVIII-6 



Now the star of day is high, 

Fly, my girls, in pity fly, 

Bring me wine in brimming urns, 6 

Cool my lip, it burns, it burns ! 

Sunn'd by the meridian fire, 

Panting, languid 1 expire. 

Give me all those humid flowers, 7 

Drop them o'er my brow in showers. 

Scarce a breathing chaplet now 

Lives upon my feverish brow ; 

" Bathyllus (sa}^ Madarae Dacier) could not be more «< s- 
gantly praised, and this one passage does him more hov a 
than the statue, however beautiful it might be, which Pa /- 
crates raised to him." 

5 An elegant translation of this ode, says Degen, may b>i 
found in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. v. p. 403. 

6 Bring me wine in brimming urns, Src] Orig. mtw 
ajxvari. The amystis was a method of drinking used among 
the Thracians. Thus Horace, "Threicia vincat amystide." 
Mad. Dacier, Longepierre, &c. &c. 

Parrhasius, in his twenty-sixth epistle, (Thesaur. Critic, 
vol. i.,) explains the amystis as a draught to be exhausted 
without drawing breath, " uno haustu." A note in the mar- 
gin of this epistle of Parrhasius says, " Politianus vectem 
esse putabat," but adds no reference. 

7 Give me all those humid flowers, &c.] According to the 
original reading of this line, the poet says, " Give me the 
flower of wine" — Date flosculos Lyai, as it is in the version 
of Elias Andreas ; and 

Deh porgetimi del fiore 

Di quel almo e buon liquore, 
as Regnier has it, who supports the reading. The word 
AvOus would undoubtedly bear this application, which is 
somewhat similar to its import in the epigram of Simonides 
upon Sophocles : — 

Eofieadns ytpaie Eo^okAce?, avOos aoiioyv 
and flos in the Latin is frequently applied in the same man- 
ner — thus Cethegus is called by Ennius, Flos inlibatus pop- 
uli, suadreque medulla, "The immaculate flower of the 
people, and the very marrow of persuasion." See these 
verses cited by Aulus Gellius, lib. xii., which Cicegtapraised, 
and Seneca thought ridiculous. 

But in the passage before us. if we admit ekeivoiv, accord- 
ing to Faber's conjecture, the sense is sufficiently clear, with- 
out having recourse to such refinements. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



75 



Every dewy rose I wear 

Sheds its tears, and withers there, 1 

But to you, my burning heart, 2 

What can now relief impart ? 

Can brimming bowl, or flowret's dew, 

Cool the flame that scorches you? 



ODE XIX.3 
Here recline you, gentle maid, 4 
Sweet is this embowering shade ; 
Sweet the young, the modest trees, 
Ruffled by the kissing breeze ; 

1 Every dewy rose I wear 

Sheds its tears, and withers there.] There are some beau- 
tiful lines, by Angerianus, upon a garland, which I cannot 
resist quoting here : — 

Ante fores madidae sic sic pendete corollae, 

Mane orto imponet Calia vos capiti; 
At quum per niveam cervicem influxerit humor, 

Dicite, non roris sed pluvia haec lacrimae. 
By Celia's arbor all the night 

Hang, humid wreath, the lover's vow ; 
And haply, at the morning light, 

My love shall twine thee round her brow. 
Then, if upon her bosom bright 

Some drops of dew shall fall from thee, 
Tell her, they are not drops of night, 
But tears of sorrow shed by me ! 
In the poem of Mr. Sheridan's, " Uncouth is this moss- 
covered grotto of stone," there is an idea very singularly co- 
incident with this of Angerianus : — 

And thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st preserve 

Some lingering drops of the night-fallen dew ; 
Let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'll serve 
As tears of my sorrow intrusted to you. 

3 But to you, my burning heart, frc] The transition here 
is peculiarly delicate and impassioned ; but the commenta- 
tors have perplexed the sentiment by a variety of readings 
and conjectures. 

I The description of this bower is so natural and animated, 
that we almost feel a degree of coolness and freshness while 
we peruse it. Longepierre has quoted from the first book of 
the Anthologia, the following epigram, as somewhat resem- 
bling this ode : — 

Ep%£0 kui Kar 1 eixav l^ev ttltvv, a to ueXiXPOv 

JI,ooj jxaXaKovs *7%a KEKkijicva %£(j>vpovs. 
Hvide Kai Kpovfiafjia ue\t<TTay£<;, evOa peXiaSoiv 
'HSvv epripaiotg vnvov ayoi Ka\ap.oi$. 
Come, sit by the shadowy pine 

That covers my sylvan retreat; 
And see how the branches incline 
The breathing of zephyr to meet. 
See the fountain that, flowing, diffuses 

Around me a glittering spray ; 
By its brink, as the traveller muses, 
I sooth him to sleep with my lay. 

4 Here recline you, gentle maid, <Src] The Vatican MS. 
reads /JafluAAoUjWhich renders the whole poem metaphorical. 
Some commentator suggests the reading of PadvWov, which 
makes a pun upon the name ; a grace that Plato himself has 
condescended to in writing of his boy Aorijp. See the epigram 
of this philosopher, which I quote on the twenty-second ode. 



Sweet the little founts that weep, 
Lulling soft the mind to sleep ; 
Hark ! they whisper as they roll, 
Calm persuasion to the soul ; 
Tell me, tell me, is not this 
All a stilly scene of bliss ? 
Who, my girl, would pass it by ? 
Surely neither you nor I. 5 



ODE XX.s 

One day the Muses twined the hands 
Of infant Love with fiow'ry bands ; 

There is another epigram by this philosopher, preserved 
in Laertius, which turns upon the same word. 

AoTnp npiv uev eXajxne^ svi gwoiaiv icon; 

Ndv Se ^ai/wr XaixTren; ianepos ev <j>6i]X£voi<;. 
In life thou wert my morning star, 

But now that death has stolen thy light, 
Alas ! thoti shinest dim and far, 
Like the pale beam that weeps at night. 
In the Veneres Blyenburgicag, under the head of " Allu- 
siones," we find a number of such frigid conceits upon names, 
selected from the poets of the middle ages. 

5 Who, my girl, would pass it by ? 

Surely neither you nor I.] The finish given to the picture 
by this simple exclamation ns av ovv bpwv irapeXdoi, is inim- 
itable. Yet a French translator says on the passage, " This 
conclusion appeared to me too trifling after such a descrip- 
tion, and I thought proper to add somewhat to the strength 
of the original." 

6 The poet appears, in this graceful allegory, to describe the 
softening influence which poetry holds over the mind, in 
making it peculiarly susceptible to the impressions of beauty. 
In the following epigram, however, by the philosopher Plato, 
(Diog. Laert. lib. 3.) the Muses are represented as disavow- 
ing the influence of Love. 

'A Kvirpig ^lovaatai, Kopacna, rav k<ppo5iTav 

Tt/uar', tjtov Epcura vjipiv eq\on\io-op.ai. 
At Movcrai iron Kvirpiv, Apti TaoTupvXa. ravra' 
'Hjxiv ov Trernrai tovtu to lraidapiov. 
"Yield to my gentle power, Parnassian maids;" 

Thus to the Muses spoke the Queen of Charms — 
" Or Love shall flutter through your classic shades, 

And make your grove the camp of Paphian arms !" 
"No," said the virgins of the tuneful bower, 
" We scorn thine own and all thy urchin's art ; 
Though Mars has trembled at the infant's power, 
His shaft is pointless o'er a Muse's heart!" 

There is a sonnet by Benedetto Guidi, the thought of 
which was suggested by this ode. 

Scherzava dentro all' auree chiome Amore 

Dell' alma donna della vita mia: 
E tanta era il piacer ch' ei ne sentia, 

Che non sapea, ne volea uscirne fore. 
Q.uando ecco ivi annodar si sente il core, 

Si, che per forza ancor convien che stia: 
Tai lacci alta beltate orditi avia 

Del crespo crin, per falsi eterno onore. 
Onde offre infin dal ciel degna mercede, 

A chi scioglie il figliuol la bella dea 

Da tanti nodi, in ch' ella stretto il vede. 



76 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And to celestial Beauty gave 
The captive infant for her slave. 
His mother comes, with many a toy, 
To ransom her beloved boy ; x 
His mother sues, but all in vain, — 
He ne'er will leave his chains again. 
Even should they take his chains away, 
The little captive still would stay. 
" If this," he cries, " a bondage be, 
Oh, who could wish for liberty ?" 



ODE XXI.2 



Observe when mother earth is dry, 
She drinks the droppings of the sky, 
And then the dewy cordial gives 
To ev'iy thirsty plant that lives. 

Ma c i vinto a due oechi 1' arme cede : 

Et f affatichi indarno, Citerea ; 

Che s' altri '1 scioglie, egli a legar si riede. 
Love, wandering through the golden maze 

Of my beloved's hair, 
Found, at each step, such sweet delays, 

That rapt he linger'd there. 
And how, indeed, was Love to fly, 

Or how his freedom find, 
When every ringlet was a tie, 

A chain, by Beauty twined. 
In vain to seek her boy's release 

Comes Venus from above : 
Fond mother, let thy efforts cease, 

Love's now the slave of Love. 
And, should we loose his golden chain, 
The prisoner would return again ! 

1 His mother comes, with many a toy, 

To ransom her beloved boy ; &c] In the first idyl of Mos- 
chus, Venus thus proclaims the reward for her fugitive 
child : 

'O fxavvras yepas e%ei, 
M((70o? roi, ro <f>i\aiia to KvirpiSos' rjv 6' ayayrjg viv 
Ov yvytvov to (piXaixa, tv 6', cj %eve, icai n\eoi> effij. 

On him, who the haunts of my Cupid can show, 
A kiss of the tenderest stamp I'll bestow ; 
But he, who can bring back the urchin in chains, 
Shall receive even something more sweet for his pains. 

Subjoined to this ode, we find in the Vatican MS. the fol- 
lowing lines, which appear to me to boast as little sense as 
metre, and which are most probably the interpolation of the 
transcriber : — 

'HSvucXrs Avaxpewv 

'HSv/xeXris Js Sa7r0co 

JIivSapiKov to Se fxot fxskog 

SvyKepaaag Tig tyx tal 

Ha rpioL tuvtcl jioi Sokci 

Kat Aiuvvaos etaeXOoiv 

Kat Ylatytr) napaxpoos 

Kat avro; Epwj kclv ekiiiv. 

2 Those critics who have endeavored to throw the chains 
of precision over the spirit of this beautiful trifle, require too 
much from Anacreontic philosophy. Among others, Gail 
very sapiently thinks that the poet uses the epithet jizXaivri, 



The vapors, which at evening weep, 
Are beverage to the swelling deep ; 
And when the rosy sun appears, 
He drinks the ocean's misty tears. 
The moon too quaffs her paly stream 
Of lustre, from the solar beam. 
Then, hence with all your sober thinking ! 
Since Nature's holy law is drinking '. 
I'll make the laws of nature mine, 
And pledge the universe in wine. 



ODE XXII. 

The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm, 
Was once a weeping matron's form ;* 
And Progue, hapless, .Irantic maid, 
Is now a swallow in the shade. 



because black earth absorbs moisture more quickly than any 
other; and accordingly he indulges us with an experimental 
disquisition on the subject. — See Gail's notes. 

One of the Capilupi has imitated this ode, in an epitaph on 
a drunkard : — 

Dxim vixi sine fine bibi, sic imbrifer arcus 

Sic tellus pluvias sole perusta bibit. 
Sic bibit assidne fontes et flumina Pontus, 

Sic semper sitiens Sol maris haurit aquas. 
Ne te igitur jactes plus me, Silene, bibisse ; 

Et mihi da victas tu quoque, Bacche, manus. 

HlPPOLYTUS CiPILUPUS. 

While life was mine, the little hour 

In drinking still unvaried flew ; 
I drank as earth imbibes the shower, 

Or as the rainbow drinks the dew ; 
As ocean quaffs the rivers up, 

Or flushing sun inhales the sea: 
Silenus trembled at my cup, 

And Bacchus was outdone by me ! 

I cannot omit citing those remarkable lines of Shakspeare, 
where the thoughts of the ode before us are preserved with 
such striking similitude : 

I'll example you with thievery. 
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
Robs the vast sea. The moon's an arrant thief, 
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun. 
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The mounds into salt tears. The earth's a thief, 
That feeds, and breeds by a composture stolen 
From general excrements. 

Timon of Jlthens, act iv. sc. 3. 

3 a weeping matron's form ;] Niobe. — Ogilvie, in his 

Essay on the Lyric Poetry of the Ancients, in remarking upon 
the Odes of Anacreon, says, " In some of his pieces there is 
exuberance and even wildness of imagination; in th.'.t par- 
ticularly, which is addressed to a young girl, where he wishes 
alternately to be transformed to a mirror, a coat, a stream, a 
bracelet, and a pair of shoes, for the different purposes which 
he recites : this is mere sport and wantonness." 

It is the wantonness, however, of a very graceful Muse ; 
" ludit amabiliter." The compliment of this ode is exquisitely 
delicate, and so singular for the period in which Anacreon 
lived, when the scale of love had notyet been graduated into- 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



77 



Oh ! that a mirror's form were mine, 
That I might catch that smile divine ; 
And like my own fond fancy be, 
Reflecting thee, and only thee ; 
Or could I be the robe which holds 
That graceful form within its folds ; 
Or, turn'd into a fountain, lave 
Thy beauties in my circling wave. 
Would I were perfume for thy hair, 
To breathe my soul in fragrance there ; 
Or, better still, the zone, that lies 
Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs I 1 
Or e'en those envious pearls that show 
So faintly round that neck of snow — 
Yes, I would be a happy gem, 
Like them to hang, to fade like them 
What more would thy Anacreon be ? 
Oh, any thing that touches thee ; 

all its little progressive refinements, that if we were inclined 
to question the authenticity of the poem, we should find a 
much more plausible argument in the features of modern gal- 
lantry which it bears, than in any of those fastidious conjec- 
tures upon which some commentators have presumed so far. 
Degen thinks it spurious, and De Pauw pronounces it to be 
miserable. Longepierreand Barnes refer us to several imita- 
tions of this ode, from which I shall only select the following 
epigram of Dionysius : — 

E<0' avcuos yevourjv, cv Iz yz creixovaa -rrap' avyag, 
Hmdca yvjxvoiaaii, Kai ur. Trvtbvra Aa/?oj?. 

EtOs poSou ysvo/xriv viroirnpfyvpov, oq)pa ue x^P' 711 ' 
Apautvr], Kop.icraig GrsQeai x iol, z ol S- 

Ei0£ Kpivov yevourjv XevKoxpoov, ofypa us x z P aiv 
Apaucvi], uaWov artf xporujj xopsoris. 

I wish I could like zephyr steal 

To wanton o'er thy mazy vest ; 
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom-veil, 

And take me panting to thy breast ! 
I wish I might a rose-bud grow, 

And thou wouldst cull me from the bower, 
To place me on that breast of snow, 

Where I should bloom, a wintry flower. 
I wish I were the lily's leaf, 

To fade upon that bosom warm, 
Content to wither, pale and brief, 

The trophy of thy fairer form ! 
I may add, that Plato has expressed as fanciful a wish in 
a distich preserved by Laertius : 

Aarspas eiaadpeis, Aarr)p epos' side yevotiirjv 

Ovoavoi, ws TToXXoig ouuaaiv eiq as /3Xsttco. 

TO STELLA. 

Why dost thou gaze upon the sky ? 

Oh ! that I were that spangled sphere, 
And every star should be an eye, 
To wonder on thy beauties here ! 
Apuleius quotes this epigram of the divine philosopher, to 
justify himself for his verses on Critias and Charinus. See 
his Apology, where he also adduces the example of Anac- 
reon :—" Fecere tamen et alii talia, et si vos ignoratis, apud 
Ghecos Teius quidam, &c. &c" 

1 Or, better still, the zone, that lies 

Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs !] This raivin was 
a riband, or band, called by the Romans fascia and strophium, 



Nay, sandals for those airy feet — 
E'en to be trod by them were sweet ! a 



ODE XXIH.3 



I often wish this languid lyre, 
This warbler of my soul's desire, 
Could raise the breath of song sublime, 
To men of fame, in former time. 
But when the soaring theme I try, 
Along the chords my numbers die, 
And whisper, with dissolving tone, 
" Our sighs are given to love alone !" 
Indignant at the fee; Ie 'ay, 
I tore the panting chords away, 
Attuned them to a nobler swell, 
And struck again the breathing shell j 

which the women wore for the purpose of restraining the 
exuberance of the bosom. Vide Polluc. Onomast. Thus 
Martial :— 

Fascia crescentes dominse compesce papillas. 
The woman of Greece not only wore this zone, but con- 
demned themselves to fasting, and made use of certain drugs 
and powders for the same purpose. To these expedients they 
were compelled, in consequence of their inelegant fashion of 
compressing the waist into a very narrow compass, which 
necessarily caused an excessive tumidity in the bosom. See 
Dioscorides, lib. v. 

2 JVay, sandals for those airy feet — 

E'en to be trod by them were sweet !] The sophist Philos- 
tratus, in one of his love-letters, has borrowed this thought ; 
co aSeroi rroSes, to KaWos sXevdspos, to rpicrevdaiuuv ey<o Kai 
paKapios eav Trarrjaere jxs. — "Oh lovely feet! oh excellent 
beauty ! oh ! thrice happy and blessed should I be, if you 
would but tread on me !" In Shakspeare, Romeo desires to 
be a glove : — 

Oh ! that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might kiss that cheek ! 
And, in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with an idea some- 
what like that of the thirteenth line : — 

He, spying her, bounced in, where as he stood, 
" O Jove !" quoth she, " why was not I a flood ?" 
In Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, that whimsical far- 
rago of " all such reading as was never read," we find a 
translation of this ode made before 1632. — " Englished by 
Mr. B. Holiday, in his Technog. act i. scene 7." 

3 According to the order in which the odes are usually 
placed, this (OeXto Xsysiv ArpsiSas) forms the first of the se- 
ries ; and is thought to be peculiarly designed as an intro- 
duction to the rest. It however characterizes the genius of 
the Teian but very inadequately, as wine, the burden of his 
lays, is not even mentioned in it: 

cum multo Venerem confundere mero 

Precepit Lyrici Teia Musa senis. Ovid. 

The twenty-sixth Ode, Hv usv Xeysis xa Qrj/3r]i, might, with 
just as much propriety, be placed at the head of his songs. 

We find the sentiment of the ode before us expressed by 
Bion with much simplicity in his fourth idyl. The above 
translation is, perhaps, too paraphrastical ; but the ode has 
been so frequently translated, that I could not otherwise 
avoid triteness and repetition. 



78 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



In all the glow of epic fire, 1 
To Hercules I wake the lyre. 3 
But still its fainting sighs repeat, 
" The tale of love alone is sweet !" 
Then fare thee well, seductive dream, 
That mad'st mo follow Glory's theme ; 
For thou my lyre, and thou my heart, 
Shall never more in spirit part ; 
And all that one has felt so well 
The other shall as sweetly tell ! 



ODE XXIV.3 



To all that breathe the air of heaven, 
Some boon of strength has Nature given. 
In forming the majestic bull, 
She fenced with wreathed horns his skull ; 
A hoof of strength she lent the steed, 
And wing'd the timorous hare with 6peed. 
She gave the lion fangs of terror, 
And, o'er the ocean's crystal mirror, 
Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng 
To trace their liquid path along ; 
While for the umbrage of the grove, 
She plumed the warbling world of love. 

1 In all the glow of epic fire, 

To Hercules I wake the lyre.] Madame Dacier generally 
translates \vpr) into a lute, which I believe is inaccurate. 
"D'expliquer la lyredes anciens (says M. Sorel) parun luth, 
e'est ignorer la difference qu'il yaentreces deux instrumens 
de musique." — Bibliotheque Francoise. 

2 But still its fainting sighs repeat, 

" The tale of love alone is sweet!" 1 ] The word avrf.Q wvti in 
the original, may imply that kind of musical dialogue prac- 
tised by the ancients, in which the lyre was made to respond 
to the questions proposed by the singer. This was a method 
which Sappho used, as we are told by Hermogenes ; '• brav 
rnv Xvpav epuira 2ar:<pGJ, nai brav avrn a7:oKplV7]ral. ,, — Uepi 
Ickwy, rou. devr. 

s Henry Stephen has imitated the idea of this ode in the 
following lines of one of his poems: — 
Provida dat cunctis Natura animantibus arma, 

Et sua fcemineum possidet arma genus, 
Ungulaque ut defendit equum, atque ut cornua taurum, 

Armata est forma, foemina pulchra sua. 
And the same thought occurs in those lines, spoken by 
Corisca in Pastor Fido : 

Cosi noi la bellezza 

Ch' e vertii nostra cosi propria, come 

La forza del leone, 

E l'ingegno de 1' huomo. 

The lion boasts his savage powers, 

And lordly man his strength of mind; 
Hut beauty's charm is solely ours, 
Peculiar boon, by Heav'n assign'd. 
*' An elegant explication of the beauties of this ode (says 
Degen) may be found in Grimm an den Anmerk. iiber einige 
Oden des Anakr." 
4 To man she gave, in that proud hour, 
The boon of intellectual power.] In my first attempt to 



To man she gave, in that proud hour, 
The boon of intellectual power. 4 
Then, what, oh woman, what, for thee, 
Was left in Nature's treasury ? 
She gave thee beauty — mightier far 
Than all the pomp and power of war. 8 
Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power 
Like woman in her conquering hour. 
Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 
Smile, and a world is weak before thee I 6 



ODE XXVJ 
Once in each revolving year, 
Gentle bird ! we find thee here. 
When Nature wears her summer-vest, 
Thou com'st to weave thy simple nest : 
But when the chilling winter lowers, 
Again thou seek'st the genial bowers 
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, 
Where sunny hours forever smile. 
And thus thy pinion rests and roves, — 
Alas ! unlike the swarm of Loves, 
That brood within this hapless breast, 
And never, never change their nest ! 8 

translate this ode, I had interpreted <j>povnua, with Baxter and 
Barnes, as implying courage and military virtue ; but I do 
not think that the gallantry of the idea suffers by the import 
which I have now given to it. For, why need we consider 
this possession of wisdom as exclusive 1 and in truth, as the 
design of Anacreon is to estimate the treasure of beauty, 
above all the rest which Nature has distributed, it is perhaps 
even refining upon the delicacy of the compliment, to prefer 
the radiance of female charms to the cold illumination of 
wisdom and prudence ; and to think that women's eyes are 

the books, the academies, 

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. 

6 She gave thee beauty — mightier far 

Than all the pomp and power of war.] Thus Achilles Ta- 
tius: — icaWos v^vripov TirpioaKEi /3s\ovs, Kai Sia nov o<p9a\- 
puivei; TT\v ipvxnv Karappct. O<pda\uos yap b6oc eptoTiKCJ 
rpavuart. " Beauty wounds more swiftly than the arrow, 
and passes through the eye to the very soul ; for the eye is 
the inlet to the wounds of love." 

Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 

Smile, and a world is weak before thee I] Longepierre's re- 
mark here is ingenious : — " The Romans," says he, " were 
so convinced of the power of beauty, that they used a word 
implying strength in the place of the epithet beautiful. Thus 
Plautus, act 2, scene 2. Bacchid. 

Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa. 

' Fortis, id est formosa,' say Servius and Nonius." 

7 We have here another ode addressed to the swallow. 
Alberti has imitated both in one poem, beginning 

Perch' io pianga al tuo canto, 
Rondinella importuna, &c. 

8 Mas I unlike the swarm of T,ov ".?, 
That broofl within this hapless breast, 

And never, never change their nest !] Thus Love is repre- 
sented as a bird, in an epigram cited by Longepierre from 
the Anthologia : — 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



79 



Still every year, and all the year, 
They^fix their fated dwelling here ; 
And some their infant plumage try, 
And on a tender winglet fly ; 
While in the shell, impregn'd with fires, 
Still lurk a thousand more desires ; 
Some from their tiny prisons peeping, 
And some in formless embryo sleeping. 
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves, 
My breast resounds with warbling Loves 
One urchin imps the other's feather, 
Then twin-desires they wing together, 
And fast as they thus take their flight, 
Still other urchins spring to light. 
But is there then no kindly art, 
To chase these Cupids from my heart ? 
Ah, no ! I fear, in sadness fear, 
They will forever nestle here ! 



ODE XXVI.i 

Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms, 
Or tell the tale of Theban arms ; 
With other wars my song shall burn, 
For other wounds my harp shall mourn. 
'Twas not the crested warrior's dart, 
That drank the current of my heart ; 



Aisi fioi Svvsi pcv sv ovcuriv tjxos epcorog, 

Oupa tie aiya ttoQok; to yXvKV fianpv (pcpei. 
Ov6' fi vv\, ov (p£yyo$ CKOiuicev, a\\' v~o (pikrpav 

11(5)7 KOV xpadir] yvcooros evscrri tvttos. 
£2 TTTavot, prj Kai 7ror' ccpiTrraodai fiev spares 

Oidar\ anoTtTT]vac 6' ovd' baov i<r%tj£r£. 
'Tis Love that murmurs in my breast, 

And makes me shed the secret tear ; 
Nor day nor night my soul hath rest, 

For night and day his voice I hear. 

A wound within my heart I find, 
And oh ! 'tis plain where Love has been ; 

For still he leaves a wound behind, 
Such as within my heart is seen. 

Oh, bird of Love ! with song so drear, 
Make not my soul the nest of pain ; 

But, let the wing which brought thee here, 
In pity waft thee hence again ! 

i " The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. Compare 
also Weisse Scherz. Lierler, lib. iii., der Soldat." Gail, Degen. 
2 JVo — 'twas from eyes of liquid blue 

A host of quiver' d Cupids flew ;] Longepierre has quoted 
part of an epigram from the seventh book of the Anthologia, 
which has a fancy something like this. 
Ou pc XeXrjOas, 
To£or«, Zrjvo<pi\as opuaat tcpvirropevos 
Archer Love ! though slyly creeping, 
Well I know where thou dost lie ; 
I saw thee through the curtain peeping, 
That fringes Zenophelia's eye. 
The poets abound with conceits on the archery of the eyes, 



Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed, 
Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed ; 
No — 'twas from eyes of liquid blue, 
A host of quiver'd Cupids flew ; 2 
And now my heart all bleeding lies 
Beneath that army of the eyes ! 



ODE XXVII.3 

We read the flying courser's name 

Upon his side, in marks of flame ; 

And, by their turban'd brows alone, 

The warriors of the East are known. 

But in the lover's glowing eyes, 

The inlet to his bosom lies ;* 

Through them we see the small faint mark, 

Where Love has dropp'd his binning spark ! 



ODE XXVIII.6 

As, by his Lemnian forge's flame, 
The husband of the Paphian dame 
Moulded the glowing steel, to form 
Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm ; 
And Venus, as he plied his art, 
Shed honey round each new-made dart, 



but few have turned the thought so naturally as Anacreon. 
Ronsard gives to the eyes of his mistress " un petit camp 
d'amours." 

3 This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican 
MS., but I have conformed to the editions in translating 
them separately. 

"Compare with this (says Degen) the poem of Ramler 
Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 313." 

4 But in the lover's glowing eyes, 

The inlet to his bosom lies ;J " We cannot see into the 
heart," says Madame Dacier. But the lover answers — 

II cor ne gli occhi et ne la fronte ho scritto. 
M. La Fosse has given the following lines, as enlarging on 
the thought of Anacreon : — 

Lorsque je vois un amant, 
II cache en vain son tourment, 
A le trahir tout conspire, 
Sa langueur, son embarras, 
Tout ce qu'il pent faire ou dire, 
Meme ce qu'il ne dit pas. 

In vain the lover tries to veil 
The flame that in his bosom lies ; 

His cheeks' confusion tells the tale, 
We read it in his languid eyes: 

And while his words the heart betray, 

His silence speaks e'en more than they. 

5 This ode is referred to by La Mothe le Vayer, who t 
believe, was the author of that curious little work, called 
"Hexameron Rustique." He makes use of this, as well as 
the thirty-fifth, in his ingenious but indelicate explanation 
of Homer's Cave of the Nymphs. — Journee Quatrume. 



80 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



While Love, at hand, to finish all, 

Tipp'd every arrow's point with gall ; T 

It chanced the Lord of Battles came 

To visit that deep cave of flame. 

'Twas from the ranks of war he rush'd 

His spear with many a life-drop blush'd ; 

He saw the fiery darts, and smiled 

Contemptuous at the archer-child. 

" What !" said the urchin, " dost thou smile ? 

Here, hold this little dart awhile, 

And Lhou wilt find, though swift of flight, 

My bolts are not so feathery light." 

Mars took the shaft — and, oh, thy look, 
Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took ! — 
Sighing, he felt the urchin's art, 
And cried, in agony of heart, 
" It is not light — 1 sink with pain ! 
Take — take thy arrow back again." 
" No," said the child, " it must not be ; 
That little dart was made for thee !" 

1 While Love, at hand, to finish all, 

Tipjfd every arrow' 's point with gall ;] Thus Claudian , — 
Labuntur gemini fontes, hie dulcis, amarus 
Alter, et infusis corrumpit mella venenis, 
Unde Cupidineas annavit fama sagittas. 
In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall, 
And one with honey flows, ar.d one with gall ; 
In these, if. we may take the tale from fame, 
The son of Venus dips his darts of flame. 
See Alciatus, emblem 91, on the close connection which 
subsists between sweets and bitters. " Apes ideo pungunt, 
(says Petronius,) quia ubi dulce, ibi et acidum invenies." 

The allegorical description of Cupid's employment, in 
Horace, may vie with this before us in fancy, though not in 
delicacy : — 

ferus et Cupido 

Semper ardentes acuens sagittas 
Cote cruenta. 
And Cupid, sharpening all his fiery darts, 
Upon a whetstone stain'd with blood of hearts. 
Secundus has borrowed this, but has somewhat softened 
the image by the omission of the epithet " cruenta." 
Fallor an ardentes acuebat cote sagittas ? Eleg. 1. 

2 Yes — loving is a painful thrill 

And not to love more painful still ; <?-c.] The following 
Anacreontic, addressed by Menage to Daniel Huet, enforces, 
with much grace, the " necessity of loving :" — 

Ylt.pL rov Sciv <pi\inoai. 
11/30? Utrpov AavirjXa 'Ycttov. 

M.eya Savpa tcov aoiScov, 

Xapircjv SaXog, 'Ystte, 

QiXewncv, a) iraipz 

ifriXerjaav ol aotyiorai. 

$>i\eri(j£ acpvoq avrjp, 

To TCKVOV TOV ~2o)(j>p0Vl<JK0V, 

Hotyiris trariqp anaainq. 
Tt 6' avEv ytvoiT'' E^coroj ; 
Akovt) p.ev can ipvxis* 
Jlrepvyeaaiv cig OXvpnov 
KaraKEiixcvov; avaipei. 
* This line is borrowed from an epigram by Alpheus of Mitylene which 
Menage, I think, says somewhere he was himself the first to produce to 
the world : — 

VvxiS sanv E/sojj aKovrj. 



ODE XXIX. 

Yes — loving is a painful thrill, '/ 
And not to love more painful still ; a 
But oh, it is the worst of pain, 
To love and not be loved again ! 
Affection now has fled from earth, 
Nor fire of genius, noble birth, 
Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile 
From beauty's cheek one favoring smile 
Gold is the woman's only theme, 
Gold is the woman's only dream. 
Oh ! never be that wretch forgiven — 
Forgive him not, indignant heaven ! 
Whose grovelling eyes could first adore, 
Whose heart could pant for sordid ore. 
Since that devoted thirst began, 
Man has forgot to feel for man ; 
The pulse of social life is dead, 
And all its fonder feelings fled ! 
War too has sullied Nature's charms, 
For gold provokes the world to arms : 

BpaSeas reTriypevoitn 
BeXeeai e^aytipei. 
Tlvpi XapnaSos tyaeivw 
~Ponapo)repovs Kadaipsi, 
tyiXewpev ovv, 'Terre, 
$i\c(op.ev oj craipe. 
ASiklos 8e \oiSopovvri 
'Ayiovs eporas rjuwv 
KaKOV ev^ofxai to povvov, 
'Iva pn 6'vvaiT'' ekcivos 
$>i\eav rt Kai (piXeiaOai. 

Thou ! of tuneful bards the first, 
Thou ! by all the Graces nursed ; 
Friend ! each other friend above, 
Come with me, and learn to love. 
Loving is a simple lore, 
Graver men have learn'd before ; 
Nay, the boast of former ages, 
Wisest of the wisest sages, 
Sophroniscus' prudent son, 
Was by love's illusion won. 
Oh ! how heavy life would move, 
If we knew not how to love ! 
Love's a whetstone to the mind ; 
Thus 'tis pointed, thus refined. 
When the soul dejected lies, 
Love can waft it to the skies ; 
When in languor sleeps the heart, 
Love can wake it with his dart; 
When the mind is dull and dark, 
Love can light it with his spark ! 
Come, oh ! come then, let us haste 
All the bliss of love to taste; 
Let us love both night and day, 
Let us love our lives away ! 
And when hearts, from loving free, 
(If indeed such hearts there be,) 
Frown upon our gentle flame, 
And the sweet delusion blame ; 
This shall be my only curse, 
(Could I, could I wish them worse 1) 
May they ne'er the rapture prove, 
Of the smile from lips we love ! 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



81 



And oh ! the worst of all its arts, 
It rends asunder loving hearts. 



ODE XXX.i 
'Twas in a mocking dream of night — 
I fancied I had wings as light 
As a young bird's, and flew as fleet ; 
While Love, around whose beauteous feet, 
I knew not why, hung chains of lead, 
Pursued me, as I trembling fled ; 
And, strange to say, as swift as thought, 
Spite of my pinions, I was caught ! 
"What does the wanton Fancy mean 
By such a strange, illusive scene? 
I fear she whispers to my breast, 
That you, sweet maid, have stol'n its rest ; 
That though my fancy, for a while, 
Hath hung on many a woman's smile, 
I soon dissolved each passing vow, 
And ne'er was caught by love till now ! 

1 Barnes imagines from this allegory, that our poet married 
very late in life. But I see nothing in the ode which alludes 
to matrimony, except it be the lead upon the feet of Cupid ; 
and I agree in the opinion of Madame Dacier, in her life of 
the poet, that he was always too fond of pleasure to marry. 

2 The design of this little fiction is to intimate, that much 
greater pain attends insensibility than can ever result from the 
tenderest impressions of love. Longepierre has quoted an 
ancient epigram which bears some similitude to this ode : — 

Lecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis 

Carpebam, et somno lumina victa dabam; 
Cum me scevus Amor prensum, sursumque capillis 

Excitat, et lacerum pervigilare jubet. 
Tu famulus mens, inquit, ames cum mille puellas, 

Solus Io, solus, dure jacere potes 1 
Exilio et pedibus nudis, tunicaque soluta, 

Omne iter impedio, nullum iter expedio. 
Nunc propero, nunc ire piget ; rursumque redire 

Pcenitet ; et pudor est stare via media. 
Ecce tacent voces hominum, strepitusque ferarum, 

Et volucrum canttis, turbaque fida canum. 
Solus ego ex cunctis paveo somnumque tornmque, 

Et sequor imperium, s&ve Cupido. tuum. 
Upon my couch I lay, at night profound, 
My languid eyes in magic slumber bound, 
When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my bed, 
And forced me many a weary way to tread. 
" What : (said the god) shall you,whose vows are known, 
Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone 7" 
I rise and follow ; all the night I stray, 
Unsheixer'd, trembling, doubtful of my way ; 
Tracing with naked foot the painful track, 
Loath to proceed, yet fearful to go back. 
Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd, 
Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks are heard, 
I, I alone, a fugitive from rest, 
Passion my guide, and madness in my breast, 
Wander the world around, unknr ving where, 
The slave of love, the victim of despair r 



ODE XXXI.2 
Arm'd with hyacinthine rod, 
(Arms enough for such a god,) 
Cupid bade me wing my pace, 
And try with him the rapid race. 
O'er many a torrent, wild and deep, 
By tangled brake and pendent steep, 
With wearj' foot I panting flew, 
Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew. 8 
And now my soul, exhausted, dying, 
To my lip was faintly flying ;* 
And now I thought the spark had fled, 
When Cupid hover'd o'er my head, 
And fanning light his breezy pinion, 
Rescued my soul from death's dominion f 
Then said, in accents half-reproving, 
" Why hast thou been a foe to loving V 



ODE XXXII.6 
Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves, 
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves ; 

3 Till my Iroio dropp'd with chilly dew.'] I have followed 
those who read reioev ISpcos for -eipev vdpo$ ; the former is 
partly authorized by the MS. which reads -eiptv ISoas. 

4 And now my soul, exhausted, dying, 

To my lip was faintly flying ; <§-c] In the original, he 
says, his heart flew to his nose ; but our manner more natu- 
rally transfers it to the lips. Such is the effect that Plato 
tells us he felt from a kiss, in a distich quoted by Aulus 
Gellius :— 

Tnv xpvxnv, Ayadcova ipiXiov, ciri x tl ^ £(Jlv tc"x. ov - 
HXds yap rj TXnpuiv ojj 6ia0ncrop.Evn. 

Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip, 

And drink thy breath, in trance divine, 

My soul then flutters to my lip, 
Ready to fly and mix with thine. 

Aulus Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this epigram, in 
which we find a number of those mignardises of expression, 
which mark the effemination of the Latin language. 

5 And fanning light his breezy pinion, 

Rescued my soul from death's dominion ;] "The facility 
with which Cupid recovers him, signifies that the sweets of 
love make us easily forget any solicitudes which he may 
occasion." — La Fosse. 

6 We here have the poet, in his true attributes, reclining 
upon myrtles, with Cupid for his cupbearer. Some inter- 
preters have ruined the picture by making Eowj the name of 
his slave. None but Love should fill the goblet of Anacreon. 
Sappho, in one of her fragments, has assigned this office to 
Venus. E\6s, Kvnpt, xpvo-eiaiciv tv kvXikeco-iv a0poig avp.pc- 
piyfitvov $a\iaiai vttcrap oivoxovaa rovToiai tois eraipoig 
ep.oii ye Kai croig. 

Which may be thus paraphrased :— 

Hither. Venus, queen of kisses, 
This shall be the night of blisses ; 
This the night, to friendship dear, 
Thou shalt be our Hebe here. 
Fill the golden brimmer high, 
Let it sparkle like thine eye ; 



82 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And while in luxury's dream I sink, 
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink ! 
In this sweet hour of revelry- 
Young Love shall my attendant be — 
Dress'd for the task, with tunic round 
His snowy neck and shoulders bound, 
Himself shall hover by my side, 
And minister the racy tide ! 

Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll, 
Our life is hurrying to the goal : 
A scanty dust, to feed the wind, 
Is all the trace 'twill leave behind. 
Then wherefore waste the rose's bloom 
Upon the cold, insensate tomb ? 
Can flowery breeze, or odor's breath, 
Affect the still, cold sense of death? 
Oh no ; I ask no balm to steep 
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep : 
But now, while every pulse is glowing, 
Now let me breathe the balsam flowing ; 
Now let the rose, with blush of fire, 
Upon my brow in sweets expire ; 
And bring the nymph whose eye hath power 
To brighten even death'* cold hour. 
Yes, Cupid ! ere my shade retire, 
To join the blest elysian choir, 
With wine, and love, and social cheer, 
I'll make my own elysium here ! 



ODE XXXIII.1 
'Twas noon of night, when round the pole 
The sullen Bear is seen to roll ; 
And mortals, wearied with the day, 
Are slumbering all their cares away : 
An infant, at that dreary hour, 
Came weeping to my silent bower, 
And waked me with a piteous prayer, 
To shield him from the midnight air. 
" And who art thou," I waking cry, 
" That bidd'st my blissful visions fly?" a 



Bid the rosy current gush, 
Let it mantle like thy blush. 
Goddess, hast thou e'er above 
Seen a feast so rich in love ? 
Not a soul that is not mine ! 
Not a soul that is not thine ! 

" Compare with this ode (says the German commentator) 
the beautiful poem in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. 
p. 296, ' Amor als Diener.' " 

i M. Bernard, the author of L'Art d'aimer, has written a 
ballet called "Les Surprises de l'Amour," in which the 
subject of the third entree is Anacreon, and the story of this 



" Ah, gentle sire !" the infant said, 
" In pity take me to thy shed ; 
Nor fear deceit : a lonely child 
I wander o'er the gloomy wild. 
Chill drops the rain, and not a ray 
Illumes the drear and misty way !" 

I heard the baby's tale of wo ; 
I heard the bitter night-winds blow ; 
And sighing for his piteous fate, 
I trimm'd my lamp and oped the gate. 
'Twas Love ! the little wand'ring sprite, 8 
His pinion sparkled through the night. 
I knew him by his. bow and dart ; 
I knew him by my fluttering heart. 
Fondly I take him in, and raise 
The dying embers' cheering blaze ; 
Press from his dank and clinging hair 
The crystals of the freezing air, 
And in my hand and bosom hold 
His little fingers thrilbxg cold. 

And now the embers' genial ray 
Had warm'd his anxious fears away ; 
" I pray thee," said the wanton child, 
(My bosom trembled as he smiled,) 
" I pray thee let me try my bow, 
For through the rain I've wander'd so, 
That much I fear the midnight shower 
Has injured its elastic power." 
The fatal bow the urchin drew ; 
Swift from the string the arrow flew ; 
As swiftly flew as glancing flame, 
And to my inmost spirit came ! 
" Fare thee well," I heard him say, 
As laughing wild he wing'd away ; 
" Fare thee well, for now I know 
The rain has not relax'd my bow ; 
It still can send a thrilling dart, 
As thou shalt own with all thy heart !" 



ode suggests one of the scenes. — CEuvres de Bernard, Anac 
scene 4th. 

The German annotator refers us here to an imitation by 
Uz, lib. iii., " Amor und sein Bruder ;" and a poem of 
Kleist, "die Heilung." La Fontaine has translated, or 
rather imitated this ode. 

2 " And who art thou," I waking cry, 

" That bidd' stray blissful visions fly ?"] Anacreon appears 
to have been a voluptuary even in dreaming, by the lively 
regret which he expresses at being disturbed from his vis- 
ionary enjoyments. See the odes x. and xxxvii. 
• 3 ' Twas Love ! the little wand'ring sprite, ire] See the 
beautiful description of Cupid, by Moschus, in his first idyl. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



83 



ODE XXXIV.i 

Oh thou, of all creation blest, 
Sweet insect, that delight'st to rest 
Upon the wild wood's leafy tops, 
To drink the dew that morning drops, 
And chirp thy song with such a glee, 8 
That happiest kings may envy thee. 
Whatever decks the velvet field, 
Whate'er the circling seasons yield, 
Whatever buds, whatever blows, 
For thee it buds, for thee it grows. 
Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear, 
To him thy friendly notes are dear : 
For thou art mild as matin dew ; 
And still, when summer's flowery hue 
Begins to paint the bloomy plain, 
We hear thy sweet prophetic strain ; 
Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, 
And bless the notes and thee revere ! 
The Muses love thy shrilly tone ; 3 
Apollo calls thee all his own ; 

1 In a Latin ode addressed to the grasshopper, Rapin has 
preserved some of the thoughts of our author : — 

O quae virenti graminis in toro, 
Cicada, blande sidis, et herbidos 

Saltus oberras, otiosos 

Ingeniosa ciere cantus. 
Seu forte adultis floribus incubas, 
Coeli caducis ebria fletibus, &c. 
Oh thou, that on the grassy bed 
Which Nature's vernal hand has spread, 
Reclinest soft, and tun'st thy song, 
The dewy herbs and leaves among ! 
Whether thou li'st on springing flowers, 
Drunk with the balmy morning-showers, 
Or, &c. 
Sc? v hat Lice tus says about grasshoppers, cap. 93, and 
185. 

2 And chirp thy song with such a glee, <$-c.J " Some authors 
have affirmed, (says Madame Dacier,) that it is only male 
grasshoppers which sing, and that the females are silent ; 
and on this circumstance is founded a bon-mot of Xenarchus, 
the comic poet, who says elt 7 eitxiv oi TErriyes ovk evSoli/xoves, 
wi> rats yvvai^iv ov8 J on ovv (pwvris zvi ; ' are not the grass- 
hoppers happy in having dumb wives V " This note is ori- 
ginally Henry Stephen's ; but I chose rather to make a lady 
my authority for it. 

8 The Muses love thy shrilly tone ; $rc] Phile, de Animal. 
Proprietat. calls this insect Movcais $jAo?, the darling of the 
Muses; and Movcwv opviv, the bird of the Muses; and tve 
find Plato compared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, in 
the following punning lines of Timon, preserved by Piogenes 
Laertius — 

Ton/ itavToiv & nyF.iro rrXaTverraros, a\\' a/o prims 
'HSveirris tetti^iv i<roypa<f)os, ol ■$' 'EMfapov 
AevSpei e(p£^o[zEuoi ona XsipioEaaav attji. 
This last line is borrowed from Homer's Iliad, y, where 
there occurs the very same simile. 

< Melodious insect, child of eartA,} Longepierre has quoted 
the two first lines of an epigram of Antipater, from the first 
book of the Anthologia, where he prefers the grasshopper to 
the swan : 



'Twas he who gave that voice to thee, 
'Tis he who tunes thy minstrelsy. 

Unworn by age's dim decline, 
The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. 
Melodious insect, child of earth, 4 
In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth ; 
Exempt from every weak decay, 
That withers vulgar frames away ; 
With not a drop of blood to stain 
The current of thy purer vein : 
So blest an age is pass'd by thee, 
Thou seem'st — a little deity ! 



ODE XXXV.5 

Cupid once upon a bed 

Of roses laid his weary head ; 

Luckless urchin, not to see 

Within the leaves a slumbering "aae ; 

ApKEi TETTiyas [xcOva-ai Spoaos, aXXa rtoprsg 

AstSstv KVKvoyv eiai ysycovorspoi. 
In dew, that drops from morning's wings, 

The gay Cicada sipping floats ; 
And, drunk with dew, his matin sings 
Sweeter than any cygnet's notes. 
6 Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his nine- 
teenth idyl ; but is very inferior, I think, to his original, in 
delicacy of point and naivete of expression. Spenser, in one 
of his smaller compositions, has sported more diffusely on 
the same subject. The poem to which I allude, begins 
thus : — 

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering 

All in his mother's lap ; 
A gentle bee, with his loud trumpet murmuring, 
About him flew by hap, &c &c 
In Almeloveen's collection of epigrams, there is one by 
Luxorius, correspondent somewhat with the turn of Anac- 
reon, where Love complains to his mother of being wounded 
by a rose. 

The ode before us is the very flower of simplicity. The 
infantine complainings of the little god, and the natural and 
impressive reflections which they draw from Venus, are 
beauties af inimitable grace. I may be pardoned, perhaps- 
for introducing here another of Menage's Anacreontics, not 
for Us similitude to the subject of this ode, but for some faint 
traces of the same natural simplicity, which it appears to me 
to have preserved : — 

Epco? nor' ev %op£ia<? 
To)v TrapOevcJv a(orov, 
Trjv fioi <piXrjv Kopivvav, 
'iif eiSev, ios npos avrr/v 
HpotredpafiE' rpax^X^ 
AiSvfias re x cl P a S <*-i?T(x)v 
<I>iX£t [i£, unrep, ems. 
Ka.\ovp.£vri Kopivva, 
Mr/Trip, Epvdpta^Ei, 
'ii? Tcapdevos pEv owa. 
K' avTOi Se Sv(TX £ P aiV0}v > 
'Sis oppaai jr\avr)dEis, 
EptJ? Epvdpiac^si. 
Eyw, 6e oiTtapaaras, 



84 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The bee awaked — with anger wild 
The bee awaked, and stung the child. 
Loud and piteous are his cries ; 
To Venus quick he runs, he flies ; 
" Oh, mother ! — I am wounded through — 
I die with pain — in sooth I do ! 
Stung by some little angry thing, 
' Some serpent on a tiny wing — 
A bee it was — for once, I know, 
I heard a rustic call it so." 
Thus he spoke, and she the while 
Heard him with a soothing smile ; 
Then said, " My infant, if so much 
Thou feel the little wild-bee's touch, 
How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be, 
The hapless heart that's stung by thee !" 



ODE XXXVI. 1 
If hoarded gold possess'd the power 
To lengthen life's too fleeting hour, 
And purchase from the hand of death 
A little span, a moment's breath, 
How I would love the precious ore ! 
And every hour should swell my store ; 

Mr] Ju<r%£:pati/£, <prjjj.i. 

Kvirpiv te kcli Kopivvav 

Aiayvwaai ovk ex ovcL 

Kai ol PXeirofTes o£v. 
As dancing o'er the enamell'd plain, 
The flow'ret of the virgin train, 
My soul's Corinna lightly play'd, 
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid; 
He saw, and H a moment flew, 
And round her neck his arms he threw; 
Saying, with smiles of infant joy, 
"Oh I kiss me, mothei, kiss thy boy!" 
Unconscious of a mothers name, 
The modest virgin blush'd vith shame ! 
And angry Cupid, scarce believing 
That vision could be so deceiving-— 
Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame > 
It made ev'n Cupid blush with shame. 
u Be not ashamed, my boy," I cried, 
For I was lingering by his side ; 
"Corinna and thy lovely mother, 
Believe me, are so like each other 
That clearest eyes are oft betray'd, 
And take thy Venus for the maid." 
Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has given a translation 
of this ode of Anacreon. 

1 Fontenelle has translated this ode, in his dialogue be- 
tween Anacreon and Aristotle in the shades, where, on 
weighing the merits of both these personages, he bestows the 
prize of wisdom upon the poet. 

"The German imitators of this ode are, Lessing, in his 
poem, ' Gestern Briider,' &c. Gleim, in the ode ' An den 
Tod;' and Schmidt in der Poet. Blumenl., Gotting. 1783, 
p. 7." — Degen. 

2 That when Death came, with shadowy pinion, 

To waft me to his bleak dominion, «$-c] The commenta- 



That when Death came, with shadowy pinion, 

To waft me to his bleak dominion, 2 

I might, by bribes, my doom delay, 

And bid him call some distant day. 

But, since not all earth's golden store 

Can buy for us one bright hour more, 

Why should we vainly moum our fate, 

Or sigh at life's uncertain date ? 

Nor wealth nor grandeur can illume 

The silent midnight of the tomb. 

No — give to others hoarded treasures — 

Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures ; 

The goblet rich, the board of friends, 

Whose social souls the goblet blends ; 3 

And mine, while yet I've life to live, 

Those joys that love alone can give. 



ODE XXXVII.* 
'Twas night, and many a circling bowl 
Had deeply warm'd my thirsty soul ; 
As lull'd in slumber I was laid, 
Bright visions o'er my fancy play'd. 
With maidens, blooming as the dawn, 
I seem'd to skim the opening lawn ; 

tors, who are so fond of disputing "de lana caprina," have 
been very busy on the authority of the phrase cv' av Savziv 
eneXdrj. The reading of iv' av Qavaro; sneXdr), which De Me- 
denbach proposes in his Arncenitates Literarias, was already 
hinted by Le Fevre, who seldom suggests any thing worth 
notice. 

3 The goblet rich, the board of friends, 
Whose social souls the goblet blends ;] This communion 
of friendship, which sweetened the bowl of Anacreon, has 
not been forgotten by the author of the following scholium, 
where the blessings of life are enumerated with proverbial 
simplicity. 'Yyiaivetv ptv apiarov avdpi ■S-jt/tw. Aivreoov 
Se, KaXov <pvr]v yevsaOai. To rptrov de, t:\ovtsiv atkiAwj. 
Kai to reraprov cwtfiav jxera tu)v 0iXoji/. 

Of mortal blessings here the first is health, 
And next those charms by which the eye we move ; 

The third is wealth, unwounding guiltless wealth, 
And then, sweet intercourse with those we love ! 

* " Compare with this ode the beautiful poem ' derTraum' 
of Uz." — Degen. 

Le Fevre, in a note upon this ode, enters into an elaborate 
and learned justification of drunkenness ; and this is proba- 
bly the cause of the severe reprehension which he appears 
to have suffered for his Anacreon. "Fuit olim fateor, (says 
he in -a, note upon Longinus,) cum Sapphonem amabam. 
Sed ex q^o ilia me perditissima fcemina pene miserum perdi- 
dit cum sce\eratissimo suo congerrone, (Anacreon tern dico, 
si nescis, Lector,) noli sperare, &c. &c." He adduces on 
this ode the authority of Plato, who allowed ebriety, at the 
Dionysian festivals, to men arrived at their fortieth year. 
He likewise quotes th* following line from Alexis, which he 
says no one, who is not totally ignorant of the world, can 
hesitate to confess the truth of: — 

OvSas (j>i\onorr)s eariv avQpwnoq kokos. 
"No lover of drinking was ever a vicious man." 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



85 



Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew, 
We flew, and sported as we flew ! 

Some ruddy striplings who look'd on — 
With cheeks, that like the wine-god's shone, 
Saw me chasing, free and wild, 
These blooming, maids, and slyly smiled ; 
Smiled indeed with wanton glee, 
Though none could doubt they envied me. 
And still I flew — and now had caught 
The panting nymphs, and fondly thought 
To gather from each rosy lip 
A kiss that Jove himself might sip — 
When sudden all my dream of joys, 
Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, 
All were gone I 1 — " Alas !" I said, 
Sighing for th' illusion fled, 
" Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore, 
Oh J let me dream it o'er and o'er !' :2 



ODE XXXVIII. 3 

Let us drain the nectar'd bowl, 
Let us raise the song of soul 
To him, the god who loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell ; 
The god who taught the sons of earth 
To thrid the tangled dance of mirth ; 
Him, who was nursed with infant Love, 
And cradled in the Paphian grove ; 
Him. that the snowy Queen of Charms 
So oft has fondled in her arms. 4 



1 Wlien sudden all my dream of joys, 
Blushing- nymphs and laughing boys, 

Ml were gone!] " Nonnus says of Bacchus, almost in 
the same words that Anacreon uses, — 

Eypouevos 6e 
TlapQevov ovk £Kixi<^e, Kat nOe\ev avOis lavsiv." 
Waking, he lost the phantom's charms, 
The nymph had faded from his arms; 
Again to slumber he essay'd, 
Again to clasp the shadowy maid. Longepierre. 

2 " Jlgain, sweet sleep, that scene restore, 

Oh! let me dream it o'er and o'er /"] Doctor Johnson, in 
his preface to Shakspeare, animadverting upon the commen- 
tators of that poet, who pretended, in every little coincidence 
of thought, to detect an imitation of some ancient poet, al- 
ludes in the following words to the line of Anacreon before 
us :— " I have been told that when Caliban, after a pleasing 
dream, says, 'I cried to sleep again,' the author imitates 
Anacreon, who had, like any other man, the same wish on 
the same occasion." 

3 " Compare with this beautiful ode to Bacchus the verses 
of Hagedorn, lib. v. 'das Gesellschaftliche ;' and of Burger, 
p. 51, &c. &c." — Degen. 

4 Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms 

So oft has fondled in her arms.] Robertellus, upon the 
epithalamium of Catullus, mentions an ingenious derivation 



Oh 'tis from him the transport flows, 
Which sweet intoxication knows ; 
With him, the brow forgets its gloom, 
And brilliant graces learn to bloom. 

Behold ! — my boys a goblet bear, 
Whose spai&jng foam lights up the air. 
Where are now the tear, the sigh ? 
To the winds they fly, they fly ! 
Grasp the bowl ; in nectar sinking ! 
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking ! 
Say, can the tears we lend to thought 
In life's account avail us aught ? 
Can we discern with all our lore, 
The path we've yet to journey o'er ? 
Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 
'Tis only wine can strike a spark ! 5 
Then let me quaff the foamy tide, 
And through the dance meandering glide 
Let me imbibe the spicy breath 
Of odors chafed to fragrant death ; 
Or from the lips of love inhale 
A more ambrosial, richer gale ! 
To hearts that court the phantom Care, 
Let him retire and shroud him there ; 
While we exhaust the nectar'd bowl, 
And swell the choral song of soul 
To him, the god who loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell ! 



of Cytheraea, the name of Venus, -apa to kevOciv tovs spcoras, 
which seems to hint that " Love's fairy favors are lost, wheu 
not concealed." 

6 Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 
' Tis only wine can strike a spark !] The brevity of life 
allows arguments for the voluptuary as well as the moralist. 
Among many parallel passages which Longepierre has ad- 
duced, I shall content myself with this epigram from the 
Anthologia : — 

Aovorauevoi, UpofiiKn, irvtcaaojjxeQa, Kat. rov axparoy 

'EXkcjusv, KvXiKas peit^ovas apauevoi. 
'Paio$ b x ai P 0VTUiv £ari fi l °S- £LTa Ta Xoiira 

Tr/pas KO)\va£i, k<h to te~Xos Savaros. 

Of which the following is a paraphrase : — 

Let's fly, my love, from noonday's beam, 
To plunge us in yon cooling stream ; 
Then, hastening to the festal bower, 
We'll pass in mirth the evening hour; 
'Tis thus our age of bliss shall fly, 
As sweet, though passing as that sigh, 
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip, 
"Come, while you may, of rapture sip." 
For age will steal the graceful form, 
Will chill the pulse while throbbing warm; 
And death — alas ! that hearts, which thrill 
Like yours and mine, should e'er be still ! 



86 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ODE XXXIX. 

How I love the festive boy, 
Tripping through the dance of joy ! 
How I love the mellow sage, 
Smiling through the veil of age ! 
And whene'er this man of years 
In the dance of joy appears, 
Snows may o'er his head be flung, 
But his heart — his heart is young. 1 



ODE XL. 
I know that Heaven hath sent me here 
To run this mortal life's career ; 
The scenes which I have journey'd o'er, 
Return no more — alas ! no more ; 
And all the path I've yet to go, 
I neither know nor ask to know. 
Away, then, wizard Care, nor think 
Thy fetters round this soul to link ; 
Never can heart that feels with me 
Descend to be a slave to thee ! 2 
And oh ! before the vital thrill, 
Which trembles at my heart, is still, 

1 Snows may o , er his head be flung, 

But his heart — his heart is young.] Saint Pavin makes 
the same distinction in a sonnet to a young girl. 

Je sais bien que les destinees 

Ont mal compasse nos annees ; 

Ne regardez que mon amour ; 

Peut-etre en serez vous emue. 

II est jeune et n'est que du jour, 

Belle Iris, que je vous ai vue. 
Fair and young thou bloomest now, 

And I full many a year have told ; 
But read the heart and not the brow, 

Thou shalt not find my love is old. 
My love's a child ; and thou canst say 

How much his little age may be, 
For he was born the very day 

When first I set my eyes on thee ! 

2 Never can heart that feels with me 

Descend to be a slave to thee !] Longepierre quotes here 
an epigram from the Anthologia, on account of the similarity 
of a particular phrase. Though by no means anacreontic, it 
is marked by an interesting simplicity which has induced me 
•to paraphrase it, and may atone for its intrusion. 

EXn-ij kcli cv rvxn I'zya x at P eT£ - T0V Xinsv' eipov 
OvSev ejxoi %' v/xiv, rrai^ere tovs per' epe. 
At length to Fortune, and to you, 
Delusive Hope ! a last adieu. 
The charm that once beguiled is o'er, 
And I have reach'd my destined shore. 
Away, away, your flattering arts 
May now betray some simpler hearts, 
And you will smile at their believing, 
And they shall weep at your deceiving ! 

3 Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, 

And Venus dance me to the tomb .'] The same commen- 
tator has quoted an epitaph, written upon our poet by Julian, 



I'll gather Joy's luxuriant flowers, 
And gild with bliss my fading hours ; 
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, 
And Venus dance me to the tomb I s 



ODE XLI. 



When Spring adorns the dewy scene, 
How sweet to walk the velvet green, 
And hear the west wind's gentle sighs, 
As o'er the scented mead it flies ! 
How sweet to mark the pouting vine, 
Ready to burst in tears of wine ; 
And with some maid, who breathes but love, 
To walk, at noontide, through the grove, 4 
Or sit in some cool, green recess — 
Oh, is not this true happiness? 



ODE XLII.5 



Yes, be the glorious revel mine, 
Where humor sparkles from the wine. 
Around me, let the youthful choir 
Respond to my enlivening lyre ; 

in which he makes him promulgate the precepts of good fel- 
lowship even from the tomb. 

TloWaxi jizv rob' 1 aeiaa, Kai ek rvufiov 6e /3or)oo}, 
TIivete, npiv Tavrrjv a[i<pi/3a\r)o-&£ koviv. 
This lesson oft in life I sung, 

And from my grave I still shall cry, 
"Drink, mortal, drink, while time is young, 
Ere death has made thee cold as I." 
4 And with some maid, who breathes but love, 

To walk, at noontide, through the grove.] Thus Horace : 
Quid habes illius, illius 
Q.ua3 spirabat amores, 

Ouse me surpuerat mihi. Lib. iv. Carm. 13. 

And does there then remain but this, 

And hast thou lost each rosy ray 

Of her, who breathed the soul of bliss, 

And stole me from myself away 1 

6 The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly de- 
picted. His love of social, harmonized pleasures, is expressed 
with a warmth, amiable and endearing. Among the epi- 
grams imputed to Anacreon is the following ; it is the only 
one worth translation, and it breathes the same sentiments 
with this ode : — 

Ou $i\os, bs Kprimpi napa nXsto oivonora^iov, 

"NetKea Kai no\zpov cJaxpvoevTa Xeyei. 
AXX' bans Movtrcwv re, Kai ayXaa <5«/)' A<ppodirr)s 

Zvuuiaywv, eparris pvrjtjKerai evQpocTVvr);. 

When to the lip the brimming cup is press'd, 

And hearts are all afloat upon its stream, 
Then banish from my board th' unpolish'd guest, 

Who makes the feats of war his barbarous theme. 
But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes 

The Muse's laurel with the Cyprian flower; 
Oh ! give me him, whose soul expansive breathes 

And blends refinement with the social hour. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



87 



And while the red cup foams along, 

Mingle in soul as well as song. 

Then, while I sit, with flow'rets crown' d, 

To regulate the goblet's round, 

Let but the nymph, our banquet's pride, 

Be seated smiling by my side, 

And earth has not a gift or power 

That I would envy in that hour. 

Enw ! — oh never let its blight 

Touch the gay hearts met here to-night. 

Far hence be slanders sidelong wounds, 

Nor harsh disputes, nor discord's sounds 

Disturb a scene, where all should be 

Attuned to peace and harmony. 

Come, let us hear the harp's gay nets 
Upon the breeze inspiring fi oat, 
While round us, kindling into love, 
Young maidens through the light dance move. 
Thus blest with mirth, an;: love, and peace, 
Sure such a life should never cease ! 



ODE XLni. 

While out rosy fillets shed 
Freshness o'er each fervid head, 
With many a cup and many a smile 
The festal moments we beguile. 
And while the harp, impassion'd, flings 
Tuneful raptures from its strings, 1 



1 And while the harp, impassion'd, flings 

Tuneful rapture from its stri?igs, <$-c] Respecting the bar- 
biton a host of authorities may be collected, which, after all, 
leave us ignorant of the nature of the instrument. There is 
scarcely any point upon which we are so totally uninformed 
as the music a:" the ancients. The authors* extant upon the 
subject are, I .ragine, little understood; and certainly if one 
of their moods was a progression by quarter-tones, which we 
are told was the nature of the enharmonic scale, simplicity 
was by no means the characteristic of their melody; for this 
is a nicety of progression of which modern music is not sus- 
ceptible. 

The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenteus, attributed 
to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it is called to 
svpnpa tov AvaKpeovTos. Neanthes of Cyzicus, as quoted 
by Gyraldus, asserts the same. Vide Chabot, in Horat. on 
the words " Lesboum barbiton," in the first ode. 

3 And oh, the sadness in his sigh, 

As o'er his lip the accents die !] Longepierre has quoted 
here an epigram from the Anthologia : — 

Kovpr} rtj ju' etpiXnaeiroQeo-rEpax^^iv vypoig. 
NE/crap env to (ptXrua. to yap aroua veKTapos cnvci. 
Hvv pctivu to (piXnpa, ttoXvv tov epcora Tren-oKwj. 

Of which the following paraphrase may give some idea :— 

• Corrected by Meibomius. 



Some airy nymph, with graceful bound, 

Keeps measure to the music's sound ; 

Waving, in her snowy hand, 

The leafy Bacchanalian wand, # 

Which, as the tripping wanton flies, 

Trembles all over to her sighs. 

A youth the while, with loosen'd hair, 

Floating on the listless air, 

Sings, to the wild harp's tender tone, 

A tale of woes, alas, his own ; 

And oh, the sadness in his sigh, 

4s o'er his lip the accents die ! 2 

Never sure on earth has been 

Half so bright, so blest a scene. 

It seems as Love himself had cor e 

To make this spot his chosen home ; 3 — 

And Venus, too, with all her wiles, 

And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, 

All, all are here, to hail with me 

The Genius of Festivity ! 4 



ODE XLIV.5 

Buds of roses, virgin flowers, 
CulFd from Cupid's balmy bowers, 
In the bowl of Bacchus steep, 
Till with crimson drops they weep. 
Twine the rose, the garland twine, 
Every leaf distilling wine ; 
Drink and smile, and learn to think 
That we were born to smile and drink 



The kiss that she left on my lip, 

Like a dewdrop shall lingering lie ; 
'Twas nectar she gave me to sip, 

'Twas nectar I drank in her sigh. 
From the moment she printed that kiss, 

Nor reason, nor rest has been mine ; 
My whole soul has been drunk with the bliss, 

And feels a delirium divine ! 

3 It seems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chosen home; — ] The introduction 
of these deities to the festival is merely allegorical. Madame 
Dacier thinks that the poet describes a masquerade, where 
these deities were personated by the company in masks. The 
translation will conform with either idea. 

* All, all are here, to hail tcith me 

The Genius of Festivity !] Kcop.os, the deity or genius of 
mirth. Philostratus, in the third of his pictures, gives a very 
lively description of this god. 

5 This spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose ; and again, in 
the fifty -fifth ode, we shall find our author rich in the praises 
of that flower. In a fragment of Sappho, in the romance of 
Achilles Tatius, to which Barnes refers us, the rose is fanci- 
fully styled " the eye of flowers ;" and the same poetess, in 
another fragment, calls the favors of the Muse "the roses of 
Pieria." See the notes on the fifty-fifth ode. 

"Compare with this ode (says the German annotator) the 
beautiful ode of Uz, ' die Rose.' " 



88 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Rose, thou art the sweetest flower 

That ever drank the amber shower ; 

Rose, thou art the fondest child 

Offlflimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild. 

Even the Gods, who walk the sky, 

Are amorous of thy scented sigh. 

Cupid, too, in Paphian shades, 

His hair with rosy fillet braids, 

When with the blushing, sister Graces, 

The wanton winding dance he traces. 1 

Then bring me, showers of roses bring, 

And shed them o'er me while I sing, 

Or while, great Bacchus, round thy shrine, 

Wreathing my brow with rose and vine, 

I lead some bright nymph through the dance, 2 

Commingling soul with every glance. 



ODE XLV. 
Within this goblet, rich and deep, 
I cradle all my woes to sleep. 
Why should we breathe the sigh of fear, 
Or pour the unavailing tear ? 
For death will never heed the sigh, 
Nor soften at the tearful eye ; 
And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep, 
Must all alike be seal'd in sleep. 
Then let us never vainly stray, 
In search of thorns, from pleasure's way ; 3 

* When with the blushing, sister Graces, 

The wanton winding dance he traces.] "This sweet idea 
of Love dancing with the Graces, is almost peculiar to An- 
acreon."— Degen. 

2 J lead some bright nymph through the dance, tire.] The 
epithet PaQvicoXnos, which he gives to the nymph, is literally 
" full-bosomed." 

3 Then let us never vainly stray, 

In search of thorns, from pleasure's way ; tire] I have 
thus endeavored to convey the meaning of ri Se rov (3tov 
ir\avo}jxai ; according to Regnier's paraphrase of the line : — 

E che val, fuor della strada 
Del piacere alma e gradita, 
Vaneggiare in questa vita? 

* The fastidious affectation of some commentators has de- 
nounced this ode as spurious. Degen pronounces the four 
last lines to be the patchwork of some miserable versificator, 
and Brunck condemns the whole ode. It appears to me, on 
the contrary, to be elegantly graphical ; full of delicate ex- 
pressions and luxuriant imagery. The abruptness of iSs ttcjs 
eapos (fravevros is striking and spirited, and has been imitated 
rather languidly by Horace :— 

Vides ut alta stet nive candidum 
Soracte 

The imperative i6f is infinitely more impressive ;— as in 
Shakspeare, 

But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. 



But wisely quaff the rosy wave, 

Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave ; 

And in the goblet, rich and deep, 

Cradle our crying woes to sleep. 



ODE XLVI.4 



Behold, the young, the rosy Spring, 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing ; 
While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 5 
The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languish'd into suint sleep ; 6 
And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the murky clouds away ; 
And cultured field, and winding stream, 7 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery bells ; 
Gemming shoots the olive twine, 
Clusters ripe festoon the vine ; 
All along the branches creeping, 
Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
Little infant fruits we see, 
Nursing into luxury. 

There is a simple and poetical description of Spring, in 
Catullus's beautiful farewell to Bithynia. Carm. 44. 

Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, that this ode 
was written after he had returned from Athens, to settle in 
his paternal seat at Teos ; where, in a little villa at some 
distance from the city, commanding a view of the iEgean 
Sea and the islands, he contemplated the beauties of nature 
and enjoyed the felicities of retirement. Vide Barnes, in 
Anac. Vita, § xxxv. This supposition, however unauthen- 
ticated, forms a pleasing association, which renders the poem 
more interesting. 

Chevreau says, that Gregory Nazianzenus has paraphrased 
somewhere this description of Spring ; but I cannot meet 
with it. See Chevreau, GEuvres Mfilees. 

"Compare with this ode (says Degen) the verses of Hage- 
dorn, book fourth, ' der Friihling,' and book fifth, ' der Mai.' " 

6 WJiile virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way.] De Pauw reads, Xapirag 
poSa flpvovati/, " the roses display their graces." This is not 
uningenious ; but we lose by it the beauty of the personifi- 
cation, to the boldness of which Regnier has rather frivo- 
lously objected. 

6 The murmuring billows of the deep 

Have languish'd into silent sleep ; tire] It has been justly- 
remarked, that the liquid flow of the line anaXwerai yaXrjvr/ 
is perfectly expressive of the tranquillity which it describes. 

7 And cultured field, and winding stream, tire.] By fiporuv 
epya, " the works of men," (says Baxter,) he means cities, 
temples, and towns, which are then illuminated by the 
beams of the sun. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



89 



ODE XLVII. 

'Tis true, my fading years decline, 
Yet can I quaff the brimming wine, 
As deep as any stripling fair, 
Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear ; 
And if, amidst the wanton crew, 
I'm call'd to wind the dance's clew, 
Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand, 
Not faltering on the Bacchant's wand, 
But brandishing a rosy flask, 1 
The only thyrsus e'er I'll ask ! 2 

Let those, who pant for Glory's charms, 
Embrace her in the field of arms ; 
While my inglorious, placid soul 
Breathes not a wish beyond this bowl. 
Then fill it high, my ruddy slave, 
And bathe me in its brimming wave. 
For though my fading years decay, 
Though manhood's prime hath pass'd away, 
Like old Silenus, sire divine, 
With blushes borrow'd from my wine, 
I'll-wanton 'mid the dancing train, 
And live my follies o'er again ! 



ODE XLVni. 



When my thirsty soul I steep, 
Every sorrow's lull'd to sleep. 
Talk of monarchs ! I ani then 
Richest, happiest, first of men ; 
Careless o'er my cup I sing, 
Fancy makes me more than king ; 
Gives me wealthy CrGesus' store, 
Can I, can I wish for more ? 

1 But brandishing a rosy flask. &c] AaKog was a kind of 
leathern vessel for wine, very much in use, as should seem 
by the proverb (igkos «ai SuXa/co?, which was applied to 
those who were intemperate in eating and drinking. This 
proverb is mentioned in some verses quoted by Athenseus, 
from the Hesione of Alexis. 

2 The only thyrsus e'er ril ask .'] Phornutns assigns as a 
reason for the consecration of the thyrsus to Bacchus, that 
inebriety often renders the support of a stick very necessary. 

3 Icy leaves my brow entwining, <$-c] " The ivy was con- 
secrated to Bacchus, (says Montfaucon,) because he formerly 
lay hid under that tree, or, as others will have it, because 
its leaves resemble those of the vine." Other reasons for 
its consecration, and the use of it in garlands at banquets, 
may be found in Longepierre, Barnes, &x. &c. 

* Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 

Hasten to the sanguine fight ;] I have adopted the inter- 
pretation of Regnier and others: — 



On my velvet couch reclining, 
Ivy leaves my brow entwining, 3 
While my soul expands with glee, 
What are kings and crowns to me ? 
If before my feet they lay, 
I would spurn them all away ! 
Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the sanguine fight ; 4 
But let me, my budding vine ! 
Spill no other blood than thine. 
Yonder brimming goblet see, 
That alone shall vanquish me — 
Who think it better, wiser j.ar 
To fall in banquet than in war. 



ODE XLIX.6 



When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy, 

The rosy harbinger of joy, 

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl, 

Thaws the winter of our soul — 6 

When to my inmost core he glides, 

And bathes it with his ruby tides, 

A flow of joy, a lively heat, 

Fires my brain, and wings my feet, 

Calling up round me visions known 

To lovers of the bowl alone. 

Sing, sing of love, let music's sound 
In melting cadence float around, 
While, my young Venus, thou and I 
Responsive to its murmurs sigh. 
Then, waking from our blissful trance, 
Again we'll sport, again we'll dance. 



Altri segua Marte fero ; 

Che sol Bacco e '1 mio conforto. 

3 This, the preceding ode, and a few more of the same 
character, are merely chansons a boire : — the effusions prob- 
ably of the moment of conviviality, and afterwards sung, we 
may imagine, with rapture throughout Greece. But that 
interesting association, by which they always recalled the 
convivial emotions that produced them, can now be little felt 
even by the most enthusiastic reader ; and much less by a 
phlegmatic grammarian, who sees nothing in them but dia- 
lects and particles. 

6 JVJio, with the sunshine of the bowl, 

Thaws the winter of our soul—&c] Avaioc is the title 
which he gives to Bacchus in the original. It is a curious 
circumstance that Plutarch mistook the name of Levi among 
the Jews for Adit, (one of the bacchanal cries,) and accord- 
ingly supposed that they worshipped Bacchus. 



90 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ODE L.i 

When wine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic glory rise ; 2 

And fresh en'd by the goblet's dews, 

My soul invokes the heavenly Muse. 

When wine I drink, all sorrow's o'er ; 

I think of doubts and fears no more ; 

But scatter to the railing wind 

Each gloomy phantom of the mind. 

When I drink wine, th' ethereal boy, 

Bacchus himself, partakes my joy ; 

And while we dance through vernal bowers, 8 

Whose ev'ry breath comes fresh from flowers, 

In wine he makes my senses swim, 

Till the gale breathes of naught but him ! 

Again I drink, — and, lo, there seems 
A calmer light to fill my dreams ; 
The lately ruffled wreath I spread 
With steadier hand around my head ; 
Then take the lyre, and sing " how blest 
The life of him who lives at rest !" 
But then comes witching wine again, 
With glorious woman in its train ; 
And, while rich perfumes round me rise, 
That seem the breath of woman's 



i Faber thinks this ode spurious; but, I believe, he is 
singular in his opinion. It has all tbe spirit of our author. 
Like the wreath which he presented in the dream, "it 
smells of Anacreon." 

The form of the original is remarkable. It is a kind of 
song of seven quatrain stanzas, each beginning with the line 
'Or' eyco tticj tov oivov. 

The first stanza alone is incomplete, consisting but of 
three lines, 

"Compare with this poem (says Degen) the verses of 
Hagedorn, lib. v., ' der Wein,' where that divine poet has 
wantoned in the praises of wine." 

2 When wine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic glory rise ;] " Anacreon is not the only 
one (says Longepierre) whom wine has inspired with poetry. 
We find an epigram in the first book of the Anthologia, 
which begins thus : — 

Oivos toi x a p<-tvTi fxiya^ ne\ei Ittttos aoiSai, 
'YSup Se ttivcjv, kuXov ov tekois enog. 
If with water you fill up your glasses, 
You'll never write any thing wise ; 
For wine's the true horse of Parnassus, 
Which carries a bard to the skies ! 

3 And while we dance through vernal bowers, <$-c] If some 
of the translators had observed Doctor Trapp's caution, 
with regard to noXvavQeoiv /*' tv avpaig, "Cave ne ccelum in- 
telligas," they would not have spoiled the simplicity of 
Anacreon's fancy, by such extravagant conceptions as the 
following: — 

Ouand je bois, mon ceil s'imagine 
Que, dans un tourbillon plein de parfums divers, 
Bacchus m'emporte dans les airs, 

Rempli de sa liqueur divine. 



Bright shapes, of every hue and form, 

Upon my kindling fancy swarm, 

Till the whole world of beauty seems 

To crowd into my dazzled dreams ! 

When thus I drink, my heart refines, 

And rises as the cup declines ; 

Rises in the genial flow, 

That none but social spirits know, 

When, with young revellers, round the bowl, 

The old themselves grow young in soul ! 4 

Oh, when I drink, true joy is mine, 

There's bliss in every drop of wine. 

All other blessings I have known, 

I scarcely dared to call my own ; 

But this the Fates can ne'er destroy, 

Till death o'ershadows all my joy. 



ODE LI.s 



Fly not thus my brow of snow, 
Lovely wanton ! fly not so. 
Though the ^rane of age is mine, 
Though youth's brilliant flush be thine, 
Still I'm doom'd to sigh for thee, 
Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me ! 

Or this :— 

Indi mi mena 
Mentre lieto ebro, deliro, 
Baccho in giro 
Per la vaga aura serena. 

4 When, with young revellers, round the bowl, 
The old themselves grow young in soul!] Subjoined to 
Gail's edition of Anacreon, we find some curious letters upon 
the Qiaaoi of the ancients, which appeared in the French 
Journals. At the opening of the Odeon in Paris, the man- 
agers of that spectacle requested Professor Gail to give them 
some uncommon name for their fetes. He suggested the 
word " Thiase," which was adopted ; but the literati of Paris 
questioned the propriety of the term, and addressed their 
criticisms to Gail through the medium of the public prints. 

s Alberti has imitated this ode ; and Capilupus,in the fol- 
lowing epigram, has given a version of it: — 

Cur, Lalage, mea vita, meos contemnis amores? 

Cur fugis e nostro pulchra puella sinu? 
Ne fugias, sint sparsa licet mea tempora canis, 

Inque tuo roseus fulgeat ore color. 
Aspice ut intextas deceant quoque flore corollas 

Candida purpureis lilia mista rosis. 

Oh ! why repel my soul's impassion'd vow, 

And fly, beloved maid, these longing arms 1 
Is it, that wintry time has strew'd my brow, 

While thine are all the summer's roseate charms 1 
See the rich garland cull'd in vernal weather, 

Where the young rosebud with the lily glows , 
So, in Love's wreath we both may twine together, 

And I the lily be, and thou the rose. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



91 



See., in yonder flowery braid, 
Cull'd for thee, my blushing maid, 1 
How the rose, of orient glow, 
Mingles with the lily's snow ; 
Mark, how sweet their tints agree, 
Just, my girl, like thee and me ! 



ODE LIL* 
Away, away, ye men of rules, 
What have I to do with schools ? 
They'd make me learn, they'd make me think, 
Bat would they make me love and drink? 
Teach me this, and let me swim 
My soul upon the goblet's brim : 
Teach me this, and let me twine 
Some fond, responsive heart to mine, 3 
For, age begins to blanch my brow, 
I've time for naught but pleasure now. 

Fiy. and cool my goblet's glow 
At yonder fountain's gelid flow ; 
I'll quaff, my boy, and calmly sink 
This soul to slumber as I drink. 
Soon, too soon, my jocund slave, 
You'll deck your master s grassy grave ; 



in yonder flowery braid, 
CulTdfor thee-, my blushing maid !\ " In the same manner 
that Anacreon pleads for the whiteness of his locks, from the 
bean ty of the color in garlands, a shepherd, in Theocritus, 
endeavors to recommend his black hair : — 

' : iov fieXav ten, nai a ypa-ra vaxivOos, 
AAA' £//ra> zv rois (rre<pavuts -a jrpwra ~X£yovrai. n 

1 s-:pierre, Barnes, d-c. 

" - This is doubtless the work of a more modern poet than 
Anacreon ; for at the period when he lived rhetoricians were 
not known.'' — Degen. 

Though this ode is found in the Vatican manuscript I am 
much inclined to agree in this argument against its authen- 
ticity ; for though the dawnings of the art of rhetoric might 
already have appeared, the first who gave it any celebrity 
was Coras of Syracuse, and he flourished in the century af- 
ter Anacreon. 

Our poet anticipated the ideas of Epicurus, in his aversion 
to the labors of learning, as well as his devotion to volup- 
tousness. Hajav xaicziav naxapioi ciru} trz, said the philoso- 
pher of the garden in a letter to Pythocles 

8 Teach, me this, and let me twine 
Some fond responsive heart to mine.] By %p»<ri7 s - 
oirijy here. I understand some beautiful girl, in the same 
manner that Avatos is often used for wine. " Golden" is 
frequently an epithet of beauty. Thus in Yirgil, "Venus 
aurea :" and in Propertius. " Cynthia aurea." Tibullus, 
however, calls an old woman "golden." 

The translation d'Autori Anonimi, as usual, wantons on 
tnis passage of Anacreon: 



And there's an end — for ah, you know 
They drink but little wine below ! 4 



ODE LIIT. 



When I behold the festive train 

Of dancing youth, I'm young again ! 

Memory wakes her magic trance, 

And wings me lightly through tbe dance 

Come, Cybeba, smiling maid ! 

Cull the flower and twine the braid ; 

Bid the blush of summer's rose 

Burn upon my forehead's snows : 5 

And let me, while the wild and young 

Trip the mazy dance along, 

Fling my heap of years away, 

And be as wild, as young, as they. 

Hither haste, some cordial soul ! 

Help to my lips the brimming bowl I 

And you shall see this hoary sage 

Forget at once his locks and age. 

He still can chant the festive hymn, 

He still can kiss the goblet's brim ; 6 

As deeply quaff, as largely fill, 

And play the fool right nobly still. 



E m* insegni con pin rare 
Forme accorte d' involare 
Ad amabile beltade 
II bel cinto d' onestade. 

* .2nd there's an end— for ah, you knew 

They drink but little itine below .'] Thus JIainard : — 

La Mort nous guette : et quand ses lois 

Nous ont enfermes une fois 

Au sein d'une fosse profonde, 

Adieu bons vins et bon repas : 

Ha science ne trouve pas 

Des cabarets en l'autre monde. 
From Mainard, Gombauld, and De Cailly. old French 
poets, some of the best epigrams of the English language 
have been borrowed. 

= Bid the blush of summer's rose 
Burn upon my forehead's snows; <Sc] Licetus, in his 
Hieroglyphica. quoting two of our poet's odes, where he calls 
to his attendants for garlands, remarks, "Constat igitur 
floreas coronas poetis et potantibus in symposio convenire. 
non autem sapientibus et philosophiam afiectantibus." — "It 
appears that wreaths of flowers were adapted for poets and 
reveiiers at banquets, but by no means became those who had 
pretensions to wisdom and philosophy." On this principle, 
in his 15-d chapter, he discovers a refinement in Virgil, de- 
scribing the garland of the poet Silenus. as fallen on": which 
distinguishes, he thinks, the divine intoxication of Silenus 
from that of common drunkards, who always wear their 
crowns while they drink. Such is the " labor ineptiaium" 
of commentators ! 

• He still can kiss the goblet's brim, fc] Wine is pre- 



92 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ODE LIV.i 
Methinks, the pictured bull we see 
Is amorous Jove — it must be he ! 
How fondly blest he seems to bear 
That fairest of Phoenician fair ! 
How proud he breasts the foamy tide, 
And spurns the billowy surge aside ! 
Could any beast of vulgar vein 
Undaunted thus defy the main ? 
No: he descends from climes above, 
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove ! a 



ODE LV.3 



While we invoke the wreathed spring, 
Resplendent rose ! to ihee we'll sing : 4 

scribed by Galen, as an excellent medicine for old men : 
" Quod frigidos et humoribus expletos calefaciat, &.c. ;" but 
Nature was Anacreon's physician. 

There is a proverb in Eriphus, as quoted by Athenaeus, 
which says, " that wine makes an old man dance, whether 
he will or not." 

Aoyog for' apxaiog, ov KaKaq cx^v, 
Otvov \tyovGi tovs yepovTHi, co iraTcp, 
Ylsideiv x ,) 9 ttlv ov SfiAovraff. 
i " This ode is written upon a picture which represented 
the rape of Europa." — Madame Dacier. 

It may probably have been a description of one of those 
coins, which the Sidonians struck off in honor of Europa, 
representing a woman carried across the sea by a bull. Thus 
Natalis Comes, lib. viii. cap. 23. " Sidonii numismata cum 
fcemina tauri dorso insidente ac mare transfretante cuderunt 
in ejus honorem." In the little treatise upon the goddess of 
Syria, attributed very falsely to Lucian, there is mention of 
this coin, and of a temple dedicated by the Sidonians to 
Astarte, whom some, it appears, confounded with Europa. 

The poet Moschus has left a very beautiful idyl on the 
s ory of Europa. 

1 No : he descends from cli?nes above, 
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove !] Thus Mos- 
chus : — 

Kpvxpe Seov kcli Tpexpt Sepag- nai yivtro ravpog. 
The God forgot himself, his heaven, for love, 
And a bull's form belied th' almighty Jove. 

3 This ode is a brilliant panegyric on the rose. " All an- 
tiquity (says Barnes) has produced nothing more beautiful." 

From the idea of peculiar excellence, which the ancients 
attached to this flower, arose a pretty proverbial expression, 
used by Aristophanes, according to Suidas, poSo. /i' eiprjKas, 
"You have spoken roses," a phrase somewhat similar to the 
" dire des fleurettes" of the French. In the same idea of ex- 
cellence originated, I doubt not, a very curious application 
of the word poSov, for which the inquisitive reader may con- 
sult Gaulminus upon the epithalamium of our poet, where 
it is introduced in the romance of Theodorus. Muretus, in 
one of his elegies, calls his mistress his rose :— 

Jam te igitur rursus teneo, formosula, jam te 

(Quid trepidas ?) teneo ; jam, rosa, te teneo. Eleg. 8. 
Now I again may clasp thee, dearest, 
What is there now, on earth, thou fearest 1 



Whose breath perfumes th' Olympian bowers ; 

Whose virgin blush, of chasten'd dye, 

Enchants so much our mortal eye. 

When pleasure's springtide season glows, 

The Graces love to wreath the rose ; 

And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, 6 

An emblem of herself perceives. 

Oft hath the poet's magic tongue 

The rose's fair luxuriance sung ; 6 

And long the Muses, heavenly maids, 

Have rear'd it in their tuneful shades. 

When, at the early glance of morn, 

It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 

'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 

To cull the timid flow'ret thence, 

And wipe with tender hand away 

The tear that on its blushes lay ! 

'Tis sweet to hold the infant stems, 

Yet dropping with Aurora's gems, 

Again these longing arms infold thee, 
Again, my rose, again I hold thee. 

This, like most of the terms of endearment in the modem 
Latin poets, is taken from Plautus; they were vulgar and 
colloquial in his time, but are among the elegancies of the 
modern Latinists. 

Passeratius alludes to the ode before us, in the beginning 
of his poem on the Rose : — 

Carmine digna rosa est ; vellem caneretur ut illam 
Teius arguta cecinit testudine vates. 

4 Resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing;] I have passed 
over the line cvv eraipei av%st pc^irr\v, which is corrupt in this 
original reading, and has been very little improved by the 
annotators. I should suppose it to be an interpolation, if it 
were not for a line which occurs afterwards : <ptpe 6r) $vcnv 
Xeyojuev. 

5 And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, &c] Belieau, in a 
note upon an old French poet, quoting the original here 
aqjpoduriuv r' aOvppa, translates it, "comme les delices et 
mignardises de Venus." 

6 Oft hath the poet's magic tongue 

The rose's fair luxuriance sung ; <S-c] The following is 
a fragment of the Lesbian poetess. It is cited in the romance 
of Achilles Tatius, who appears to have resolved the numbers 
into prose. Ei roig avQtuiv rjdeXev 6 Zevs erridcifai 0aaiXca,ro 
poSov av twv avBzuv t^naiXevc. yrjs eati kvcuos, (pvrwv ayXa- 
'iaixa, o<f>daXuos avOerou, Xeiuuvos epvOr/pa, xaXXos aorpantTov. 
E/swrof ttvci, A(ppo5iTr]v itpo^svu, evetdeot (pvXXots KO/m evki- 
vrirois 7T£7aXo<s rpv<P'H. to ireraXov rw Zf^WjU'o yeXa. 

If Jove would give the leafy bowers 
A queen for all their world of flowers, 
The rose would be the choice of Jove, 
And blush, the queen of every grove. 
Sweetest child of weeping morning, 
Gem, the vest of earth adorning, 
Eye of gardens, light of lawns, 
Nursling of soft summer dawns; 
Love's own earliest sigh it breaths, 
Beauty's brow with lustre wreaths, 
And, to young Zephyr's warm caresses, 
Spreads abroad its verdant tresses, 
Till, blushing with the wanton's play, 
Its cheek wears e'en a richer ray ! 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



93 



And fresh inhale the spicy sighs 
That from the weeping buds arise. 

When revel reigns, when mirth is high, 
And Bacchus beams in every eye, 
Our rosy fillets scent exhale, 
And fill with balm the fainting gale. 
There's naught in nature bright or gay, 
Where roses do not shed their ray. 
When morning paints the orient skies, 
Her fingers burn with roseate dyes ;* 
Young nymphs betray the rose's hue, 
O'er whitest arms it kindles through. 
In Cytherea's form it glows, 
And mingles with the living snows. 

The rose distils a healing balm, 
The beating pulse of pain to calm ; 
Preserves the cold inurned clay, 2 
And mocks the vestige of decay : 3 
An when, at length, in pale decline, 
Its florid beauties fade and pine, 
Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath 
Diffuses odor even in death i 4 
Oh ! whence could such a plant have sprung ? 
Listen, — for thus the tale is sung. 

1 H hen morniug -paints the orient skies, 

Her fingers burn with roseate dyes ; Src] In the original 
here, he enumerates the many epithets of beauty, borrowed 
from roses, which were used by the poets, -napa tojv ao<j>u)i>. 
We see that poets were dignified in Greece with the title of 
sages : even the careless Anacreon, who lived but for love 
and voluptuousness, was called by Plato the wise Anacreon 
— " fuit haec sapientia quondam." 

2 Preserves the cold inurned clay, be] He here alludes to 
the use of the rose in embalming; and, perhaps, (as Barnes 
thinks,) to the rosy unguent with which Venus anointed 
the corpse of Hector. — Homer's Iliad ip. It may likewise 
regard the ancient practice of putting garlands of roses on 
the dead, as in Statins, Theb. lib. x. 782. 

hi sertis, a. veris honore soluto 

Accumulant artus, pairiaque in sede reponunt 
Corpus odoratum. 
Where " veris honor," though it mean every kind of flowers, 
may seem more particularly to refer to the rose, which our 
poet in another ode calls lapos ueXriua. We read, in the 
Hieroglyphics of Pierius, lib. lv., that some of the ancients 
used to order in their wills, that roses should be annually 
scattered on their tombs, and Pierius has adduced some se- 
pulchral inscriptions to this purpose. 

3 And mocks the vestige of decay :] When he says that 
this flower prevails over time itself, he still alludes to its 
efficacy in embalmment, (tenera poneret ossa rosa. Propert. 
lib. i. eleg. 17,) or perhaps to the subsequent idea of its fra- 
grance surviving its beauty ; for he can scarcely mean to 
praise for duration the " nimium breves flores" of the rose. 
Philostratus compares this flower with love, and says, that 
they both defy the influence of time ; xp ovov & ovre E/>cj?, 
ovrc poSa oiSev. Unfortunately the similitude lies not in 
their duration, but their transience. 

* Sieect as in youth, its balmy breath 

Diffuses odor even in death!] Thus Casper Barlaeus,in 
his Ritus Nuptiarum : 



When, humid, from the silvery stream, 
Effusing beauty's warmest beam, 
Venus appear'd, in flushing hues, 
Mellow'd by ocean's briny dews ; 
When, in the starry courts above, 
The pregnant brain of mighty Jove 
Disclosed the nymph of azure glance, 
The nymph who shakes the martial lance 
Then, then, in strange eventful hour, 
The earth produced an infant flower, 
Which sprung, in blushing glories dress' d, 
And wanton'd o'er its parent breast. 
The gods beheld this brilliant birth, 
And hail'd the Rose, the boon of earth ! 
With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 
The sweetly orient buds they dyed, 5 
And bade them bloom, the flowers dmue 
Of him who gave the glorious vine ; 
And bade them on the spangled thorn 
Expand their bosoms to the morn. 



ODE LVI. 



He, who instructs the youthful crew 
To bathe them in the brimmer's dew, 

Ambrosium late rosa tunc quoque spargit odorem, 
Cum fluit, aut multo languida sole jacet. 
Nor then the rose its odor loses, 

When all its flushing beauties die ; 
Nor less ambrosial balm diffuses, 
When wither'd by the solar eye. 
5 With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 

The sweetly orient buds they dyed, cj-c] The author of 
the " Pervigilium Veneris" (a poem attributed to Catullus, 
the style of which appears to me to have all the labored 
luxuriance of a much later period) ascribes the tincture of 
the rose to the blood from the wound of Adonis— 

rosae 

Fusse aprino de cruore — 
according to the emendation of Lipsius. In the following 
epigram this hue is differently accounted for : — 

Ilia quidem studiosa suum defendere Adonim, 

Gradivus stricto quem petit ensc ferox, 
Affixit duris vestigia caeca rosetis, 
Albaque divino picta cruore rosa est. 
While the enamor'd queen of joy 
Flies to protect her lovely boy, 

On whom the jealous war-god rushes ; 
She treads upon a thorned rose, 
And while the wound with crimson flows, 
, The snowy flow'ret feels her blood, and blushes: 
« " Compare with this elegant ode the verses of Uz, lib. i. 
'die Weinlese.' " — Degen. 

This appears to be one of the hymns which were sung at 
the anniversary festival of the vintage ; one of the eklXiivioi 
vuvoi, as our poet himself terms them in the fifty-ninth ode. 
We cannot help feeling a sort of reverence for these classic 
relics of the religion of antiquity. Horace may be supposed 
to have written the nineteenth ode of his second book, and 
the twenty-fiith of the third, for some bacchanalian celebra- 
tion of this kind. 



94 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses, 
All the bliss that wine possesses ; 
He, who inspires the youth to bound 
Elastic through the dance's round, — 
Bacchus, the god again is here, 
And leads along the blushing year ; 
The blushing year with vintage teems, 
Ready to shed those cordial streams, 
Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, 
Illuminate the sons of earth I 1 

Then, when the ripe and vermil wine, — 
Blest infant of the pregnant vine, 
Which now in mellow clusters swells, — 
Oh ! when it bursts its roseate cells, 
Brightly the joyous stream shall flow, 
To balsam every mortal wo ! 
None shall be then cast down or weak, 
For health and joy shall light each cheek ; 
No heart will then desponding sigh, 
For wine shall bid despondence fly. 
Thus — till another autumn's glow 
Shall bid another vintage flow. 



ODE LVII.2 



Whose was the artist hand that spread 
Upon this disk the ocean's bed ? 3 
And, in a flight of fancy, high 

1 Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, 

Illuminate the sons of earth!] In the original ttotov 
aarovov Kopigwv. Madame Dacier thinks that the poet here 
had the nepenthe of Homer in his mind. Odyssey, lib. iv. 
Th : « nepenthe was a something of exquisite charm, infused 
by Iielpn into the wine of her guests, which had the power 
of dispelling every anxiety. A French writer, De Mere, 
conjectures that this spell, which made the bowl so be- 
guiling, was the charm of Helen's conversation. See Bayle, 
art. Helene. 

2 This ode is a very animated description of a picture of 
Venus on a discus, which represented the goddess in her 
first emergence from the waves. About two centuries after 
our poet wrote, the pencil of the artist Apelles embellished 
this subject, in his famous painting of the Venus Anadyo- 
mene, the model of which, as Pliny informs us, was the 
beautiful Campaspe, given to him by Alexander ; though, 
according to Nalalis Comes, lib. vii. cap. 16, it was Phryne 
who sat to Apelles for the face and breast of this Venus. 

There are a few blemishes in the reading of the ode be- 
fore us, which have influenced Faber, Heyne, Brunck, &c. 
to denounce the whole poem as spurious. But, " non ego 
paucis offendar maculis." I think it is quite beautiful 
enough to be authentic. 

3 Whose was the artist hand that spread 

Upon this dish the ocean's bed ?] The abruptness of apa 
ns ropcvac tiOVTov is finely expressive of sudden admiration, 
and is one of those beauties which we cannot but admire in 
their source, though, by frequent imitation, they are now 
become familiar and unimpressive. 



As aught on earthly wing can fly, 

Depicted thus, in semblance warm, 

The Queen of Love's voluptuous form 

Floating along the silv'ry sea 

In beauty's naked majesty ! 

Oh ! he hath given th' enamor'd sight 

A witching banquet of delight, 

Where, gleaming through the waters clear, 

Glimpses of undream'd charms appear, 

And all that mystery loves to screen, 

Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen. 4 

Light as the leaf, that on the breeze 
Of summer skims the glassy seas, 
She floats along the ocean's breast, 
Which undulates in sleepy rest ; 
While stealing on, she gently pillows 
Her bosom on the heaving billows. 
Her bosom, like the dew-wash'd rose, 6 
Her neck, like April's sparkling snows, 
Illume the liquid path she traces, 
And burn within the stream's embraces. 
Thus on she moves, in languid pride, 
Encircled by the azure tide, 
As some fair lily o'er a bed 
Of violets bends its graceful head. 

Beneath their queen's inspiring glance, 
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance, 
Bearing in triumph young Desire, 6 
And infant Love with smiles of fire ! 



4 And all that mystery loves to screen, 

Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen, &rc] The picture here 
has all the delicate character of the semi-reducta Venus, 
and affords a happy specimen of what the poetry of passion 
ought to be — glowing but through a veil, and stealing upon 
the heart from concealment. Few of the ancients have 
attained this modesty of description, which, like the golden 
cloud that hung over Jupiter and Juno, is impervious to 
every beam but that of fancy. 

5 Her bosom, like the dew-wasli'd rose, <S-c] " 'Vodeoiv 
(says an anonymous annotator) is a whimsical epithet for 
the bosom." Neither Catullus nor Gray have been of his 
opinion. The former has the expression, 

En hie in roseis latet papillis ; 
And the latter, 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd hours, &c. 
>ottus, a modern Latinist, might indeed be censured for 
too vague a use of the epithet " rosy," when he applies it 
to the eyes : — " e roseis oculis." 

6 young Desire, Sec] In the original 'Ijitpos, 

who was the same deity with Jocus among the Romans. 
Aurelius Augurellus has a poem beginning — 

Invitat olim Bacchus ad coenam suos 
Comon, Jocum, Cupidinem. 
Which Parnell has closely imititH :— 

Gay Bacchus, liking Estcourt's wine, 

A noble meal bespoke us ; 
And for the guests that were to dine, 
Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus, &.c. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



95 



While, glittering through the silver waves, 
The tenants of the briny caves 
Around the pomp their gambols play, 
And gleam along the watery way. 



ODE LVIII.1 



When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion, 
Escapes like any faithless minion, 2 
And flies me, (as he flies me ever,) 3 
Do I pursue him ? never, never ! 
No, let the false deserter go, 
For who could court his direst foe ? 
But, when I feel my lighten'd mind 
No more by grovelling gold confined, 
Then loose I all such clinging cares, 
And cast them to the vagrant airs. 
Then feel I, too, the Muse's spell, 
And wake to life the dulcet shell, 
Which, roused once more, to beauty sings, 
While love dissolves along the strings ! 

But scarcely has my heart been taught 
How little Gold deserves a thought, 
When, lo ! the slave returns once more, 
And with him wafts delicious store 
Of racy wine, whose genial art 
In slumber seals the anxious heart. 
Again he tries my soul to sever 
From love and song, perhaps forever ! 



1 1 have followed Barnes's arrangement of this ode, which, 
though deviating somewhat from the Vatican MS., appears 
to me the more natural order. 

2 When Gold, as fleet as zephyr'' s pinion, 

Escapes like any faithless minion, <S-c] In the original 
'O 6pa-nf.Tr} 1 > & XP va °S- There is a kvsd of pun in these words, 
as Madame Dacier has already remarived ; for Chrysos, which 
signifies gold, was also a frequent name for a slave. In one 
of Lucian's dialogues, there is, I think, a similar play upon 
the word, where the followers of Chrysippus are called 
golden fishes. The puns of the ancients are, in general, 
even more vapid than our own ; some of the best are those 
recorded of Diogenes. 

3 And flies me, (as he flies me ever,) fyc] Asi 6', aei /xe <pev- 
yti. This grace of iteration has already been taken notice 
of. Though sometimes merely a playful beauty, it is pecu- 
liarly expressive of impassioned sentiment, and we may 
easily believe that it was one of the many sources of that 
energetic sensibility which breathed through the style of 
Sappho. See Gyrald. Vet. Poet. Dial. 9. It will not be 
said that this is a mechanical ornament by any one who can 
feel its charm in those lines of Catullus, where he complains 
of the infidelity of his mistress, Lesbia :— 

Coeli, Lesbia nostra, Lesbia ilia, 
Ilia Lesbia, quam Catullus unam, 
Plus quam se atque suos amavit omnes, 
Nunc, &c. 



Away, deceiver ! why pursuing 
Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing? 
Sweet is the song of amorous fire, 
Sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre ; 
Oh ! sweeter far than all the gold 
Thy wings can waft, thy mines can hold. 
Well do I know thy arts, thy wiles — 
They wither'd Love's young wreathed smiles ; 
And o'er his lyre such darkness shed, 
I thought its soul of song was fled ! 
They dash'd the wine-cup, that, by him, 
Was fill'd with kisses to the brim. 4 
Go — fly to haunts of sordid men, 
But come not near the bard again. 
Thy glitter in the Muse's shade, 
Scares from her bower the tuneful maiu \ 
And not for worlds would I forego 
That moment of poetic glow, 
When my full soul, in Fancy's stream, 
Pours o'er the lyre its swelling theme. 
Away, away ! to worldlings hence, 
Who feel not tru* diviner sense ; 
Give gold to those Vvho love that pest, — 
But leave the poet poor and blest. 



ODE LIXJ 



Ripen'd by the solar beam, 
Now the ruddy clusters teem, 
In osier baskets borne along 
By all the festal vintage throng 



Si sic omnia dixisset! — but the rest does not bear cita- 
tion. 

4 They dasKd the wine-cup, that, by him, 
WasfilVd with kisses to the brim.] Original : — 

JIuQcjv kvwe'X'Xk Kipvris. 

Horace has " Desiderique temperare poculum," not figu- 
ratively, however, like Anacreon, but importing the love- 
philtres of the witches. By " cups of kisses" our poet may 
allude to a favorite gallantry among the ancients, of drink- 
ing when the lips of their mistresses had touched the brim :— 

" Or leave a kiss within the cup, 
And I'll not ask for wine." 

As in Ben Jonson's translation from Philostratus ; and Lu- 
cian has a conceit upon the same idea, " 'Iva nai wivrig ajxa 
xai <pi\ris," "that you may at once both drink and kiss." 

5 The title JOiTuXrivios vnvos, which Barnes has given to this 
ode, is by no means appropriate. We have already had one 
of those hymns, (ode 56,) but this is a description of the vin- 
tage ; and the title a? oivov, which it bears in the Vatican 
MS., is more correct than any that have been suggested. 

Degen, in the true spirit of literary skepticism, doubts that 
this ode is genuine, without assigning any* reason for such a 
suspicion ; — " non amo te, Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare." 
But this is far from being satisfactory criticism. 



96 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 
Ripe as the melting fruits they bear. 
Now, now they press the pregnant grapes, 
And now the captive stream escapes, 
In fervid tide of nectar gushing, 
And for its bondage proudly blushing ! 
While, round the vat's impurpled brim, 
The choral song, the vintage hymn 
Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 
Steals on the charm'd and echoing air. 
Mark, how they drink, with all their eyes, 
The orient tide that sparkling flies, 
The infant Bacchus, born in mirth, 
While Love stands by, to hail the birth. 

When he, whose verging years decline 
As deep into the vale as mine, 
When he inhales the vintage-cup, 
His feet, new-wing'd, from earth spring up, 
And as he dances, the fresh air 
Plays whispering through his silvery hair. 
Meanwhile young groups whom love invites. 
To joys e'en rivalling wine's delights, 
Seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove, 
And there, in words and looks of love, 
Such as fond lovers look and say, 
Pass the sweet moonlight hours away. 1 



ODE LX.2 



Awake to life, my sleeping shell, 

To Phoebus let thy numbers swell ; 

And though no glorious prize be thine, 

No Pythian wreath around thee twine, 

Yet every hour is glory's hour 

To him who gathers wisdom's flower. 

Then wake thee from thy voiceless slumbers, 

And to the soft and Phrygian numbers, 



i Those well acquainted with the original need hardly he 
reminded that, in these few concluding verses, I have thought 
right to give only the general meaning of my author, leaving 
the details untouched. 

a This hymn to Apollo is supposed not to have been writ- 
ten by Anacreon; and it is undoubtedly rather a sublimer 
flight than the Teian wing is accustomed to soar. But, in a 
poet of whose works so small a proportion has reached us. 
diversity of style is by no means a safe criterion. If we 
knew Horace but as a satirist, should we easily believe there 
could dwell such animation in his lyre? Suidas says that 
our poet wrote hymns, and this perhaps is one of them. We 
can perceive in what an altered and imperfect state his 
works are at present, when we find a scholiast upon Horace 
citing an ode from the third book of Anacreon. 

3 Jlnd how the tender, timid jnaid 
Flew trembling to the kindly shade, tirc\ Original :— 



Which, tremblingly, my lips repeat, 
Send echoes from thy chord as sweet. 
'Tis thus the swan, with fading notes, 
Down the Cayster's current floats, 
While amorous breezes linger round, 
And sigh responsive sound for sound. 

Muse of tfce Lyre ! illume my dream, 
Thy Phcebus is my fancy's theme ; 
And hallow'd is the harp I bear, 
And hallow'd is the wreath I wear, 
Hallow'd by him, the god of lays, 
Who modulates the choral maze. 
I sing the love which Daphne twined 
Around the godhead's yielding mind ; 
I sing the blushing Daphne's flight 
From this ethereal son of Light ; 
And how the tender, timid maid 
Flew trembling to the kindly shade, 9 
Resign'd a form, alas, too fair, 
And grew a verdant laurel there ; 
Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill, 
In terror seem'd to tremble still ! 
The god pursued y with wing'd desire; 
And when his hopes were all on fire, 
And when to clasp the nymph he thought, 
A lifeless tree was all he caught ; 
And, stead of sighs that pleasure heaves, 
Heard but the west-wind in the leaves ! 

But, pause, my soul, no more, no more — 
Enthusiast, whither do I soar 1 
This sweetly-madd'ning dream of soul 
Hath hurried me beyond the goal. 
Why should I sing the mighty darts 
Which fly to wound celestial hearts, 
When ah, the song, with sweeter tone, 
Can tell the darts that wound my own? 
Still be Anacreon, still inspire 
The descant of the Teian lyre : 4 



To [i£V CKTTHpSVye KCVTpOV, 

$vasws 6' afteiipe jAOpcpnv. 
I find the word Ktvrpov here has a double force, as it also 
signifies that "omnium parentern, quam sanctus Numa, &c. 
&c." (See Martial.) In order to confirm this import of the 
word here, those who are curious in new readings, may 
place the stop after (pvaeus, thus : — 

To y.tv £KTrE(pEvye Ktvrpov 
fyvoews, &' ajJLEtips pop^r/v. 
* Still be Jlnacreon, still inspire 
The descant of the Teian lyre :] The original is Tov Av- 
axpeovra pipov. I have translated it under the supposition 
that the hymn is by Anacreon ; though, I fear, from this 
very line, that his claim to it can scarcely be supported. 

Tov AvaxpEovra /((/tov, " Imitate Anacreon." Such is the 
lesson given us by the lyrist; and if, in poetry, a simple ele- 
gance of sentiment, enriched by the most playful felicities of 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



97 



Still let the nectar'd numbers float, 
Distilling love in every note ! 
And when some youth, whose glowing soul 
Has felt the Paphian star's control, 
When he the liquid lays shall hear, 
His heart will flutter to his ear, 
And drinking there of song divins, 
Banquet on intellectual wine I 1 



ODE LXI.2 
Youth's endearing charms are fled ; 
Hoary locks deform my head ; 
Bloomy graces, dalliance gay, 
All the flowers of life decay. 3 
Withering age begins to trace 
Sad memorials o'er my face ; 



fancy, be a charm which invites or deserves imitation, where 
shall we find such a guide as Anacreon? In morality, too, 
with some little reserve, we need not blush, I think, to follow 
in his footsteps. For, if his song be the language of his 
heart, though luxurious and relaxed, he was artless and be- 
nevolent ; and who would not forgive a few irregularities, 
when atoned for by virtues so rare and so endearing 1 When 
we think of the sentiment in those lines : — 
Away ! I hate the sland'rous dart, 
Which steals to wound th' unwary heart, 
how many are there in the world, to whom we would wish 
to say, Tov Ava.Kpe.ovTa fiiy.ov ! 

1 Here ends the last of the odes in the Vatican MS., whose 
authority helps to confirm the genuine antiquity of them all, 
though a few have stolen among the number, which we may 
hesitate in attributing to Anacreon. In the little essay pre- 
fixed to this translation, I observed that Barnes has quoted 
this manuscript incorrectly, relying upon an imperfect copy 
of it which Isaac Vossius had taken. I shall just mention 
two or three instances of this inaccuracy — the first which 
occur to me. In the ode of the Dove, on the words lirtpoiai 
cvyKa\vipto, he says, " Vatican MS. avcKiaguiv, etiam Pris- 
ciano invito :" but the MS. reads avvKaXvipco, with owKiao-ai 
interlined. Degen too, on the same line, is somewhat in 
error. In the twenty-second ode of this series, line thir- 
teenth, the MS. has revin with at interlined, and Barnes im- 
putes to it the reading of reviri. In the fifty-seventh, line 
twelfth, he professes to have preserved the reading of the 
MS. A\a\r]ncvr] J' c/r' avrr/, while the latter has aXaXrjuevos 
<5' £7r' avra. Almost all the other annotators have trans- 
planted these errors from Barnes. 

a The intrusion of this melancholy ode, among the careless 
levities of our poet, reminds us of the skeletons which the 
Egyptians used to hang up in their banquet-rooms, to incul- 
cate a thought of mortality even amidst the dissipations of 
mirth. If it were not for the beauty of its numbers, the 
Teian Muse should disown this ode. " Quid habet illius, 
illius qua; spirabat amores ?" 

To Stobaeus we are indebted for it. 

8 Bloomy graces, dalliance gay, 
Jill the flowers of life decay.] Horace often, with feeling 
and elegance, deplores the l'ugacity of human enjoyments. 
See book ii. ode 11 ; and thus in the second epistle, book 
ii.:~ 



Time has shed its sweetest bloom, 
All the future must be gloom. 
This it is that sets me sighing ; 
Dreary is the thought of dying !* 
Lone and dismal is the road, 
Down to Pluto's dark abode ; 
And, when once the journey's o'er, 
Ah ! we can return no more ! 5 



ODE LXII.6 
Fill me, boy, as deep a draught, 
As e'er was fill'd, as e'er was quaff 'd ; 
But let the water amply flow, 
To cool the grape's intemperate glow ; 7 
Let not the fiery god be single, 
But with the nymphs in union mingle. 

Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes ; 
Eripuere jocos, venerem, convivia, ludum. 
The wing of every passing day 
Withers some blooming joy away ; 
And wafts from our enamor'd arms 
The banquet's mirth, the virgin's charms. 

4 Dreary is the thought of dying, <$-c] Regnier, a libertine 
French poet, has written some sonnets on the approach of 
death, full of gloomy and trembling repentance. Chaulien, 
however, supports more consistently the spirit of the Epicu- 
rean philosopher. See his poem, addressed to the Marquis 
de Lafare — 

Plus j'approche du terme et moins je le redoute, &c. 

5 And, when once the journey's o'er, 

Ah ! we can return no mofc !] Scaliger, upon Catullus's 
well-known lines, " Qui nunc it per iter, &c." remarks that 
Acheron, with the same idea, is called ave^oSos by Theocri- 
tus, and Svo-CKSpo/xos by Nicander. 

6 This ode consists of two fragments, which are to be found 
in Athenaeus, book x., and which Barnes, from the similarity 
of their tendency, has combined into one. I think this a very 
justifiable liberty, and have adopted it in some other frag- 
ments of our poet. 

Degen refers us here to verses of Uz, lib. iv., " der Trin- 
ker." 

7 But let the water amply flow, 

To cool the grape's intemperate glow ; fyc] It was Am- 
phictyon who first taught the Greeks to mix water with their 
wine; in commemoration of which circumstance they erect- 
ed altars to Bacchus and the nymphs. On this mythological 
allegory the following epigram is founded : 

Ardentem ex utero Semeles lavere Lyseum 

Naiades, extincto fulminis igne sacri ; 
Cum nymphis igitur tractabilis, at sine nymphis 
Candenti rursus fulmine corripitur. 

PlERIUS VaLERIANUB. 

Which is, non verbum verbo, — 

While heavenly fire consumed his Theban dame, 
A Naiad caught young Bacchus from the flame, 

And dipp'd him burning in her purest lymph; 
Hence, still he loves the Naiad's crystal urn, 
And when his native fires too fiercely burn, 

Seeks the cool waters of the fountain- nymph. 



98 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



For though the howl's the grave of sadness, 
Ne'er let it be the birth of madness. 
No, banish from our board to-night 
The revelries of rude delight ; 
To Scythians leave these wild excesses, 
Ours be the joy that sooths and blesses ! 
And while the temperate bowl we wreath, 
In concert let our voices breathe, 
Beguiling every hour along 
With harmony of soul and song. 



ODE LXIII. 1 
To Love, the soft and blooming child, 
I touch the harp in descant wild ; 
To Love, the babe of Cyprian bowers, 
The boy, who breathes and blushes flowers ; 
To Love, for heaven and earth adore him, 
And gods and mortals bow before him ! 



ODE LXIV.2 
Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aim'd spear 
Wounds the fleeting mountain-deer ! 
Dian, Jove's immortal child, 
Huntress of the savage wild ! 
Goddess with the sun -bright hair ! 
Listen to a people's prayer. 
Turn, to Lethe's river turn, 
There thy vanquish'd people mourn !" 



1 " This fragment is preserved in Clemens Alexandrinus, 
Strom, lib. vi. and in Arsenius, Collect. Grsec."— Barnes. 

It appears to have been the opening of a hymn in praise 
of Love. 

2 This hymn to Diana is extant in Hephsestion. There is 
an anecdote of our poet, which has led some to doubt whether 
he ever wrote any odes of this kind. It is related by the 
Scholiast upon Pindar (Isthmionic. od. ii. v. 1, as cited by 
Barnes) that Anacreon being asked, why he addressed all his 
hymns to women, and none to the deities 7 answered, " Be- 
cause women are my deities." 

I have assumed, it will be seen, in reporting this anecdote, 
the same liberty which I have thought it right to take in 
translating some of the odes; and it were to be wished that 
these little infidelities were always allowable in interpreting 
the writings of the ancients ; thus, when nature is forgotten 
in the original, in the translation " tamen usque recurret." 

3 Tarn., to Lethe's river turn, 

There thy vanquish^ d people mourn I] Lethe, a river of 
Ionia, according to Strabo, falling into the Meander. In its 
neighborhood was the city called Magnesia, in favor of 
whose inhabitants our poet is supposed to have addressed 
this supplication to Diana. It was written (as Madame 



Come to Lethe's wavy shore, 
Tell them they shall mourn no more. 
Thine their hearts, their altars thine ; 
Must they, Dian — must they pine ? 



ODE LXV.4 



Like some wanton filly sporting, 

Maid of Thrace, thou fly'st my courting. 

Wanton filly ! tell me why 

Thou tripp'st away, with scornful eye, 

And seem'st to think my doating heart 

Is novice in the bridling art ? 

Believe me, girl, x is not so ; 

Thou'lt find this skilful hand can throw 

The reins around that tender form, 

However wild, however warm. 

Yes — trust me I can tame thy force, 

And turn and wind thee in the course. 

Though, wasting now thy careless hours, 

Thou sport amid the herbs and flowers, 

Soon shalt thou feel the rein's control, 

And tremble at the wish'd-for goal ! 



ODE LXVI.5 

To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, 
Fairest of all that fairest shine ; 
To thee, who rul'st with darts of fire 
This world of mortals, young Desire ! 



Dacier conjectures) on the occasion of some battle, in which 
the Magnesians had been defeated. 

4 This ode, which is addressed to some Thracian girl, 
exists in Heraclides, and has been imitated very frequently 
by Horace, as all the annotators have remarked. Madame 
Dacier rejects the allegory, which runs so obviously through 
the poem, and supposes it to have been addressed to a young 
mare belonging to Polycrates. 

Pierhis, in the fourth book of his Hieroglyphics, cites this 
ode, and informs us that the horse was the hieroglyphical 
emblem of pride. 

« This ode is introduced in the Romance of Theodorus 
Prodromus, and is that kind of epithalamium which was sung 
like a scolium at the nuptial banquet. 

Among the many works of the impassioned Sappho, of 
which time and ignorant superstition have deprived us, the 
loss of her epithalamiums is not one of the least that we de- 
plore. The following lines are cited as a relic of one of those 
poems : — 

OA/?t£ yaufipe. aoi fisv Srj yauosws apao, 
E/frcreXecrr', eyriS & irapOevov av apao. 

See Scaliger, in his Poetics, on the Epithalamium. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



99 



And oh ! thou nuptial Power, to thee 
Who bear'st of life the guardian key, 
Breathing my soul in fervent praise, 
And weaving wild my votive lays, 
For thee, O Queen ! I wake the lyre, 
For thee, thou blushing young Desire, 
And oh ! for thee, thou nuptial Power, 
Come, and illume this genial hour. 

Look on thy bride, too happy boy, 
And while thy lambent glance of joy 
Plays over all her blushing charms, 
Delay not, snatch her to thine arms, 
• Before the lovely, trembling prey, 
Like a young birdling, wing away ! 
Turn, Stratocles, too happy youth, 
Dear to the Queen of amorous truth, 
And dear to her, whose yielding zone 
Will soon resign her all thine own. 
Turn to Myrilla, turn thine eye, 
Breathe to Myrilla, breathe thy sigh. 
To those bewitching beauties turn ; 
For thee they blush, for thee they burn. 

Not more the rose, the queen of flowers, 
Outblushes all the bloom of bowers, 
Than she unnvali'd grace discloses, 
The sweetest rose, where all are roses. 
Oh ! may the sun, benignant, shed 
His blandest influence o'er thy bed ; 
And foster there an infant tree, 
To bloom like her, and tower like thee I 1 



l Jlnd foster there an infant tree, 
To bloom like her, and tower like thee!'] Original Kvrra- 
ptTTos Se tteQvkoi uev £vi k^tto). Passeratius, upon the words 
"cum castum amisit florem," in the Nuptial Song of Ca- 
tullus, after explaining "flos" in somewhat a similar sense 
to that which Gaulminus attributes to poSov, says, "Hortuni 
quoque vocant in quo flos ille carpitur, et Gratis Krjirov eari 
ro E<f>r]fiaiov yvvaiKCJV." 

I may remark, in passing, that the author of the Greek 
version of this charming ode of Catullus, has neglected a 
most striking and anacreontic beauty in those verses " Ut flos 
in septis, &c." which is the repetition of the line, " Multi 
ilium pueri, multae optavere puellae," with the slight altera- 
tion of nulli and nulla?. Catullus himself, however, has 
been equally injudicious in his version of the famous ode of 
Sappho ; having translated yeXwiras lyLZpozv, but omitted all 
notice of the accompanying charm, aSv (pwvowas. Horace 
has caught the spirit of it more faithfully: — 
Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, 
Dulce loquentem. 

9 This fragment is preserved in the third book of Strabo. 

3 Of the Tartessian prince my own ;J He here alludes to 



ODE LXVn.5 

Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 
The wealth of Amalthea's horn ; 
Nor should I ask to call the throne 
Of the Tartessian prince my own ; 8 
To totter through his train of years, 
The victim of declining fears. 
One little hour of joy to me 
Is worth a dull eternity ! 



ODE LXVIIL* 

Now Neptune's month :ur sky deforms, 

The angry night-cloud teems with storms ; 

And savage winds, infuriate driven, 

Fly howling in the face of heaven ! 

Now, now, my friends, the gathering gloona 

With roseate rays of wine illume : 

And while our wreaths of parsley spread 

Their fadeless foliage round our head, 

Let's hymn th' almighty power of wine, 

And shed libations on his shrine ! 



ODE LXIX.s 
They wove the lotus band to deck 
And fan with pensile wreath each neck : 
And every guest, to shade his head, 
Three little fragrant chaplets spread ; 6 



Arganthonius, who lived, according to Lucian, a hundred 
and fifty years ; and reigned, according to Herodotus, eighty. 
See Barnes. 

4 This is composed of two fragments ; the seventieth and 
eighty-first in Barnes. They are both found in Eustathius. 

s Three fragments form this little ode, all of which are pre- 
served in Athenseus. They are the eighty-second, seventy- 
fifth, and eighty-third, in Barnes. 

6 And every guest, to shade his head, 
Three little fragrant chaplets spread ;] Longepierre, to 
give an idea of the luxurious estimation in which garlands 
were held by the ancients, relates an anecdote of a courte- 
san, who, in order to gratify three lovers, without leaving 
cause for jealousy with any of them, gave a kiss to one, let 
the other drink after her, and put a garland on the brow of 
the third ; so that each v»is satisfied with his favor, and 
flattered himself with the preference. 

This circumstance resembles very much the subject of one 
of the tensons of Savari de Mauleon, a troubadour. See 
L'Histoire Litteraire des Troubadours. The recital is a cu- 
rious picture of the puerile gallantries of chivalry. 



100 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And one was of th' Egyptian leaf, 

The rest were roses, fair and brief: 

While from a golden vase profound, 

To all on flowery beds around, 

A Hebe, of celestial shape, 

Pour'd the rich droppings of the grape ! 



ODE LXX.i 

A broken cake, with honey sweet, 
Is all my spare and simple treat: 
And while a generous bowl I crown 
To float my little banquet down, 
I take the soft, the amorous lyre, 
And sing of love's delicious fire : 
In mirthful measures warm and free, 
I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee ! 



ODE LXXI.i 

With twenty chords my lyre is hung, 
And while I wake them all for thee, 

Thou, O maiden, wild and young, 
Disport'st in airy levity. 

The nursling fawn, that in some shade 
Its antler'd mother leaves behind, 3 

Is not more wantonly afraid, 
More timid of the rustling wind ! 



ODE LXXII.4 



Fare thee well, perfidious maid, 
My soul, too long on earth delay 3 d, 



and 



i Compiled by Barnes, from Athenaeus, Hephrestion, 
Arsenius. See Barnes, 80th. 

2 This I have formed from the eighty-fourth and eighty- 
fifth of Barnes's edition. The two fragments are found in 
Athenaeus. 

3 The nursling fawn, that in some shade 

Its antler'd mother leaves behind-, <$-c] In the original : — 
'Of cv v\rj Kcpoeaarfs 
ATTo\ei(j>6£is vtto ixrjrpos. 
"Horned" here, undoubtedly, seems a strange epithet; 
Madame Dacier however observes, that Sophocles, Callima- 
chus, &c, have all applied it in the very same manner, and 
she seems to agree in the conjecture of the scholiast upon 
Pindar, that perhaps horns are not always peculiar to the 
males. 1 think we may with more ease conclude it to be a 
license of the poet, "jussit habere puellam cornua." 

* This fragment is preserved by the scholiast upon Aristo- 
phanes, and is the eighty-seventh in Barnes. 



Delay'd, perfidious girl, by thee, 

Is on the wing for liberty. 

I fly to seek a kindlier sphere, 

Since thou hast ceased to love me here ! 



ODE LXXin.6 

Awhile I bloom'd, a happy flower, 
Till Love approach'd one fatal hour, 
And made my tender branches feel 
The wounds oi his avenging steel. 
Then lost I fell, like some poor willow 
That falls across the wintry billow ! 



ODE LXXIV.« 
Monarch Love, resistless boy, 
With whom the rosy Queen of Joy, 
And nymphs, whose eyes have Heaven's hue, 
Disporting tread the mountain-dew ; 
Propitious, oh ! receive my sighs, 
Which, glowing with entreaty, rise, 
That thou wilt whisper to the breast 
Of her I love thy soft behest ; 
And counsel her to learn from thee, 
That lesson thou hast taught to me. 
Ah ! if my heart no flattery tell, 
Thou'lt own I've learn'd that lesson well ! 



ODE LXXV.7 
Spirit of Love, whose locks unroll'd, 
Stream on the breeze like floating gold ; 

e This is to be found in Hephffistion, and is the eighty- 
ninth of Barnes's edition. 

I have omitted, from among these scraps, a very consider- 
able fragment imputed to our poet, "ZavOrj 6' EvpvrrvXr] /xeXet, 
&c, which is preserved in the twelfth book of Athenaeus, and 
is the ninety- first in Barnes. If it was really Anacreon who 
wrote it, " nil fuit unquam sic impar sibi." It is in a style 
of gross satire, and abounds with expressions that never 
could be gracefully translated. 

6 A fragment preserved by Dion Chrysostom. Orat. ii. de 
Regno. See Barnes, 93. 

'This fragment, which is extant in A'^enceus, (Barnes, 
101,) is supposed, on the authority of Charialeon, to have 
been addressed to Sa ppho. We have also a stanza attributed 
to her, which some romancers have supposed to be her answer 
to Anacreon. "Mais par malheur, (as Bayle says,) Sappho 
vint au monde environ cent ou six vingt ans avant Anacreon." 
—Nouvelles de la Rep. des Lett. torn. ii. de Novembre, 1684. 
The following is her fragment, the compliment of which is 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



101 



Come, within a fragrant cloud 
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud ; 
And, on those wings that sparkling play, 
Waft, oh, waft me hence away ! 
Love I my soul is full of thee, 
Alive to all thy luxury. 
But she, the nymph for whom I glow, 
The lovely Lesbian mocks my wo ; 
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues, 
That time upon my forehead strews. 
Alas ! I fear she keeps her charms, 
In store for younger, happier arms ! 



ODE LXXVI.1 

Hither, gentle Muse of mine, 
Come and teach thy votary old 

Many a golden hymn divine, 
For the nymph with vest of gold. 

Pretty nymph, of tender age, 
Fair thy silky locks unfold ; 

Listen to a hoary sage, 

Sweetest maid with vest of gold I 



ODE LXXVn.s 

Would that I were a tuneful lyre, 

Of burnish'd ivory fair, 
Which, in the Dionysian choir, 

Some blooming boy should bear ! 

Would that I were a golden vase, 
That some bright nymph might hold 

My spotless frame, with blushing grace, 
Herself as pure as gold ! 



finely imagined ; she supposes that the Muse has dictated 
the verses of Anacreon — 

Envoi/, cj x. ovcro ^P ove Mow' eviGnes 
'Tfivov, £K Trjg KaWiyvvaiKos eaQXas 
TtjI'oj X^po-S bv aziic rrpirvoig 
Hp£(7j3vs ayavos. 
Oh Muse ! who sitt'st on golden throne, 
Full many a hymn of witching tone 
The Teian sage is taught by thee ! 
But, Goddess, from thy throne of gold, 
The sweetest hymn thou'st ever told, 
He lately leam'd and sung for me. 

1 Formed of the 124th and 119th fragments in Barnes, both 
of which are to be found in Scaliger's Poetics. 

De Pauw thinks that those detached lines and couplets, 
which Scaliger has adduced as examples in his Poetics, are 
by no means authentic, but of his own fabrication. 



ODE LXXVIIT.3 

When Cupid sees how thickly now 
The snows of Time fall o'er my brow, 
Upon his wing of golden light, 
He passes with an eaglet's flight, 
And flitting onward seems to say, 
" Fare thee well, thou'st had thy day !" 



Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray, 
That lights our life's meandering way, 
That God, within this bosom stealing, 
Hath waken'd a strange, rnin^jed feeling, 
Which pleases, though so sadly teasing, 
And teases, though so sweetly pleasing !* 



Let me resign this wretched breath, 
Since now remains to me 

No other balm than kindly death, 
To sooth my misery ! 5 



I know thou lov'st a brirnming measure, 
And art a kindly, cordial host ; 

But let me fill and drink at pleasure — 
Thus I enjoy the goblet most 6 



I fear that love disturbs my rest, 
Yet feel not love's impassion'd care ; 

I think there's madness in my breast, 
Yet cannot find that madness there ! 7 



s This is generally inserted among the remains of Alcams 
Some, however, have attributed it to Anacreon. See our 
poet's twenty-second ode, and the notes. 

3 See Barnes, 173d. This fragment, to which I have taken 
the liberty of adding a turn not to be found in the original, is 
cited by Lucian in his short essay on the Gallic Hercules. 

4 Barnes, 125th. This is in Scaliger's Poetics. Gail has 
omitted it in his collection of fragments. 

6 This fragment is extant in Arsenius and Hephaestion. 
See Barnes, (69th,) who has arranged the metre of it very 
skilfully. 

6 Barnes, 72d. This fragment, which is found in Athe- 
naeus, contains an excellent lesson for the votaries of Jupiter 
Hospitalis. 

7 Found in Hephaestion, (see Barnes, 95th,) and reminds 
one somewhat of the following:— 



102 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



From dread Leucadia's frowning steep, 
I'll plunge into the whitening deep : 
And there lie cold, to death resign'd, 
Since Love intoxicates my mind I 1 



Mix me, child, a cup divine, 
Crystal water, ruby wine : 
Weave the frontlet, richly flushing, 
O'er my wintry temples blushing. 
Mix the brimmer — Love and I 
Shall no more the contest try. 
Here — upon this holy bowl, 
I surrender all my soul J 2 



Among the Epigrams of the Anthologia, are found 
some panegyrics on Anacreon, which I had trans- 
lated, and originally intended as a sort of Coronis to 
this work. But I found, upon consideration, that 
they wanted variety ; and that a frequent recur- 
rence, in them, of the same thought, would render a 
collection of such poems uninteresting. I shall take 
the liberty, however, of subjoining a few, selected 
from the number, that I may not appear to have 
totally neglected those ancient tributes to the fame 
of Anacreon. The four epigrams which I give are 
imputed to Antipater Sidonius. They are rendered, 
perhaps, with too much freedom ; but designing 
originally a translation of all that are extant on the 

Odi et amo ; qnare id faciam fortasse requiris ; 
Nescio : sed fieri sentio, et excrucfor. Carm. 53. 

Hove thee and hate thee, but if I can tell 
The cause of my love and my hate, may I die. 

I can feel it, alas ! I can feel it too well, 
That I love thee and hate thee, but cannot tell why. 

1 This is also in Heph^stion, and perhaps is a fragment of 
some poem in which Anacreon had commemorated the fate 
of Sappho. It is the 123d of Barnes. 

2 Collected by Barnes, from Demetrius Phalareusand Eus- 
tathius, and subjoined in his edition to the epigrams attribu- 
ted to our poet. And here is the last of those little scattered 
flowers, which I tljought I might venture with any grace to 
transplant;— happy if it could be said of the garland which 
they form, To <5' w^' Avaxpeovros. 

3 Antipater Sidonius, the author of this epigram, lived, ac- 
cording to Vossius, de Poetis Gratis, in the second year of 
the 169th Olympiad. He appears, from what Cicero and 
Quintilian have said of him, to have been a kind of improv- 
visatore. See Institut. Orat. lib. x. cap. 7. There is nothing 
more known respecting this poet, except some particulars 



subject, I endeavored to enliven their uniformity by 
sometimes indulging in the liberties of paraphrase. 



ANTIIIATPOY XIAJ1NIOY, EIZ ANAKPEONTA. 

GAAAOI rsTpa.Kopvp.Pog, Avcucpzov, ay<pt at Kiaaog 

a0pa rt Xetpcovoiv noptpvpeup nera\a 
Trrjyai S' apyivotvrog avad\i@utvTO yakanTOs, 

evwdes 6 airo yrjg rjSv %eoito p.tdv, 
otypa ks toi uTToiin re k<xi aaTea rspipiv apr)rat } 

ei 8s rig (pQip.£voi$ ^pcjiTTTcrai. svtypoavva 
a) to <pi\ov arsp^ag, 0iAe, QapffiTov, co crvv aoiSa 

Travra 8ian\wo-ag /cat aw spurt 0tov. 

Around the tomb, oh, bard divine ! 

Where soft thy hallow'd brow reposes, 
Long may the deathless ivy twine, 

And summer spread her waste of roses ! 

And there shall many a fount distil, 

And many a rill refresh the floweni ; 
But wine shall be each purple rill, 

And every fount be milky showers. 

Thus, shade of him, whom Nature taught 
To time his lyre and soul to pleasure, 

Who gave to love his tenderest thought, 
Who gave to love his fondest measure, — 

Thus, after death, if shades can feel, 

Thou may'st, from odors round thee streaming, 

A pulse of past enjoyment steal, 

And live again in blissful dreaming ! 3 

about his illness and death, which are mentioned as curious 
by Pliny and others ; — and there remain of his works but a 
few epigrams in the Anthologia, among which are found 
these inscriptions upon Anacreon. These remains have been 
sometimes imputed to another poet a of the same name, of 
whom Vossius gives us the following account : — " Antipater 
Thessalonicensis vixit tempore Augusti Cssaris, ut qui sal- 
tantem viderit Pyladem, sicut constat ex quodam ejus epi- 
grammate AvQo^oyiag, lib. iv. tit. stg opx^o-rptSag. Ateum ac 
Bathyllum primos fuisse pantomimos ac sub Augusto cla- 
ruisse, satis notum ex Dione, &c. &c." 

The reader, who thinks it worth observing, may find a 
strange oversight in Hoffman's quotation of this article from 
Vossius, Lexic. Univers. By the omission of a sentence, he 
has made Vossius assert that the poet Antipater was one of 
the first pantomime dancers in Rome. 

Barnes, upon the epigram before us, mentions a version of 
it by Brodceus, which is not to be found in that commenta- 
tor ; but he more than once confounds Brodseus with another 
annotator on the Anthologia, Vincentius Obsopceus, who has 
given a translation of the epigram. 

aPleraque (amen Thessalonicensi tribuenda videntur.— Brunck, Let- 
tiones et Emendat. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



105 



TOY AYTOY, EIS TON AYTON. 

TYMBOS AvaKpeiovrog. b T^i'05 evQaSc kvkvo; 

EvSei, -y^r) 7raiSo>v ^wpoTCtTT] [xavtrj. 
A.Kprjv \eipioevTi p,e\t$£Tai ajMpt BadvWoi 

'I/iepa' Kai Kiaaov \evkos oSwSe \idos. 
Ou<3' Al'Sns voi epcjras aTr£<70£<j£v, tv 6' A-X^povrog 

£lv t bXoi coSlvel? IZ-VirptSi QEppLorepn. 

Here sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied shade ; - 
Here mute in death the Teian swan is laid. 1 
Cold, cold that heart, which while on earth it dwelt 
All tie sweet phrensy of love's passion felt. 
And yet, oh Bard ! thou art not mute in death, 
Still do we catch thy lyre's luxurious breath; 2 
And still thy songs of soft Bathylla bloom, 
Green as the ivy round thy mould'ring tomb. 
Nor yet has death obscured thy fire of love, 
For still it lights thee through the Elysian grove ; 
Where dreams are thine, that bless th' elect alone, 
And Venus calls thee even in death her own ! 

1 the Teian swan is laid.] Thus Horace of Pindar : — 

Multa Dircjeum levat aura cycnum. 
A swan was the hieroglyphical emblem of a poet. Anacreon 
has been called the swan of Teos by another of his eulogists. 

~Ev toi$ jie^ixpois 'lfi£pocn avvrpo<pov 
Avaio$ AvaKp£ovra, Trjiov kvkvov, 
EaiprjXas vypn vwrapos heXtjSovti. 

Evyevovs, AvQoXoy. 

God of the grape ! thou hast betray'd 

In wine's bewildering dream, 
The fairest swan that ever play'd 
Along the Muse's stream ! — 
The Teian, nursed with all those honey'd boys, 
The young Desires, light Loves, and rose-lipp'd Joys ! 

2 Still dc we catch thy lyre's luxurious breath ;] Thus 
Simonides, speaking of our poet: — 

'M.oXnrjs J' ov Xijdri fj.e\iT£pK£os aXX' eti kcivo 
BapfftTov ox>8e $avu>v EvvaaEv £iv a'(8rj. 

"ZijioviSov, AvdoXoy. 

Nor yet are all his numbers mute, 
Though dark within the tomb he lies ; 

But living still, his amorous lute 
With sleepless animation sighs ! 

This is the famous Simonides, whom Plato styled "divine," 
though Le Fevre, in his Poetes Grecs, supposes that the ep- 
igrams under his name are all falsely imputed. The most 
considerable of his remains* is a satirical poem upon women, 
preserved by Stobreus, xpoyos yvvaiKtov. 

We may judge from the lines I have just quoted, and the 
import of the epigram before us, that the works of Anacreon 
were perfect in the times of Simonides and Antipater. Ob- 
sopoeus, the commentator here, appears to exult in their 
destruction, and telling us they were burned by the bishops 
and patriarchs, he adds, " nee sane id necquicquam fece- 
runt," attributing to this outrage an effect which it could not 
possibly have produced. 

> The spirit of Anacreon is supposed to utter these verses 
from the tomb,— somewhat " mutatus ab illo," at least in 
simplicity of expression. 



TOY AYTOY, EIS TON AYTON. 

SEINE, ratyov itapa "Xirov AvaKpeiovros a//n/?cdv, 

Ei n rot tK 0t6Xcov vXQev cjjkov o<peXos } 
Hkeioov ep.n <77ro(5i>7, airstaov yavos, o(j>pa kcv oivu) 

Oarea yrjdrjo-e rajxa voTi^Ojxeva, 
'Lis b Aiovvaov pEp.EXinp.Rvos ovaai KO)pos t 

"l2$ <f>i\aicpr}TOv ovvrpofos app.ovir)s> 
M.rj6s KaTa(pdijxevos Bcw^ou <*i%a tovtov vTroiaroi 

Tov y£V£T\ pEpotrtov X (j3 P 0V ocpEiXopsvov. 3 

Oh stranger ! if Anacreon's shell 
Has ever taught thy heart to swell 4 
With passion's throb or pleasure's sigh, 
In pity turn, as wand'ring nigh, 
And drop thy goblet's richest tear 6 
In tenderest libation here ! 
So shall my sleeping ashes thrill 
With visions of enjoyment still. 
Not even in death can I resign 
The festal joys that once were mine, 

4 if Anacreon 1 s shell 

Has ever taught thy heart to swell, &c] We may guess 
from the words ek /?</?A&jj/ euwv, that Anacreon was not 
merely a writer of billets-doux, as some French critics have 
called him. Among these Mr. Le Fevre, with all his pro- 
fessed admiration, has given our poet a character by no 
means of an elevated cast : — 

Aussi e'est pour cela que la posterite 
L'a toujours justement d'age en age chante 
Comme un franc goguenard, ami de goinfrerie, 
Ami de billets-doux et de badinerie. 
See the verses prefixed to his Poetes Grecs. This is unlike 
the language of Theocritus, to whom Anacreon is indebted 
for the following simple eulogium: — 

EI2 ANAKPEONTOS ANAPIANTA. 
Qaaai tov avSpiavra tovtov, cj 1-eve, 

cirovSa, Kai \£y% Etrav es oikov EvQiqs. 
AvaKpEOVTOS eikov' Eifiuv cv Tea), 

tcov TrpoaO' el ti nEpicraov wSoiroicov. 
TrpoadEis Ss %wri tois veoigiv clSeto, 

cpsiS arpEKEcos o\ov tov avSpa. 

Upon the Statue of Anacreon. 
Stranger ! who near this statue chance to roam, 

Let it awhile your studious eyes engage ; 
That you may say, returning to your home, 

"I've seen the image of the Teian sage, 

Best of the bards who deck the Muse's page." 
Then, if you add, " That striplings loved him well," 

You tell them all he was, and aptly tell. 

I have endeavored to do justice, to the simplicity of this in- 
scription by rendering it as literally, I believe, as a verse 
translation will allow. 

5 And drop thy goblet's richest tear, <$-c.prThus Simonides, 
in another of his epitaphs on our poet: — 

Kai [xlv aec TEyyoi voTEprj Spoaos, fjs b yeoaiog 
AapoTEpov n'tXaKCJv etcveev ck aroparcov. 

Let vines, in clust'ring beauty wreath'd, 
Drop all their treasures on his head, 

Whose lips a dew of sweetness breathed, 
Richer than vine hath ever shed ! 



104 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



When Harmony pursued my ways, 
And Bacchus wanton'd to my lays. 1 
Oh ! if delight could charm no more, 
If all the goblet's bliss were o'er, 
When fate had once our doom decreed, 
Then dying would be death indeed ; 
Nor could I think, unbless'd by wine 
Divinity itself divine ! 



TOY AYTOY, EIS TON AYTON. 

EYAEIS tv (pQifievoicriv, Avaxpsov, sadXa TTovrjcas 

eidet 6' h yXvxsprj vvxriXaXos >adapa, t 
sv6si xai UpcpSis, to Tlodcov sap } a) <rv p:eXic6av i 

fiap/3iT t avCKpovov vsxrap svap/xoviov' 
n'idswv yap EjOcoro? s$vs ckottos' ss 6s as jxovvov 

roi-a ts xai okoXhxs tiy^sv sxn(3oXias. 

1 And Bacchus wanton'd to my lays, Sec'] The original here 
is corrupted, the line o)j b Aiovvcrov, &c, is unintelligible. 

Brunck's emendation improves the sense, but I doubt if it 
can be commended for elegance. He reads the line thus : — 

wj 6 Aiuvvcoio XsXarrusvos ovttote xcopwv. 
See Brunck, Analecta Veter. Poet. Graec, vol. ii. 

9 Thy harp, that whisper'd through each lingering night, 
<$-c] In another of these poems, the "nightly-speaking 
lyre" of the bard is represented as not yet silent even after 
his death. 

w$ 6 (piXaxpnros rs xai oivoftapns 0>Ao/faytoj 
iravvvxiog xpovoi* tt\v <piXonai6a x £ ^ vv - 

HijiwviSov, sig AvaKpsovra. 
To beauty's smile and wine's delight, 
To joys he loved on earth so well, 
Still shall his spirit, all the night, 
Attune the wild, aerial shell ! 

3 The purest nectar of its numbers, <S-c] Thus, says 
Brunck, in the prologue to the satires of Persius : — 

Cantare credas Pegaseium nectar. 
" Melos" is the usual reading in this line, and Casaubon has 
defended it; but "nectar" is, I think, much more spirited. 

4 She, the young spring of thy desires, <$-c] The original, 
to HoOojv sap, is beautiful. We regret that such praise 
should be lavished so preposterously, and feel that the poet's 
mistress Eurypyle would have deserved it better. Her name 
has been told us by Meleager, as already quoted, and in 
another epigram by Antipater. 

vypa 6s 6spxo)xsvoiaiv sv op.jiacriv ovXov asiSois, 

at()vo(7(i)v Xinapns avQos virspds Ko/xng, 
tjs npos ~EvpvTTvXr)v rsrpapjisvos .... 
Long may the nymph around thee play, 

Eurypyle, thy soul's desire, 
Basking her beauties in the ray 
That lights thine eye's dissolving fire ! 



• Brunck has xp 
a dtf.iched quotation 



cmSv: 



but Kpovot, the common reading, better suite 



At length thy golden hours have wing'd their flight, 
And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth ; 

Thy harp, that whisper'd through each lingering 
night, 2 
Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth ! 

She too, for whom that harp profusely shed 

The purest nectar of its numbers, 3 
She, the young spring of thy desires, hath fled, 

And with her blest Anacreon slumbers ! 4 

Farewell ! thou hadst a pulse for every dart 8 • 
That mighty Love could scatter from his quiver ; 

And each new beauty found in thee a heart, 

Which thou, with all thy heart and soul, didst 
give her ! 6 

Sing of her smile's bewitching power, 
Her every grace that warms and blesses ; 

Sing of her brow's iLAariant flower, 
The beaming glory of her tresses. 

The expression here, avQos xo/xris, " the flower of the frtjy," 
is borrowed from Anacreon himself, as appears by a frag- 
ment of the poet preserved in Stobaus: Atrexsipas 6' anaXns 
a/xouov avtios. 

6 Farewell ! thou hadst a pulse for every dart, Src] s$vg 
axonos, " scopus eras natura," not " speculator," as Barnes 
very falsely interprets jt. 

Vincentius Obsopoeus, upon this passage, contrives to in- 
dulge us with a little astrological wisdom, and talks in a 
style of learned scandal about Venus, " male posita cum 
Marte in domo Saturni." 

6 And each new beauty found in thee a heart, <$-e.} This 
couplet is not otherwise warranted by the original, than as 
it dilates the thought which Antipater has figuratively ex- 
pressed. 

Critias, of Athens, pays a tribute to the legitimate gal- 
lantry of Anacreon, calling him, with elegant conciseness, 
yvvaixwv T\-KspoTtsvp.a. 

Tov 6s yvvaxsiuiv psXswv nXs^avra ttot' wJaj, 
'H6vv Avaxpsiovrap Tscos sis 'EXXaJ' avrjysv. 
1,V[irroaia)v spsOtona, yvvaixwv nirsponsvjAa. 

Teos gave to Greece her treasure, 

Sage Anacreon, sage in loving ; 
Fondly weaving lays of pleasure 

For the maids who blush'd approving. 

When in nightly banquets sporting, 
Where's the guest could ever fly him ? 

When with love's seduction courting, 
Where's the nymph could e'er deny him ? 

b Thus Scaligcr, in his dedicatory verses to Ronsard — 
Blandus, suaviloquus, dulcis Anacreon 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



105 



JUVENILE POEMS, 



PREFACE, 

BY THE EDITOR.* 

The Poems which I take the liberty of publishing, 
were never intended by the author to pass beyond 
the circle of his friends. He thought, with some 
justice, that what are called Occasional Poems 
must be always insipid and uninteresting to the 
greater part of their readers. The particular situ- 
ations in which they were written ; the character 
of the author and of his associates ; all these pecu- 
liarities must be known and felt before we can 
enter into the spirit of such compositions. This 
consideration would have always, I believe, pre- 
vented the author himself from submitting these 
trifles to the eye of dispassionate criticism : and if 
their posthumous introduction to the world be injus- 
tice to his memory, or intrusion on the public, the 
error must be imputed to the injudicious partiality of 
friendship. 

Mr. Little died in his one and twentieth year ; 
and most of these Poems were written at so early a 
period that their errors may lay claim to some indul- 
gence from the critic. Their author, as unambitious 
as indolent, scarce ever looked beyond the moment 
of composition ; but, in general, wrote as he pleased, 
careless whether he pleased as he wrote. It may 
likewise be remembered, that they were all the pro- 
ductions of an age when the passions very often give 
a coloring too warm to the imagination ; and this 
may palliate, if it cannot excuse, that air of levity 
which pervades so many of them. The " aurea 
legge, s'ei piace ei lice," he too much pursued, and 
too much inculcates. Few can regret this more 
sincerely than myself ; and if my friend had lived, 
the judgment of riper years would have chastened 
his mind, and tempered the luxuriance of his fancy. 

Mr. Little gave much of his time to the study of 
the amatory writers. If ever he expected to find in 
the ancients that delicacy of sentiment, and variety 
of fancy, which are so necessary to refine and ani- 
mate the poetry of love, he was much disappointed. 



* A portion of these Poems were published originally as 
the works of " the late Thomas Little," with the Preface 
here given prefixed to them. 



I know not any one of them who can be regarded 
as a model in that style ; Ovid made love like a 
rake, and Propertius like a schoolmaster. The my- 
thological allusions of the latter are called erudition 
by his commentators ; but such ostentatious display, 
upon a subject so simple as love, would be now 
esteemed vague and puerile, and was even in his 
own times pedantic. It is astonishing that so many 
critics should have preferred him to the go. >le and 
touching Tibullus ; but those defects, I believe, 
which a common reader condemns, have been re- 
garded rather as beauties by those erudite men, the 
commentators ; who find a field for their ingenuity 
and research, in his Grecian learning and quaint ob- 
scurities. 

Tibullus abounds with touches of fine and natural 
feeling. The idea of his unexpected return to Delia, 
" Tunc veniam subito,"* &c, is imagined with all 
the delicate ardor of a lover ; and the sentiment of 
" nee te posse carere velim," however colloquial the 
expression may have been, is natural, and from the 
heart. But the poet of Verona, in my opinion, pos- 
sessed more genuine feeling than any of them. His 
life was, I believe, unfortunate ; his associates were 
wild and abandoned ; and the warmth of his nature 
took too much advantage of the latitude which the 
morals of those times so criminally allowed to the 
passions. All this depraved his imagination, and 
made it the slave of his senses. But still a native 
sensibility is often very warmly perceptible ; and 
when he touches the chord of pathos, he reaches im- 
mediately the heart. They who have felt the 
sweets of return to a home from which they have 
long been absent, will confess the beauty of those 
simple, unaffected lines : — 

O quid solutis est beatius curis ! 
Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 
Lahore fessi venimus Larem ad nostrum 
Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto. 

Carm. xxil. 

His sorrows on the death of his brother are the 
very tears of poesy ; and when he complains of 
the ingratitude of mankind, even the inexperienced 
cannot but sympathize with him. I wish I were 

*Lib. i.Eleg.3. 



106 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



a poet ; I should then endeavor to catch, by trans- 
lation, the spirit of those beauties which I. have al- 
wa)^s so warmly admired.* 

It seems to have been peculiarly the fate of Ca- 
tullus, that the better and more valuable part of his 
poetry has not reached us ; for there is confessedly 
nothing in his extant works to authorize the epithet 
" doctus," so universally bestowed upon him by the 
ancients. If time had suffered his other writings to 
escape, we perhaps should have found among them 
some more purely amatory ; but of those ,ve possess, 
can there be a sweeter specimen of warm, yet 
chastened description, than his loves of Acme and 
Septimius ? and the few little songs of dalliance to 
Lesbia are distinguished by such an exquisite play- 
fulness, that they have always been assumed as 
models by the most elegant modern Latinists. Still, 
it must be confessed, in the midst of all these 
beauties, 

Medio de fonte leporum 

Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat.f 

It has often been remarked, that the ancients 
knew nothing of gallantry ; and we are sometimes 
told there was too much sincerity in their love to 
allow them to trifle thus with the semblance of pas- 
sion. But I cannot perceive that they were any 
thing more constant than the moderns : they felt all 
the same dissipation of the heart, though they knew 
not those seductive graces by which gallantry almost 
teaches it to be amiable. Wotton, the learned ad- 
vocate for the moderns, deserts them in considering 
this point of comparison, and praises the ancients for 
their ignorance of such refinements. But he seems 
to have collected his notions of gallantry from the 
insipid fadeurs of the French romances, which have 
nothing congenial with the graceful levity, the 
* grata protervitas," of a Rochester or a Sedley. 

As far as I can judge, the early poets of our own 
language were the models which Mr. Little selected 
for imitation. To attain their simplicity (" sevo 
rarissima nostro simplicitas") was his fondest ambi- 
tion. He could not have aimed at a grace more 
difficult of attainment ;$ and his life was of too short 
a date to allow him to perfect such a taste ; but 
how far he was likely to have succeeded, the critic 
may judge from his productions. 

I have found among his papers a novel, in rather 

* In the following Poems, will be found a translation of 
one of his finest Carmina ; but I fancy it is only a mere 
schoolboy's essay, and deserves to be praised for little more 
than the attempt. 

t Lucretius. 

t It is a curious illustration of the labor which simplicity 



an imperfect state, which, as soon as 1 have ar- 
ranged and collected it, shall be submitted to the 
public eye. 

Where Mr. Little was born, or what is the gene- 
alogy of his parents, are points in which very few 
readers can be interested. His life was one of those 
humble streams which have scarcely a name in the 
map of life, and the traveller may pass it by without 
inquiring its source or direction. His character was 
well known to all who were acquainted with him ; 
for he had toe much vanity to hide its virtues, and 
not enough of art to conceal its defects. The lighter 
traits of his mind may be traced perhaps in his 
writings ; but the few for which he was valued live 
only in the remembrance of his friends. 

T. M. 



TO 

JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. 

My deae. Sir, 

I feel a very sincere pleasure in dedicating 
to you the Second Edition of our friend Little's 
Poems. I am not unconscious that there are many 
in the collection which perhaps it would be prudent 
to have altered or omitted ; and, to say the truth, I 
more than once revised them for that purpose ; but, 
I know not why, I distrusted either my heart or my 
judgment ; and the consequence is, you have them 
in their original form : 

Non possunt nostros multas, Faustine, liturae 
Emendare jocos ; una litura potest. 

I am convinced, however, that, though not quite 
a casuiste relache, you have charity enough to for- 
give such inoffensive follies : you know that the pious 
Beza was not the less revered for those sportive 
Juvenilia which he published under a fictitious 
name ; nor did the levity of Bembo's poems prevent 
him from making a very good cardinal. 
Believe me, my dear Friend, 

With the truest esteem, 
Yours, 

T. M. 



requires, that the Ramblers of Johnson, elaborate as they 
appear, were written with fluency, and seldom required re- 
vision : while the simple'Janguage of Rousseau, which seems 
to come flowing from the heart, was the slow production of 
painful labor, pausing on every word, and balancing every 
sentence. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



107 



JUVENILE POEMS, 



FRAGMENTS OF COLLEGE EXERCISES. 

Xobilitas sola est atque unica virtus. Juv. 

Mark those proud boasters of a splendid line, 
Like gilded ruins, mould'ring while they shine, 
How heavy sits that weight of alien show, 
Like martial helm upon an infant's brow ; 
Those borrow'd splendors, whose contrasting light 
Throws hack the native shades in deeper night. 

Ask the proud train who glory's shade pursue, 
Where are the arts by which that glory grew? 
The genuine virtues that with eagle-gaze 
Sought young Renown in all her orient blaze ! 
Where is the heart by chymic truth refined, 
Th' exploring soul, whose eye had read mankind ? 
Where are the links that twined, with heavenly art, 
His country's interest round the patriot's heart ? 
***** 



Justnm bellum quibus necessarium, et pia arma quibus 
nulla nisi in armis relinquitur spes. — Livy. 



Is there no call, no consecrating cause, 
Approved by Heav'n, ordain'd by nature's laws, 
Where justice flies the herald of our way, 
And truth's pure beams upon the banners play? 

Yes, there's a call sweet as an angel's breath 
To slumb'ring babes, or innocence in death ; 
And urgent as the tongue of Heav'n within, 
When the mind's balance trembles upon sin. 

Oh ! 'tis our country's voice, whose claim should 

meet 
An echo in the soul's most deep retreat ; 
Along the heart's responding chords should run, 
Nor let a tone there vibrate — but the one ! 



VARIETY. 

Ask what prevailing, pleasing power 
Allures the sportive, wandering bee 

To roam, untired, from flower to flower, 
He'll tell you, 'tis variety. 



Look Nature round, her features trace, 
Her seasons, all her changes see ; 

And own, upon Creation's face, 
The greatest charm's variety. 

For me, ye gracious powers above ! 

Still let me roam, unfix' d and free ; 
In all things, — but the nymph I love, 

I'll change, and taste variety. 

But, Patty, not a world of charms 

Could e'er estrange my heart from thee ;- 

No, let me ever seek those arms, 
There .still I'll find variety. 



TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH. 

WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. 

Is it not sweet, beloved youth, 

To rove through Erudition's bowers, 

And cull the golden fruits of truth, 
And gather Fancy's brilliant flowers ? 

And is it not more sweet than this, 
To feel thy parents' hearts approving, 

And pay them back in sums of bliss 
The dear, the endless debt of loving? 

It must be so to thee, my youth ; 

With this idea toil is lighter - ? 
This sweetens all the fruits of truth, 

And makes the flower of fancy brighter 

The little gift we send thee, boy, 

May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder. 

If indolence or siren joy 

Should ever tempt that soul to wander. 

'Twill tell thee that the winged day 

Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavor ; 

That life and time shall fade away, 
While heav'n and virtue bloom forever 



SONG. 

If I swear by that eye, you'll allow, 
Its look is so shifting and new, 

That the oath I might take on it now 
The very next glance would undo. 



108 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Those babies that nestle so sly- 


Still, my beloved ! still keep in mind, 


Such thousands of arrows have got, 


However far removed from me, 


That an oath, on the glance of an eye 


That there is one thou leav'st behind, 


Such as yours, may be off in a shot. 


Whose heart respires for only thee ! 


Should I swear by the dew on your lip, 


And though ungenial ties have bound 


Though each moment the treasure renews, 


Thy fate unto another's care, 


If my constancy wishes to trip, 


That arm, which clasps thy -bosom round, 


I may kiss off the oath when I choose. 


Cannot confine the heart that's there 


Or a sigh may disperse from that flow'r 


No, no ! that heart is only mine 


Both the dew and the oath that are there ; 


By ties all other ties above, 


And I'd make a new vow every hour, 


For I have wed it at a shrine 


To lose them so sweetly in air. 


Where we have had no priest but Love. 


But clear up the heav'n of your brow, 






Nor fancy my faith is a feather ; 




On my heart I will pledge you my vow, 


SONG. 


And they both must be broken together ! 


When Time, who steals our years away, 




Shall steal our pleasures too, 
The mem'ry of the past will stay, 






And half our joys renew. 


To 


Then, Julia, when thy beauty's flow'r 


Remember him thou leav'st behind, 


Shall feel the wintry air, 


Whose heart is warmly bound to thee, 


Remembrance will recall the hour 


Close as the tend'rest links can bind 


When thou alone wert fair. 


A heart as warm as heart can be. 


Then talk no more of future gloom ; 




Our joys shall always last ; 


Oh ! I had long in freedom roved, 


For Hope shall brighten days to come, 


Though many seem'd my soul to share ; 


And Mem'ry gild the past. 


'Twas passion when I thought I loved, 




'Twas fancy when I thought them fair. 


Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl, 




I drink to Love and thee : 


Ev'n she, my muse's early theme, 


Thou never canst decay in soul, 


Beguiled me only while she warm'd ; 


Thou'lt still be young for me. 


'Twas young desire that fed the dream, 


And as thy lips the tear-drop chase, 


And reason broke what passion form'd. 


Which on my cheek they find, 


But thou — ah ! better had it been 


So hope shall steal away the trace 


If I had still in freedom roved, 


That sorrow leaves behind. 




Then fill the bowl — away with gloom ! 
Our joys shall always last ; 


If I had ne'er thy beauties seen, 
For then I never should have loved. 




For Hope shall brighten days to come, 


Then all ♦Jie pain which lovers feel 


And Mem'ry gild the past. 


Had never to this heart been known ; 




But then, the joys that lovers steal, 


But mark, at thought of future years 


Should they have ever been my own ? 


When love shall lose its soul, 




My Chloe drops her timid tears, 


Oh ! trust me, when I swear thee this, 


They mingle with my bowl. 


Dearest ! the pain of loving thee, 


How like this bowl of wine, my fair, 


The very pain is sweeter bliss 


Our loving life shall fleet ; 


Than passion's wildest ecstasy. 


Though tears may sometimes mingle there, 




The draught will still be sweet. 


That little cage I would not part, 


Then fill the cup — away with gloom ! 


In which my soul is prison'd now, . 


Our joys shall always last ; 


For the most light and winged heart 


For Hope will brighten days to come, 


That wantons on the passing vow. 


And Mem'ry gild the past. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



109 



SONG. 

Have you not seen the timid tear, 

Steal trembling from mine eye? 
Have you not mark'd the flush of fear, 

Or caught the murmur'd sigh? 
And can you think my love is chill, 

Nor fix'd on you alone ? 
And can you rend, by doubting still, 

A heart so much your own? 

To you my soul's affections move, 

Devoutly, warmly true ; 
My life has been a task of love, 

One long, long thought of you 
If all your tender faith be o'er, 

If still my truth you'll try ; 
Alas, I know but one proof more — 

I'll bless your name, and die ! 



REUBEN AND ROSE 

A TALE OF ROMANCE. 

The darkness that hung upon Willumberg's walls, 
Had long been remember'd with awe and dismay ; 

For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, 
And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day. 

Though the valleys were brighten'd by many a 
beam, 
Yet none could the woods of that castle illume ; 
And the lightning, which flash'd on the neighboring 
stream, 
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom ! 

" Oh ! when shall this horrible darkness disperse !" 
Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of the Cave ; — 
It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse, 
" Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the 



And who was the bright star of chivalry then ? 

Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age ? 
For Reuben was first in the combat of men, 

Though Youth had scarce written his name on 
her page. 

For Willumberg's daughter his young heart had 
beat, — 
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, 
When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery 
feet, 
It walks o'er the flow'rs of the mountain and lawn. 



Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever? 

Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of the Cave, 
That darkness should cover that castle forever, 

Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave ! 

To the wizard she flew, saying, " Tell me, oh, tell ! 

Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my 
eyes?" 
" Yes, yes — when a spirit shall toll the great bell 

Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall 



Twice, thrice lg repeated "Your Reuben shall 
rise !" 
And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain ; 
And wiped, while she listen'd, the tears from her 
eyes, 
And hoped she might yet see her hero again. 

That hero could smile at the terrors of death, 
When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose ; 

To the Oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath, 
In the depth of the billows soon found his re- 
pose. — 

How strangely the order of destiny falls ! — 
Not long in the waters the warrior lay, 

When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the frails, 
And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray ! 

All, all but the soul of the maid was in light, 
There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : 

Two days did she wander, and all the long night, 
In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank. 

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, 

And heard but the breathings of night in the air ; 

Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell, 
And saw but the foam of the white billow there. 

And often as midnight its veil would undraw, 
As she look'd at the light of the moon in the 
stream, 
She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw, 
As the curl of the surge glilter'd high in the 
beam. 

And now the third night was begemming the sky ; 

Poor Rose, on the cold dewy margent reclined, 
There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, 

When — hark ! — 'twas the bell that came deep 
in the wind 1 

She startled, and saw, through the glimmering 
shade, 
A form o'er the waters in majesty glide ; 



110 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was de- 
cay'd, 
And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the tide. 

Was this what the Seer of the Cave had foretold ? — 
Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a 
gleam ; 

'Twas Reuben, but, ah ! he was deathly and cold, 
And fleeted away like the spell of a dream ! 

Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought 
From the bank to embrace him, but vain her en- 
deavor ! 

Then, plunging beneath, at a billow she caught, 
And sunk to repose on its bosom forever ! 



DID NOT. 

'Twas a new feeling — something more 
Than we had dared to own before, 

Which then we hid not ; 
We saw it in each other's eye, 
And wish'd, in every half-breathed sigh, 

To speak, but did not. 

She felt my lips' impassion'd touch — 
'Twas the first time I dared so much, 

And yet she chid not ; 
But whisper'd o'er my burning brow, 
" Oh ! do you doubt I love you now ?" 

Sweet soul ! I did not. 

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill, 
I press'd it closer, closer still, 

Though gently bid not ; 
Till — oh ! the world hath seldom heard 
Of lovers, who so nearly err'd, 

And yet ; vho did not. 



That wrinkle, when first I espied it 
At once put my heart out of pain ; 

Till the eye, that was glowing beside it, 
Disturb'd my ideas again. 

i This alludes to a curious gem, upon which Claudian has 
left us some very elaborate epigrams. It was a drop of pure 
water enclosed within a piece of crystal. See Claudian. Epi- 
gram. " de Crystallo cui aqua inerat." Addison mentions a 
curiosity of this kind at Milan ; and adds, " It is such a rarity 



Thou art just in the t\* ilight at present 
When woman's declension begins ; 

When, fading from all that is pleasant, 
She bids a good night to her sins. 

Yet thou still art so lovely to me, 
I would sooner, my exquisite mother ! 

Repose in the sunset of thee, 

Than bask in the noon of another. 



MRS. 



ON SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST HER CHARavTER. 

Is not thy mind a gentle mind ? 
Is not that heart a heart refined ? 
Hast thou not every gentle grace, 
We love in woman's mind and face 1 
And, oh ! art thou a shrine for Sin 
To hold her hateful worship in ? 

No, no, be happy — dry that tear — 
Though some thy heart hath harbor'd near, 
May now repay its love with blame ; 
Though man, who ought to shield thy fame, 
Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee ; 
Though all the world look cold upon thee, 
Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still 
Unharm'd by that surrounding chill ; 
Like the famed drop, in crystal found, 1 
Floating, while all was froz'n around, — 
Unchill'd, unchanging shalt thou be, 
Safe in thy own sweet purity. 



ANACREONTIC. 

in lachrymas verterat omne merum. 

Tib. lib. i. eleg. 5. 

Press the grape, and let it pour 
Around the board its purple shower ; 
And, while the drops my goblet steep, 
I'll think in wo the clusters weep. 

Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine ! 
Heav'n grant no tears, but tears of wine. 
Weep on ; and, as thy sorrows flow, 
I'll taste the luxury of wo. 

as this that I saw at Vendome in France, which they there 
pretend is a tear that our Saviour shed over Lazarus, and was 
gathered up by an angel, who put it into a little crystal vial, 
and made a present of it to Mary Magdalen.' '—JHHtoiCt 
Remarks on several Parts of Italy. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Ill 



When I loved you, I can't but allow 
I had many an exquisite minute ; 

But the scorn that I feel for you now 
Hath even more luxury in it. 

Thus, whether we're on or we're off, 
Some witchery seems to await you ; 

To love you was pleasant enough, 
And, oh ! 'tis delicious to hate you ! 



TO JULIA. 

IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITICISMS. 

Why, let the stingless critic chide 
With all that fume of vacant pride 
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, 
Like vapor on a stagnant pool. 
Oh ! if the song, to feeling true, 
Can please th' elect, the sacred few, 
Whose souls, by Taste and Nature taught, 
Thrill with the genuine pulse of thought — 
If some fond feeling maid like thee, 
The warm-eyed child of Sympathy, 
Shall say, while o'er my simple theme 
She languishes in Passion's dream, 
" He was, indeed, a tender soul — 
' No critic law, no chill control, 
" Should ever freeze, by timid art, 
" The Sowings of so fond a heart !" 
Yes, soul of Nature ! soul of Love ! 
That, hov'ring like a snow-wing'd dove, 
Breathed o'er my cradle warblings wild, 
And hail'd me Passion's warmest cflild, — 
Grant, me the tear from Beauty's eye, 
From Feeling's breast the votive sigh ; 
Oh ! let my song, my mem'ry, find 
A shrine within the tender mind ; 
And I will smile when critics chide, 
And I will scorn the fume of pride 
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, 
Like vapor round some stagnant pool ! 



TO JULIA 

Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream, 
A dream, I find, illusory as sweet : 

One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem, 
Far dearer were than passion's bland deceit ! 



I've heard you oft eternal truth declare ; 

Your heart was only mine, I once believed. 
Ah ! shall I say that all your vows were air ? 

And must I say, my hopes were all deceived ? 

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined, 
That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal ; 

Julia ! — 'tis pity, pity makes you kind ; 

You know I love, and you would seem to feel. 

But shall I still go seek within those arms 
A joy in which affection takes no part ? 

No, no, farewell ! you give me but your charms, 
When I had fondly thought you gave your heart. 



THE SHRINE. 



My fates had destined me to rove 
A long, long pilgrimage of love ; 
And many an altar on my way 
Has lured my pious steps to stay ; 
For, if the saint was young and fair* 
I turn'd and sung my vespers there 
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire, 
Is what your pretty saints require : 
To pass, nor tell a single bead, 
With them would be profane indeed ! 
But, trust me, all this young devotion 
Was but to keep my zeal in motion ; 
And, ev'ry humbler altar past, 
I now have reach'd the shrine at last ! 



TO A LADY, 

WITH some manuscript poems, 

ON LEAVING THE COUNTRY. 

When, casting many a look behind, 
I leave the friends I cherish here — 

Perchance some other friends to find, 
But surely finding none so dear — 

Haply the little simple page, 

Which votive thus I've traced for thee, 
May now and then a look engage, 

And steal one moment's thought for me 

But, oh ! in pity let not those 

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, 
Let not the eye that seldom flows 

With feeling's tear, my song behold. 



112 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



For, trust me, they who never melt 
With pity, never melt with love ; 

And such will frown at all I've felt, 
And all my loving lays reprove. 

But if, perhaps, some gentler mind, 

Which rather loves to praise than blame, 

Should in my page an interest find, 
And linger kindly on my name ; 

Tell him — or, oh ! if, gentler still, 
By female lips my name be blest : 

For, where do all affections thrill 
So sweetly as in woman's breast? — 

Tell her, that he whose loving themes 
Her eye indulgent wanders o'er, 

Could sometimes wake from idle dreams, 
And bolder flights of fancy soar ; 

That Glory oft would claim the lay, 
And Friendship oft his numbers move ; 

But whisper then, that, " sooth to say, 
" His sweetest song was giv'n to Love !" 



TO JULIA. 



Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part, 
Our souls it cannot, shall not sever ; 

The heart will seek its kindred heart, 
And cling to it as close as ever. 

But must we, must we part indeed? 

Is all our dream of rapture over? 
And does not Julia's bosom bleed 

To leave so dear, so fond a lover? 

Does she too mourn ? — Perhaps she may ; 

Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting . 
But why is Julia's eye so gay, 

If Julia's heart like mine is beating? 

I oft have loved that sunny glow 

Of gladness in her blue eye gleaming— 

But can the bosom bleed with wo, 
While joy is in the glances beaming ? 

No, no ! — Yet, love, I will not chide ; 

Although your heart were fond of roving, 
Nor that, nor all the world beside 

Could keep your faithful boy from loving. 

You'll soon be distant from his eye, 

And, with you, all that's worth possessing. 

Oh ! then it will be sweet to die, 
When life has lost its only blessing! 



To 



Sweet lady, look not thus again : 
Those bright deluding smiles recall 

A maid remember'd now with pain, 
Who was my love, my life, my all ! 

Oh ! while this heart bewilder'd took 
Sweet poison from her thrilling eye, 

Thus would she smile, and lisp, and look, 
And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh ! 

Yes, I did love her — wildly love — 
She was her sex's best deceiver ! 

And oft she swore she'd never rove — 
And I was destined to believe her ! 

Then, lady, do not wear the smile 

Of one whose smile could thus betray ; 

Alas ! I think the lovely wile 

Again could steal my heart away. 

For, when those spells that charm'd my mind, 

On lips so pure as thine 1 see, 
I fear the heart which she resign'd 

Will err again, and fly to thee ! 



NATURE'S LABELS. 

A FRAGMENT. 

In vain we fondly strive to trace 

The soul's reflection in the face ; 

In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, 

Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ; 

Boobies have look'd as wise and bright 

As Plato or the Stagirite : 

And many a sage and learned skull 

Has peep'd through windows dark and dull 

Since then, though art do all it can, 

We ne'er can reach the inward man, 

Nor (howsoe'er " learn'd Thebans" doubt) 

The inward woman, from without, 

Methinks 'twere well if Nature could 

(And Nature could, if Nature would) 

Some pithy, short description write, 

On tablets large, in black and white, 

Which she might hang about our throttles, 

Like labels upon physic-bottles ; 

And where all men might read — but stay — 

As dialectic sages say, 

The argument most apt and ample 

For common use is the example. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



113 



For instance, then, if Nature's care 
Had not portray'd, in lines so fair, 
The inward soul of Lucy L-nd-n, 
This is the label she'd have pinn'd on 

LABEL FIRST. 

Within this form there lies enshrined 

The purest, brightest gem of mind. 

Though Feeling's hand may sometimes throw 

Upon its charms the shade of wo, 

The lustre of the gem, when veil'd, 

Shall be but mellow'd, not conceal'd. 



Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able, 
That Nature wrote a second label, 
They're her own words, — at least suppose f 
And boldly pin it on Pomposo. 

LABEL SECOND. 

When I composed the fustian brain 
Of this redoubted Captain Vain, 
I had at hand but few ingredients, 
And so was forced to use expedients. 
I put therein some small discerning, 
A grain of sense, a grain of learning ; 
And when I saw the void behind, 
I fill'd it up with — froth and wind ! 

$(: 7p tf iffc f& 



TO JULIA. 

ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

When Time was entwining the garland of years, 
Which to crown my beloved was given, 

Though some of the leaves might be sullied with 
tears, 
Yet the flow'rs were all gather'd in heaven. 

And long may this garland be sweet to the eye, 

May its verdure forever be new ; 
Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh, 

And Sympathy nurse it with dew. 



A REFLECTION AT SEA. 

See how, beneath the moonbeam's. smile, 
Yon little billow heaves its breast, 

And foams and sparkles for awhile, — 
Then murmuring subsides to rest. 



Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, 
Rises on Time's eventful sea ; 

And, having swell'd a moment there, 
Thus melts into eternity ! 



CLORIS AND FANNY. 

Cloris ! if I were Persia's king, 

I'd make my graceful queen of thee ; 

While Fanny, wild and artless thing, 
Should but thy humble handmaid be. 

There is but one objection in it — 
That, verily, I'm much afraid 

I should, in some unlucky minute, 
Forsake the mistress for the maid 



THE SHIELD. 

Say, did you not hear a voice of death ! 

And did you not mark the paly foiam 
Which rode on the silvery mist of the heath, 

And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm ? 

Was it the wailing bird of the gloom, 

That shrieks on the house of wo all night ? 

Or a shiv'ring fiend that flew to a tomb, 
To howl and to feed till the glanoe of light? 

'Twas not the death-bird's cry from the wood, 
Nor shiv'ring fiend that hung on the blast ; 

'Twas the shade of Helderic — man of blood — 
It screams for the guilt of days that are past. 

See, how the red, red lightning strays, 

And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath ! 

Now on the leafless yew it plays, 

Where hangs the shield of this son of death. 

That shield is blushing with murd'rous stains ; 

Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray ; 
It is blown by storms and wash'd by rains, 

But neither can take the blood away ! 

Oft by that yew, on the blasted field, 
Demons dance to the red moon's light ; 

While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging 
shield 
Sings to the raving spirit of night ! 



8 



114 MOORE'S WORKS. 




Upon hearing this piteous confession, 


TO JULIA, 


My Soul, looking tenderly at her, 


WEEPING. 


Declared, as for grace and discretion, 




He did not know much of the matter ; 


Oh ! if your tears are giv'n to care, 




If real wo disturbs your peace, 


" But, to-morrow, sweet Spirit !" he said, 


Come to my bosom, weeping fair ! 


" Be at home after midnight, and then 


And I will bid your weeping cease. 


" I will come when your lady's in bed, 




" And we'll talk o'er the subject again." 


But if with Fancy's vision'd fears, 




With dreams of wo your bosom thrill ; 


So she whisper'd a word n his ear, 


You look so lovely in your tears, 


I suppose to her door to direct Mm, 


That I must bid you drop them still. 


And, just after midnight, my dear, 




Your polite little Soul may expect him. 


DREAMS. 




TO 


TO ROSA. 




WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. 


In slumber, I prithee how is it 




That souls are oft taking the air, 


The wisest soul, by anguish torn, 


And paying each other a visit, 


Will soon unlearn the lore it knew ; 


While bodies are heaven knows where ? 


And when the shining casket's worn, 




The gem within will tarnish too. 


Last night, 'tis in vain to de;\y it, 




Your Soul took a fancy to roam, 


But love's an essence of the soul, 


For I heard her, on tiptoe so quiet, 


Which sinks not with this chain of clay ; 


Come ask, whether mine was at home 


Which throbs beyond the chill control 




Of with'ring pain or pale decay. . 


And mine let her in with delight, 




And they talk'd and they laugh'd the time 


And surely, when the touch of Death 


through ; 


Dissolves the spirit's earthly ties, 


For, when souls come together at night, 


Love still attends th' immortal breath, 


There's no saying what they mayn't do ! 


And makes it purer for the skies ! 


And your little Soul, heaven bless her ! 


Oh Rosa, when, to seek its sphere, 


Had much to complain and to say, 


My soul shall leave this orb of men, 


Of how sadly you wrong and oppress her 


That love which form'd its treasure here, 


By keeping her prison'd all day. 


Shall be its best of treasures then ! 


" If I happen," said she, " but to steal 


And as, in fabled dreams of old, 


" For a peep now and then to her eye, 


Some air-born genius, child of time, 


" Or, to quiet the fever I feel, 


Presided o'er each star that roll'd, 


" Just venture abroad on a sigh ; 


And track'd it through its path sublime ; 


" In an instant she frightens me in 


So thou, fair planet, not unled, 


" With some phantom of prudence or terror, 


Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray ; 


" For fear I should stray into sin, 


Thy lover's shade, to thee still wed, 


" Or, what is still worse, into error ! 


Shall linger round thy earthly way. 


" So, instead of displaying my graces, 


Let other spirits range the sky, 


" By daylight, in language and mien, 


And play around each starry gem ; 


" I am shut up in corners and places, 


I'll bask beneath that lucid eye, 


" Where truly I blush to be seen !" 


Nor envy worlds of suns to them. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 115 


And when that heart shall cease to beat, 


The learned Prue took a pert young thing, 


And when that breath at length is free, 


To divert her virgin Muse with, 


Then, Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet, 


And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing, 


And mingle to eternity ! 


To indite her billet-doux with. 




Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledged pair 
Her only eye, if you'd ask it ; 






And Tabitha begg'd, old toothless fair, 


SONG. 


For the youngest Love in the basket. 


The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 


Come buy my Loves, &c. &c. 


Is fair — but oh, how fair, 




If Pity's hand had stol'n from Love 


But one was left, when Susan came, 


One leaf to mingle there ! 


One worth them all together ; 




At sight of her dear looks of shame, 


If every rose with gold were tied, 


He smiled, and pruned his feather. 


Did gems for dewdrops fall, 


She wish'd the boy — 'twas more than whim — 


One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd 


Her looks, her sighs betray'd it ; 


Were sweetly worth them all. 


But kisses were not enough for him, 




I ask'd a heart, and she paid it I 


The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 


Good-by, my Loves, 


Our emblem well may be ; 


Good-by, my Loves, 


Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love 


'Twould make you smile to've seen us 


Must keep its tears for me. 


First trade for this 




Sweet child of bliss, 




And then nurse the boy between us. 


THE SALE OF LOVES. 

I dreamt that, in the Paphian groves, 




My nest by moonlight laying, 




I caught a flight of wanton Loves, 


TO 


Among the rose-beds playing. 




Some just had left their silv'ry shell, 




While some were full in feather ; 


The world had just begun to steal 


So pretty a lot of Loves to sell, 


Each hope that led me lightly on ; 


Were never yet strung together. 


I felt not, as I used to feel, 


Come buy my Loves, 


And life grew dark and love was gone. 


Come buy my Loves, 




Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses! — 


No eye to mingle sorrow's tear, 


They're new and bright, 


No lip to mingle pleasure's breath, 


The cost is light, 


No circling arms to draw me near — 


For the coin of this isle is kisses. 


'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death 


First Cloris came, with looks sedate, 


But when I saw that gentle eye, 


Their coin on her lips was ready ; 


Oh ! something seem'd to tell me then, 


" I buy," quo.h she, " my Love by weight, 


That I was yet too young to die, 


" Full grown, if you please, and steady." 


And hope and bliss might bloom again. 


" Let mine be light," said Fanny, " pray — 




" Such lasting toys undo one ; 


With every gentle smile that cross'd 


" A light little Love that will last to-day, — 


Your kindling cheek, you lighted home 


" To-morrow I'll sport a new one." 


Some feeling, which my heart had lost, 


Come buy my Loves, 


And peace, which far had learn'd to roam. 


Come buy my Loves, 




Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses ! — 


'Twas then indeed so sweet to live, 


There's some will keep, 


Hope look'd so new and Love so kind, 


Some light and cheap, 


That, though I mourn, I yet forgive 


At from ten to twenty kisses. 


The ruin they have left behind. 



116 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


I could have loved you — oh, so well ! — 




The dream, that wishing boyhood knows, 


ON THE 


Is but a bright, beguiling spell, 


DEATH OF A LADY. 


That only lives while passion glows : 


Sweet spirit ! if thy aiiy sleep 


But, when this early flush declines, 

When the heart's sunny morning fleets, 
You know not then how close it twines 


Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs, 
Then will I weep, in anguish weep, 
. Till the last heart's drop fills mine eyes 


Round the first kindred soul it meets. 


But if thy sainted soul can feel, 


Yes, yes, I could have loved, as one 

Who, while his youth's enchantments fall, 


And mingles in our misery ; 
Then, then my breaking heart I'll seal — 
Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me. 


Finds something dear to rest upon, 


Which pays him for the loss of all. 


The beam of morn was on the stream, 




But sullen clouds the day deform : 




Like thee was that young, orient beam, 




Like death, alas, that sullen siorm ! 




Thou wert not form'd for living here, 


TO 


So link'd thy soul was with the sky ; 




Yet, ah, we held thee all so dear, 




We thought thou wert not form'd to die. 


Never mind how the pedagogue proses, 
You want not antiquity's stamp ; 






A lip, that such fragrance discloses, 




Oh ! never should smell of the lamp. 


INCONSTANCY. 




And do I then wonder that Julia deceives me, 


Old Cloe, whose withering kiss 


When surely there's nothing in nature more 


Hath long set the Loves at defiance, 


common? 


Now, done with the science of bliss, 


She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves 


May take to the blisses of science. 


me — 




And could I expect any more from a woman ? 


Bat for you to be buried in books — 




Ah, Fanny, they're pitiful sages, 


Oh, woman ! your heart is a pitiful treasure ; 


Who could not in one of your looks 


And Mahomet's doctrine was not too severe, 


Read more than in millions of pages. 


When he held that you were but materials of pleas- 


Astronomy finds in those eyes 


ure, 
And reason and thinking were out of your sphere. 


Better light than the studies above ; 




And Music would borrow your sighs 


By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can 


As the melody fittest for Love. 


win it, 




He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid ; 


Your Arithmetic only can trip 


But, oh, while he's blest, let him die at the 


If to count your own charms you endeavor ; 


minute — 


And Eloquence glows on your lip 


If he live but a day, he'll be surely betray'd. 


When you swear, that you'll love me forever. 
Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance 






Of arts is assembled in you ; — 




A course of more exquisite science 


THE NATAL GENIUS. 


Man never need wish to pursue. 


A DREAM. 

To 


And, oh ! — if a Fellow like me 


THE MORNING OF HER BIRTHDAY 


May confer a diploma of hearts, 


In witching slumbers of the night, 


With my lip thus I seal your degree, 


I dreamt I was the airy sprite 


My divine little Mistress of Arts ! 


That on thy natal moment smiled ; 



JUVENILE POEMS. 117 


And thought I wafted on my wing 


I hoped that, after all its strife, 


Those flowers which in Elysium spring, 


My weary heart at length should rest, 


To crown my lovely mortal child. 


And, fainting from the waves of life, 




Find harbor in a brother's breast. 


With olive-branch I bound thy head, 




Heart's ease along thy path I shed, 


That brother's breast was warm with truth, 


Which was to bloom through all thy years ; 


Was bright with honor's purest ray ; 


Nor yet did I forget to bind 


He was the dearest, gentlest youth — 


Love's roses, with his myrtle twined, 


Ah, why then was he torn away ? 


And dew'd by sympathetic tears. 






He should have stay'd, have linger'd here 


. Such was the wild but precious boon 


To sooth his Julia's every wo ; 


Which Fancy, at her magic noon, 


He should have chased each bitter tear, 


Bade me to Nona's image pay ; 


And not have caused those tears to flow. 


And were it thus my fate to be 




Thy little guardian deity, 


We saw within his soul expand 


How blest around thy steps I'd play ! 


The fruits of genius, nursed by taste ; 




While Science, with a fost'ring hand, 


Thy life should glide in peace along, 


Upon his brow her chaplet placed. 


Calm as some lonely shepherd's song 




That's heard at distance in the grove ; 


We saw, by bright degrees, his mind 


No cloud should ever dim thy sky, 


Grow rich in all that makes men dear ; — 


No thorns along thy pathway lie, 


Enlighten'd, social, and refined, 


But all be beauty, peace, and love. 


In friendship firm, in love sincere. 


Indulgent Time should never bring 


Such was the youth we loved so well, 


To thee one blight upon his wing, 


And such the hopes that fate denied ; — ■ 


So gently o'er thy brow he'd fly ; 


We loved, but ah ! coidd scarcely tell 


And death itself should but be felt 


How deep, how dearly, till he died ! 


Like that of daybeams, when they melt, 




Bright to the last, in evening's sky ! 


Close as the fondest links could strain, 




Twined with my very heart he grew ; 




And by that fate which breaks the chain, 




The heart is almost broken too. 


ELEGIAC STANZAS, 




SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY JULIA, 






TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL 


ON THE DEATH OF HER BROTHER. 


MISS , 




IN ALLUSION TO SOME PARTNERSHIP IN A LOTTERY SHARB 


Though sorrow long has worn my heart ; 




Though every day I've counted o'er 


IMPROMPTU. 


Hath brought a new and quick'ning smart 


—Ego pars Viro. 


To wounds that rankled fresh before ; 






In wedlock a species of lottery lies, 


Though in my earliest life bereft 


Where in blanks and in prizes we deal ; 


Of tender links by nature tied ; 


But how comes it that you, such a capital prize, 


Though hope deceived, and pleasure left ; 


Should so long have remain'd in the wheel? 


Though friends betray'd and foes belied ; 






If ever, by Fortune's indulgent decree, 


I still had hopes — for hope will stay 


To me such a ticket should roll, 


After the sunset of delight ; 


A sixteenth, Heav'n knows ! were sufficient for 


So like the star which ushers day, 


me ; 


We scarce can think it heralds night ! — 


For what could 7" do with the whole ? 



118 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



A DREAM. 

I thought this heart enkindled lay 
On Cupid's burning shrine : 

I thought he stole thy heart away, 
And placed it near to mine. 

I saw thy heart begin to melt, 
Like ice before the sun ; 

Till both a glow congenial felt, 
And mingled into one ! 



TO 

With all my soul, then, let us part, 
Since both are anxious to be free ; 

And I will send you home your heart, 
And you will send back mine to me. 

We've had some happy hours together, 
But joy must often change its wing ; 

And spring would be but gloomy weather, 
If we had nothing else bm spring. 

'Tis not that I expect to find 

A more devoted, fond, and true one, 

With rosier cheek or sweeter mind — 
Enough for me that she's a new one. 

Thus let us leave the bower of love, 
Where we have loiter'd long in bliss ; 

And you may down that pathway rove, 
While I shall take my way through this. 



ANACREONTIC. 

" She never look'd so kind before — 
" Yet why the wanton's smile recall ? 

" I've seen this witchery o'er and o'er, 
" 'Tis hollow, vain, and heartless all !" 

Thus I said, and, sighing, drain'd 

The cup which she so late had tasted ; 

Upon whose rim still fresh remain'd 
The breath, so oft in falsehood wasted. 

I took the harp, and would have sung 
As if 'twere not of her I sang ; 

But still the notes on Lamia hung — 
On whom but Lamia could they hang ? 



Those eyes of hers, that floating shine, 
Like diamonds in some Eastern river ; 

That kiss, for which, if worlds were mine, 
A world for every kiss I'd give her. 

That frame so delicate, yet warm'd 
With flushes of love's genial hue ; — 

A mould transparent, as if form'd 

To let the spirit's light shine through. 

Of these I sung, and notes and words 

Were sweet, as if the very air 
From Lamia's lip hung o'er the chords, 

And Lamia's voice still warbled there ! 

But when, alas, I turn'd the theme, 
And when of vows and oaths I spoke, 

Of truth and hope's seducing dream — 
The chord beneath my finger broke. 

False harp ! false woman ! — such, oh, such 
Are lutes too frail and hearts too willing ; 

Any hand, whate'er its touch, 

Can set their chords or pulses thrilling. 

And when that thrill is most awake, 

And when you think Heav'n's joys await ynn 

The nymph will change, the chord will break- 
Oh Love, oh Music, how I hate you ! 



TO JULIA. 



I saw the peasant's hand unkind 
From yonder oak the ivy sever ; 

They seem'd in very being twined ; 
Yet now the oak is fresh as ever ! 

Not so the widow'd ivy shines : 
Torn from its dear and only stay, 

In drooping widowhood it pines, 
And scatters all it3 bloom away. 

Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine, 
Till Fate disturb'd their tender ties : 

Thus gay indifference blooms in thine, 
While mine, deserted, droops and dies ! 



HYMN 
OF A VIRGIN OF DELPHI, 

AT THE TOMB OF HER MOTHER. 

Oh, lost, forever lost — no more 
Shall Vesper light our dewy way 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



119 



Along the rocks of Crissa's shore, 

To hymn the fading fires of day ; 
No more to Tempe's distant vale 

In holy musings shall we roam, 
Through summer's glow and winter's gale, 

To bear the mystic chaplets home. 1 
'Twas then my soul's expanding zeal, 

By nature warm'd and led by thee, 
In eveiy breeze was taught to feel 

The breathings of a Deity. 
Guide of my heart ! still hovering round, 

Thy looks, thy words are still my own — 
I see thee raising from the ground 

Some laurel, by the winds o'erthrown, 
And hear thee say, " This humble bough 

" Was planted for a doom divine ; 
" And, though it droop in languor now, 

" Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine ! 
" Thus, in the vale of earthly sense, 

" Though sunk awhile the spirit lies, 
" A viewless hand shall cull it thence, 

" To bloom immortal in the skies !" 

All that the young should feel and know, 

By thee was taught so sweetly well, 
Thy words fell soft as vernal snow, 

And all was brightness where they fell ! 
Fond soother of my infant tear, 

Fond sharer of my infant joy, 
Is not thy shade still ling'ring here ? 

Am I not still thy soul's employ ? 
Oh yes — and, as in former days, 

When, meeting on the sacred mount, 
Our nymphs awaked their choral lays, 

And danced around Cassotis' fount; 
As then, 'twas all thy wish and care, 

That mine should be the simplest mien, 
My lyre and voice the sweetest there, 

My foot the lightest o'er the green : 
So still, each look and step to mould, 

Thy guardian care is round me spread, 
Arranging every snowy fold, 

And guiding every mazy tread. 
And, when I lead the hymning choir, 

Thy spirit still, unseen and free, 
Hovers between my lip and lyre, 

And weds them into harmony. 
Flow, Plistus, flow, thy murmuring wave 

Shall never drop its suVry tear 
Upon so pure, so blest a grave, 

To memory so entirely dear! 



1 The laurel, for the common uses of the temple, for adorn- 
ing the altars and sweeping the pavement, was supplied by a 
tree near the fountain of Castalia ; but upon all important 
occasions, they sent to Tempe for their laurel. We find, in 
Pausanias . that this valley supplied the branches, of which 



SYMPATHY. 

TO JULIA. 

-sine me sit nulla Venus. 



SCLPICIA. 



Our hearts, my love, were form'd to be 
The genuine twins of Sympathy, 

They live with one sensation : 
In joy or grief, but most in love, 
Like chords in unison they move, 

And thrill with like vibration. 

How oft I've heard thee fondly say, 
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play 

When mine no more is moving ; 
Since, now, to feel a joy alone 
Were worse to thee than feeling none : 

So twinn'd are we in loving ! 



THE TEAR. 

On beds of snow the moonbeam slept, 
And chilly was the midnight gloom, 

When by the damp grave Ellen wept — 
Fond maid ! it was her Lindor's tomb ! 

A warm tear gush'd, the wintry air 
Congeal'd it as it flow'd away : 

All night it lay an ice-drop there, 
At morn it glitter'd in the ray. 

An angel, wand'ring from her sphere, 
Who saw this bright, this frozen gem, 

To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear, 
And hung it on her diadem ! 



THE SNAKE. 

My love and I, the other day, 
Within a myrtle arbor lay, 
When near us, from a rosy bed, 
A little Snake put forth its head. 

" See," said the maid, with thoughtful eyes — 

" Yonder the fatal emblem lies ! 

" Who could expect such hidden harm 

" Beneath the rose's smiling charm ?" 



the temple was originally constructed ; and Plutarch says, in 
his Dialogue on Music, "The youth who brings theTempie 
laurel to Delphi is always attended by a player on the flute.-' 
AAAa iirjv koli no KaraKOfii^ovTi natti rr\v T£/<Jn*i/i> *a<pv7)y 
CIS AeXipovs Trapofiaprci avXrjrrjs. 



120 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Never did grave remark occur 
Less d-propos than this from her. 

I rose to kill the snake, but she, 
Half-smiling, pray'd it might not be. 
" No," said the maiden— and, alas, 

Her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it — 
" Long as the snake is in the grass, 

" One may, perhaps, have cause to dread it : 
" But, when its wicked eyes appear, 

" And when we know for what they wink so, 
" One must be very simple, dear, 

" To let it wound one — don't you think so ?" 



TO ROSA, 



Is the song of Rosa mute 1 
Once such lays inspired her lute ! 
Never doth a sweeter song 
Steal the breezy lyre along, 
When the wind, in odors dying, 
Woos it with enamor'd sighing. 

Is my Rosa's lute unstrung? 
Once a tale of peace it sung 
To her lover's throbbing breast- 
Then was he divinely blest ! 
Ah ! but Rosa loves no more, 
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er ; 
And her lute neglected lies ; 
And her boy forgotten sighs. 
Silent lute — forgotten lover — 
Rosa's love and song are over ! 



ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
Sic juvat perire. 

When wearied wretches sink to sleep, 
How heavenly soft their slumbers lie ! 

How sweet is death to those who weep, 
To those who weep and long to die ! 

Saw you the soft and grassy bed, 

Where flow'rets deck the green earth's breast ? 
'Tis there I wish to lay my head, 

'Tis there I wish to sleep at rest. 

Oh, let not tears embalm my tomb, — 
None but the dews at twilight given ! 

Oh, let not sighs disturb the gloom, — 

None but the whisp'ring winds of heaven ! 



LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 

Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum. 
Secundus, eleg 

Still the question I must parry, 
Still a wayward truant prove : 

Where I love, I must not marry ; 
Where I marry, cannot love. 

Were she fairest of creation, 

With the least presuming mind ; 

Learned without affectation ; 
Net deceitful, yet refined ; 

Wise enough, but never rigid ; 

Gay, but not too lightly free ; 
Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid ; 

Fond, yet satisfied with me : 

Were she all this ten times over, 
All that heav'n to earth allows, 

I should be too much her lover 
Ever to become her spouse. 

Love will never bear enslaving ; 

Summer garments suit him best ; 
Bliss itself is not worth having, 

If we're by compulsion blest. 



ANACREONTIC. 

I fill'd to thee, to thee I drank, 
I nothing did but drink and fill ; 

The bowl by turns was bright and blank, 
'Twas drinking, filling, drinking still. 

At length I bid an artist paint 
Thy image in this ample cup, 

That I might see the dimpled saint, 
To whom I quaff d my nectar up. 

Behold, how bright that purple lip 

Now blushes through the wave at me ; 

Every roseate drop I sip 

Is just like kissing wine from thee. 

And still I drink the more for this ; 

For, ever when the draught I drain, 
Thy lip invites another kiss, 

And — in the nectar flows again. 

So, here's to thee, my gentle dear, 
And may that eyelid never shine 

Beneath a darker, bitterer tear 

Than bathes it in this bowl of mine ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



121 



1 


And if her cheek be smooth and bright, 


THE SURPRISE. 


While truth within her bosom lies, 


Chloris, I swear, by all I ever swore, 

That from this hour I shall not love thee more. — 


I'll gaze upon her morn and night, 

Till my heart leave me through my eyes. 


"What! love no more? Oh! why this alter'dvow?" 
Because I cannot love thee more — than now ! 


Show me on earth a thing so rare, 
I'll own all miracles are true ; 




To make one maid sincere and fair, 




Oh, 'tis the utmost Heav'n can do ! 


TO MISS , 


LYING. 


ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE HAD SLEEPLESS 


Che con le lor bugie pajon divini. Mauro (TJlrcano, 


NIGHTS. 


I do confess, in many a sigh, 


I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies, 


My lips have breathed you many a lie ; 


And in thy breath his pinion dips, 


And who, with such delights in view, 


Who suns him in thy radiant eyes, 


Would lose them, for a lie or two ? 


And faints upon thy sighing lips : 






Nay, — look not thus, with brow reproving \ 


I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep 


Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. 


That used to shade thy looks of light ; 


If half we tell the girls were true, 


And why those eyes their vigil keep, 


If half we swear to think and do, 


When other suns are sunk in night ? 


Were aught but lying's bright illusion, 




This world would be in strange confusion. 


And I will say — her angel breast 


If ladies' eyes were, every one, 


Has never throbb'd with guilty sting; 


As lovers swear, a radiant sun, 


Her bosom is the sweetest nest 


Astronomy must leave the skies, 


Where Slumber could repose his wing ! 


To learn her lore in ladies' eyes. 




Oh, no — believe me, lovely girl, 


And I will say — her cheeks that flush, 


When nature turns your teeth to pearl, 


Like vernal roses in the sun, 


Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, 


Have ne'er by shame been taught to blush, 


Your amber locks to golden wire, 


Except for what her eyes have done ! 


Then, only then can Heaven decree, 




That you should live for only me, 


Then tell me, why, thou child of air ! 


Or I for you, as night and morn, 


Does slumber from her eyelids rove ? 


We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn. 


What is her heart's impassion'd care ? — 




Perhaps, oh sylph ! perhaps, 'tis love. 


And now, my gentle hints to clear, 




For once I'll tell you truth, my dear. 




Whenever you may chance to meet 




Some loving youth, whose love is sweet, 
Long as you're false and he believes you, 






Long as you trust and he deceives you, 




So long the blissful bond endures, 


THE WONDER. 


And while he lies, his heart is yours : 


Come, tell me where the maid is found, 


But, oh ! you've wholly lost the youth 


Whose heart can love without deceit, 


The instant that he tells you truth. 


And I will range the world around, 




To sigh one moment at her feet. 
Oh ! tell me where's her sainted home, 




ANACREONTIC. 


What air receives her blessed sigh, 




A pilgrimage of years I'll roam 


Friend of my soul, this goblet sip, 


To catch one sparkle of her eye ! 


'Twill chase that pensive tear ; 



122 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip, 
But, oh ! 'tis more sincere. 
Like her delusive beam, 

'Twill steal away thy mind : 
But, truer than love's dream, 
It leaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade ; 

These flow'rs were cull'd at noon ; — 
Like woman's love the rose will fade, 
But, ah ! not half so soon. 

For though the flower's dec ay 'd, 

Its fragrance is not o'er ; 
But once when love's betray'd, 
Its sweet life blooms no more. 



THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIPPUS, 1 

TO A LAMP 

WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS. 

Dulcis conscia Iectuli lucerna. 

Martial., lib. xiv. epig. 39. 

" Oh ! love the Lamp," (my Mistress said,) 
" The faithful Lamp that, many a night, 

" Beside thy Lais' lonely bed 

" Has kept its little watch of light. 

" Full often has it seen her weep, 

" And fix her eye upon its flame, 
" Till, weary, she has sunk to sleep, 

" Repeating her beloved's name. 

" Then love the Lamp — 'twill often lead 
" Thy step through learning's sacred way ; 

" And when those studious eyes shall read, 
" At midnight, by its lonely ray, 

i It does not appear to have been very difficult to become 
a philosopher among the ancients. A moderate store of 
learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and just 
v; it enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, seem to 
have been all the qualifications necessary for the purpose. 
The principles of moral science were so very imperfectly 
understood, that the founder of a new sect, in forming his 
ethical code, might consult either fancy or temperament, and 
adapt it to his own passions and propensities ; so that Ma- 
homet, with a little more learning, might have flourished as 
a philosopher in those days, and would have required but the 
polish of the schools to become the rival of Aristippus in 
morality. In the science of nature, too, though some valua- 
ble truths were discovered by them, they seemed hardly to 
know they were truths, or at least were as well satisfied 
with errors ; and Xenophanes, who asserted that the stars 
were igneous clouds, lighted up every night and extinguished 
again in the morning, was thought and styled a philosopher, 



i " Of things sublime, of nature's birth, 
" Of all that's bright in heaven or earth, 
" Oh, think that she, by whom 'twas given, 
" Adores thee more than earth or heaven !" 

Yes — dearest Lamp, by every charm 

On which thy midnight beam has hung ; a 

The head reclined, the graceful arm 
Across the brow of iv« y flung ; 

The heaving bosom, partly hid, 
The sever'd lip's unconscious sighs, 

The fringe that from the half-shut lid 
Adown the cheek of roses lies : 

By these, by all that bloom untold, 
And long as all shall charm my hearty 

I'll love my little Lamp of gold — 
My Lamp and I shall never part. 

And often, as she smiling said, 

In fancy's hour, thy gentle rays 
Shall guide my visionary tread 

Through poesy's enchanting maze. 
Thy flame shall light the page refined, 

Where still we catch the Chian's breath, 

Where still the bard, though cold in death, 
Has left his soul unquench'd behind. 
Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine, 

Oh man of Ascra's dreary glades ! 3 
To whom the nightly warbling Nine 4 

A wand of inspiration gave, 6 
Pluck'd from the greenest tree, that shades 

The crystal of Castalia's wave. 

Then, turning to a purer lore, 
We'll cull the sages' deep-hid store ; 
From Science steal her golden clew, 
And every mystic path pursue, 
Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes, 
Through labyrinths of wonder flies. 

as generally as he who anticipated Newton in developing th» 
arrangement of the universe. 

For this opinion of Xenophanes, see Plutarch, de Placit. 
Philosoph., lib. ii. cap. 13. It is impossible to read this 
treatise of Plutarch, without alternately admiring the genius, 
and smiling at the absurdities of the philosophers. 

2 The ancients had their lucerna? cubicularia? or bed- 
chamber lamps, which, as the emperor Galienus said, "nil 
eras meminere ;" and, with the same commendation of se- 
crecy, Praxagora addresses her lamp in Aristophanes, 
EkkXtis. We may judge how fanciful they were, in the use 
and embellishment of their lamps, from the famous symbolic 
Lucerna which we find in the Romanum Museum Mich. 
Ang. Causei, p. 127. 

s Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of his father's 
flight to the wretched village of Ascra. Epy. k<xi 'H/.up.v. 251. 

4 Evvvxtai gtsixov, nepiKaXXia oaaav uiaai. Theog. v. 10 

6 Kat poi cKTiiTTpov eSov, dacpvns epiOqXea ogov. Id. v. 30. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



123 



'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know 
How fleeting is this world below, 
Where all that meets the morning light, 
Is changed before the fall of night I 1 

I'll tell thee, as I trim thy fire, 

" Swift, swift the tide of being runs, 

" And Time, who bids thy flame expire, 
" Will also quench yon heaven of suns." 

Oh, then if earth's united power 
Can never chain one feathery hour ; 
If every print we leave to-day 
To-morrow's wave will sweep away ; 
Who pauses to inquire of heaven 
Why were the fleeting treasures given, 
The sunny days, the shady nights, 
And all their brief but dear delights, 
Which heaven has made for man to use, 
And man should think it crime to lose ? 
Who that has cull'd a fresh-blown rose 
Will ask it why it breathes and glows, 
Unmindful of the blushing ray, 
In which it shines its soul away ; 
Unmindful of the scented sigh, 
With which it dies and loves to die ? 

Pleasure, thou only good on earth ! a 
One precious moment given to thee — '• 

Oh ! by my Lais' lip, 'tis worth 
The sage's immortality. 

Then far be all the wisdom hence, 
That would our joys one hour delay ! 

Alas, the feast of soul and sense 

Love calls us to in youth's bright day, 
If not soon tasted, fleets away. 

Ne'er wert thou form'd, my Lamp, to shed 
Thy splendor on a lifeless page ; — 

Whate'er my blushing Lais said 
Of thoughtful lore and studies sage, 

'Twas mockery all — her glance of joy 

Told me thy dearest, best employ.* 

1 'Peiv T<xb\a rcorajiov 6iKTjv,as expressed among the dog- 
mas of Heraclitus the Ephesian, and with the same image by 
Seneca, in whom we find a beautiful diffusion of the thought. 
" Nemo est mane, qui fuit pridie. Corpora nostra rapiuntur 
fluminum more ; quidquid vides currit cum tempore. Nihil 
ex his quae videmus manet. Ego ipse, dum loquor mutari 
ipsa, mutatus sum," &c. 

2 Aristippus considered motion as the principle of happi- 
ness, in which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who 
looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, 
and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a 
violent and ungraceful derangement of the senses. 

3 Maupertuis has been still more explicit than this philoso- 
pher, in ranking the pleasures of sense above the sublimest 
pursuits of wisdom. Speaking of the infant man in his pro- 



And, soon as night shall close the eye 

Of heaven's young wanderer in the west ; 
When seers are gazing on the sky, 

To find their future orbs of rest ; 
Then shall I take my trembling way, 

Unseen but to those worlds above, 
And, led by thy mysterious ray, 

Steal to the night -bower of my love. 



TO MRS. 



ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSLATION OP 
VOITURE'S KISS. 

Mon ame sur mon levre etoit lors toute entiere, 
Pour savourer le miel qui sur la votre etoit ; 

Mais en me retirant, elle resta derriere, 
Tant de ce doux plaisir l'amorce la restoit. 

Voititrk 

How heav'nly was the poet's doom, 
To breathe his spirit through a kiss ; 

And lose within so sweet a tomb 
The trembling messenger of bliss ! 

And, sure his soul return'd to feel 
That it again could ravish'd be ; 

For in the kiss that thou didst steal, 
His life and soul have fled to thee. 



RONDEAU. 

" Good night ! good night !" — And is it so ? 

And must I from my Rosa go ? 

Oh Rosa, say " Good night !" once more, 

And I'll repeat it o'er and o'er, 

Till the first glance of dawning light 

Shall find us saying, still, " Good night." 

duction., he calls him, "une nouvelle creature, qui pourra 
comprendre les choses les plus sublimes, et ce qui est bien 
au-dessus, qui pourra goftter les msmes plaisirs." See his 
Venus Physique. This appears to be one of the efforts at 
Fontenelle's gallantry of manner, for which the learned Pres- 
ident is so well and justly ridiculed in the Akakia of Vol- 
taire. 

Maupertuis may be thought to have borrowed from the an- 
cient Aristippus that indiscriminate theory of pleasures 
which he has set forth in his Essai de Philosophic Morale, 
and for which he was so very justly condemned. Aristip- 
pus, according to Laertius, held /tiq dia<j>cpciv re //Jok/v 
flSovrjs, which irrational sentiment has been adopted by 
Maupertuis: "Tantqu'on ne considere que l'etat present, 
tous les plaisirs sont du meme genre," &c. &c 



124 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And still " Gooo night," my Rosa, say- 
But whisper still, " A minute stay ;" 
And I will stay, and every minute 
Shall have an age of transport in it ; 
Till Time himself shall stay his flight, 
To listen to our sweet " Good night." 

" Good night !" you'll murmur with a sigh, 

And tell me it is time to fly : 

And I will vow, will swear to go, 

While still that sweet voice murmurs " No !" 

Till slumber seal our weary sight — 

And then, my love, my soul, " Good night !" 



SONG. 



Why does azure deck the sky ? 

'Tis to be like thine eyes of blue ; 
Why is red the rose's dye ? 

Because it is thy blushes' hue. 
All that's fair, by Love's decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 

Why is falling snow so white, 
But to be like thy bosom fair ? 

Why are solar beams so bright? 

That they may seem thy golden hair ! 

All that's bright, by Love's decree, 

Has been made resembling thee ! 

Why are nature's beauties felt ? 

Oh ! 'tis thine in her we see ! 
Why has music power to melt? 

Oh ! because it speaks like thee 
All that's sweet, by Love's decree. 
Has been made resembling theo 



TO ROSA. 



Like one who trusts to summer ?kies, 
And puts his little bark to sea, 

Is he who, lured by smiling eyes, 
Consigns his simple heart to thee. 

For fickle is the summer wind, 
And sadly may the bark be toss'd ; 

For thou art sure to change thy mind, 
And then the wretched heart is lost ! 



WRITTEN IN A COMMONPLACE BOOK, 

CALLED 
"THE BOOK OF FOLLIES;" 

IN WHICH EVERY ONE THAT OPENED IT WAS TO CONTRIBUTE 
SOMETHING. 

TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES. 

This tribute's from a wretched elf, 
Who hails thee, emblem of himself. 
The book of life, which I have traced, 
Has been, like thee, a motley waste 
Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, 
One folly bringing hundreds more. 
Some have indeed been writ so neat, 
In characters so fair, so sweet, 
That those who judge not too severely, 
Have said they loved such follies dearly : 
Yet still, O book ! the allusion stands ; 
For these were penn'd by jemalc hands: 
The rest — alas ! I own the truth — 
Have all been scribbled so uncouth 
That Prudence, with a with'ring look, 
Disdainful, flings away the book. 
Like thine, its pages here and there 
Have oft been stain'd with blots of care ; 
And sometimes hours of peace, I own, 
Upon some fairer leaves have shone, 
White as the snowings of that heav'n 
By which those hours of peace were given. 
But now no longer — such, oh, such 
The blast of Disappointment's touch ! — 
No longer now those hours appear ; 
Each leaf is sullied by a tear : 
Blank, blank is ev'iy page with care, 
Not ev'n a folly brightens there. 
Will they yet brighten ? — never, never ! 
Then shut the hook, O God, forever ! 



TO ROSA. 



Say, why should the girl of my soul be in tears 

At a meeting of rapture Like this, 
When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of 
years 

Have been paid by one moment of bliss ? 

Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight, 

Which dwells on her memory yet ? 
Do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathmg 
night, 

From the warmth of the sun that has set ? 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



12; 



Oh ! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile, 

That smile, which is loveliest then ; 
And if such are the drops that delight can beguile, 

Thou shalt weep them again and again. 



LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP. 

Light sounds the harp when the combat is over, 
When heroes are resting, and joy is in bloom ; 
When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, 
And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. 
But, when the foe returns, 
Again the hero burns ; 
High flames the sword in his hand once more : 
The clang of mingling arms 
Is then the sound that charms, 
Attv orazen notes of war, that stirring trumpets 

pour ; — 

Then, again comes the Harp, when the combat is 

over — 

When heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloom — 

When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, 

And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. 

Light went the harp when the War-God, reclining, 

Lay lull'd on the white arm of Beauty to rest, 
When round his rich armor the myrtle hung 
twining, 
And flights of young doves made his helmet their 
nest. 

But, when the battle came, 
The hero's eye breathed flame : 
Soon from his neck the white arm was flung ; 
While, to his wak'ning ear, 
No other sounds were dear 
But brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets 

sung. 
But then came the light harp, when danger was 
ended, 
And Beauty once more lull'd the War-God to 
rest ; 
When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended, 
And flights of youug doves made his helmet their 
nest 



i Eyxet, «ai iraXiv curt, ira\iv, ira\iv, 'HXio5(opas 
Eirre, aw aKpvTio to yXvKV p.ioy' ovopa. 
Kai fioi tov Ppex^^ra pvpois kcli \8igov covra, 
Mfafioavvov KEtvas, an<piridci ors<pavov 



FROM 

THE GREEK OF MELEAGER. 1 

Fill high the cup with liquid flame, 
And speak my Heliodora's name. 
Repeat its magic o'er and o'er, 
And let the sound my lips adore, 
Live in the breeze, till every tone, 
And word, and breath, speaks her alone. 

Give me the wreath that withers there, 

It was but last delicious night, 
It circled her luxuriant hair, 

And caught her eyes' reflected light. 
Oh ! haste, and twine it round my brow : 
'Tis all of her that's left me now. 
And see — each rosebud drops a tear, 
To find the nymph no longer here — 
No longer, where such heavenly charms 
As hers should be — witlrin these arms. 



SONG. 



Fly from the world, O Bessy ! to me, 

Thou wilt never find any sinoerer ; 
I'll give up the wci.fl, O Bessy ! for thee, 

I can never meet any that's dearer. 
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh, 

That our loves will be censured by many ; 
All, all have their follies, and who will deny 

That ours is the sweetest of any ? 

When your lip has met mine, in communion & 
sweet, 

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it ?— 
Have we felt as if heav'n denied them to meet ? — 

No, rather 'twas heav'n that did it. 
So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, 

So little of wrong is there in it, 
That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip, 

And I'll kiss them away in a minute. 

Then come to your lover, oh ! fly to his shed, 
From a world which I know thou despisest ; 

And slumber will hover as light o'er our bed 
As e'er on the couch of the wisest. 

Aatcpvei <pi\epaarov tSov poSov, ovvcki Ktivav 
AWodi k' ov koXttois f)j.UTSpots£cropa. 

Brunck. AncUect. torn. i. p. 28. 



126 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven, 


Then bid me not to despair and pine, 


And thou, pretty innocent, fearest, 


Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 


I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of heaven, 


The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine, 


'Tis only our lullaby, dearest. 


Would be sure to take cold in tears. 


And, oh ! while we lie on our deathbed, my love, 


Reflected bright in this heart of mine, 


Looking back on the scene of our errors, 


Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 


A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above, 


But, ah, the mirror would cease to shine, 


And Death be disarm'd of his terrors. 


If dimm'd too often with sighs. 


And each to the other embracing will say, 


They lose the half of beauty's light, 


" Farewell ! let us hope we're forgiven." 


Who view it through sorrow's tear ; 


Thy last fading glance will illumine the way, 


And 'tis but to see thee truly bright 


And a kiss be our passport to heaven ! 


That I keep my eye-beam clear. 




Then wait no longer till tears shall flow, 




Fanny, dearest — the hope is vain ; 




If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, 
I shall never attempt it with rain. 




THE RESEMBLANCE. 




, vo cercand' io, 

Donna, quant' e possibile, in altrui 






La desiata vostra forma vera. 




Pktrarc. Sonnett. 14. 




Ye*, if 'twere any common love, 


THE RING. 


That led my pliant heart astray, 




I grant, there's not a power above, 


TO 


Could wipe the faithless crime away. 






No — Lady ! Lady ! keep the ring : 


But, 'twas my doom to err with one 


On ! think, how many a future year, 


In every look so like to thee 


Of placid smile and downy wing, 


That, underneath yon blessed sun, 


Mny sleep within its holy sphere. 


So fair there are but thou and she. 






Do not disturb their tranquil dream, 


Both born of beauty, at a birth, 


Though love hath ne'er the myst'ry warm'd ; 


She held with thine a kindred sway, 


Yet heaven will shed a soothing beam, 


And wore the only shape on earth 


To bless the bond itself hath form'd. 


That could have lured my soul to stray. 






But then, that eye, that burning eye, — 


Then blame me not, if false I be, 


Oh ! it doth ask, with witching power, 


'Twas love that waked the fond excess ; 


If heaven can ever bless the tie 


My heart had been more true to thee, 


Where love inwreaths no genial flower ? 


Had mine eye prized thy beauty less. 






Away, away, bewildering look, 




Or all the boast of virtue's o'er ; 
Go — hie thee to the sage's book, 






And learn from him to feel no more. 


FANNY, DEAREST. 


I cannot, warn thee : every touch, 


Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 


That brings my pulses close to thine, 


Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh ; 


Tells me I want thy aid as much — 


And every smile on my cheek should turn 


Ev'n more, alas, than thou dost mine. 


To tears when thou art nigh. 




But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 


Yet, stay, — one hope, one effort yet — 


So busy a life I live, 


A moment turn those eyes away, 


That even the time it would take to weep 


And let me, if I can, forget 


Is more than my heart can give. 


The light that leads my soul astray. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



127 



Thou say'st, that we were born to meet, 
That our hearts hear one common seal ; — 

Think, Lady, think, how man's deceit 
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel. 

When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought, 
Like davbeams through the morning air, 

Hath gradual stole, and I have caught 
The feeling ere it kindled there ; 

The sympathy I then betray 'd, 

Perhaps was but the child of art, 
The guile of one, who long hath play'd 

With all these wily nets of heart 

O ! thine is not my earliest vow ; 

Though few the years I yet have told, 
Canst thou believe I've lived till now, 

With loveless heart or senses cold? 

No — other nymphs to joy and pain 

This wild and wandering heart hath moved ; 
With some it sported, wild and vain, 

While some it dearly, truly loved. 

The cheek to thine I fondly lay, 
To theirs hath been as fondly laid ; 

The words to thee I warmly say, 
To them have been as warmly said. 

Then, scorn at once a worthless heart, 

Worthless alike, or fix'd or free ; 
Think of the pure, bright soul thou art, 

And — love not me, oh love not me. 

Enough — now, turn thine eyes again ; 

What, still that look and still that sigh ! 
Dost thou not feel my counsel then 1 

Oh ! no. beloved, — nor do L 



THE INVISIBLE GIRL 

They try to persuade me, my dear little sprite, 
That you're not a true daughter of ether and light, 
Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms 
That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms ; 
That, in short, you're a woman ; your lip and your 

eye 
As mortal as ever drew gods from the sky. 
But I will not believe them — no, Science, to you 
I have long bid a last and a careless adieu : 



Still flying from Nature to study her laws, 

And dulling delight by exploring its cause, 

You forget how superior, for mortals below, 

Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they 

know. 
Oh ! who, that has e'er enjoy'd rapture complete, 
Would ask hoic we feel it, or why it is sweet ; 
How rays are confused, or how particles fly 
Through the medium refined of a glance or a sigh t 
Is there one, who but once would not rather have 

known it, 
Than written, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it ? 

As for you, my sweet-voiced and invisible love, 
You must surely be one of those spirits, that rove 
By the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines, 
When the star of the west on his solitude shines, 
And the magical figures of fancy have hung 
Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue. 
Oh ! hint to him then, 'tis retirement alone 
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone ; 
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, 
His song to the world let him utter unseen, 
And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres, 
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears. 

Sweet spirit of mystery ! how I should love, 
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove, 
To have you thus ever invisibly nigh, 
Inhaling forever your song and your sigh ! 
Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of 

care, 
I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the 

air, 
And turn with distaste from the clamorous crew, 
To steal in the pauses one whisper from you. 

Then, come and be near me, forever be mine, 
We shall hold in the air a communion divine, 
As sweet as, of old, was imagined to dwell 
In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell. 
And oft, at those lingering moments of night, 
When the heart's busy thoughts have put slumber 

to flight, 
You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love, 
Such as angel to angel might whisper above. 
Sweet spirit ! — and then, could you borrow the 

tone 
Of that voice, to my ear like some fairy-song 

known, 
The voice of the one upon earth, who has twined 
With her being forever my heart and my mind, 
Though lonely and far from the light of her smile, 
An exile, and weary and hopeless the while, 
Could you shed for a moment her voice on my ear, 
I will think, for that moment, that Cara is near ; 



128 MOORE'S WORKS. 


That she comes with consoling enchantment to 


The bridegroom on his finger wore 


speak, 


The wedding-ring so bright, 


And kisses my eyelid and breathes on my cheek, 


Which was to grace the lily hand 


And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by, 


Of Isabel that night. 


For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh. 






And fearing he might break the gem, 


Fair spirit ! if such be your magical power, 


Or lose it in the play, 


It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour ; 


He look'd around the court, to see 


And, let fortune's realities frown as they will, 


Where he the ring might lay. 


Hope, fancy, and Cara may smile for me still. 






Now in the court a statue stood, 




Which there full long had been ; 




It might a Heathen goddess be, 






Or else, a Heathen queen. 


THE RING. 1 


Upon its marble finger then 




He tried the ring to fit ; 


A TALE. 


And, thinking it was safest there, 


Annulus ille viri. — Ovid. Amor. lib. ii. eleg. 15. 


Thereon he fasten'd it. 


The happy day at length arrived 


And now the tennis sports went on, 


When Rupert was to wed 


Till they were wearied all, 


The fairest maid in Saxony, 


And messengers announced to them 


And take her to his bed. 


Their dinner in the hall. 


As soon as morn was in the sky, 


Young Rupert for his wedding-ring 


The feast and sports began ; 


Unto the statue went ; 


The men admired the happy maid, 


But, oh, how shock'd was he to find 


The maids the happy man. 


The marble finger .bent ! 


In many a sweet device of mirth 


The hand was closed upon the ring 


The day was pass'd along ; 


With firm and mighty clasp ; 


And some the featly dance amused, 


In vain he tried, and tried, and tried, 


And some the dulcet song. 


He could not loose the grasp ! 


The younger maids with Isabel 


Then sore surprised was Rupert's mind — 


Disported through the bowers, 


And well his mind might be ; 


And deck'd her robe, and crown'd her head 


" I'll come," quoth he, " at night again, 


With motley bridal flowers. 


" When none are here to see." 


The matrons all in rich attire, 


He went unto the feast, and much 


Within the castle walls, 


He thought upon his ring ; 


Sat listening to the choral strains 


And marvell'd sorely what could mean 


That echo'd through the halls. 


So very strange a thing ! 


Young Rupert and his friends repair'd 


The feast was o'er, and to the court 


Unto a spacious court, 


He hied without delay, 


To strike the bounding tennis-ball 


Resolved to break the marble hand 


In feat and manly sport. <■ 


And force the ring away. 


1 1 should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious 


I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this 


intentions of frightening the nursery by this story: I rather 


story in a German author, Fromman upon Fascination, book 


hope— though the manner of it leads me to doubt— that his 


iii. part vi. ch. 18. On consulting the work, I perceive that 


design was to ridicule that distempered taste which prefers 


Fromman quotes it from Beluacensis, among many other 


those monsters of the fancy to the " speciosa miracula" of 


stories equally diabolical and interesting. E. 


true poetic imagination. 





JUVENILE POEMS. 129 


But, mark a stranger wonder still — 
The ring was there no more, 

And yet the marble hand ungrasp'd, 
And open as before ! 


At length from this invisible 
These words to Rupert came : 

(Oh God ! while he did hear the words 
What terror shook his frame !) 


He search'd the base, and all the court, 

But nothing could he find ; 
Then to the castle hied he back 

With sore bewilder'd mind. 


" Husband, husband, I've the ring 
" Thou gav'st to-day to me ; 

" And thou'rt to me forever wed, 
" As I am wed to thee !" 


Within he found them all in mirth, 
The night in dancing flew ; 

The youth another ring procured, 
And none the adventure knew. 


And all the night the demon lay 

Cold-chilling by his side, 
And strain'd him with such deadly grasp, 

He thought he should have died. 


And now the priest has join'd their hands, 

The hours of love advance : 
Rupert almost forgets to think 

Upon the morn's mischance. 


But when the dawn of day was near, 

The horrid phant^n fled, 
And left th' affrighted youth to weep 

By Isabel in bed. 


Within the bed fair Isabel 

In blushing sweetness lay, 
Like flowers, half-open'd by the dawn, 

And waiting for the day. 


And all that day a gloomy cloud 
Was seen on Rupert's brows ; 

Fair Isabel was likewise sad, 
But strove to cheer her spouse. 


And Rupert, by her lovely side, 
In youthful beauty glows, 

Like Phoebus, when he bends to cast 
His beams upon a rose. 


And, as the day advanced, he thought 
Of coming night with fear : 

Alas, that he should dread to view 
The bed that should be dear ! 


And here my song would leave them both, 

Nor let the rest be told, 
If 'twere not for the horrid tale 

It yet has to unfold. 


At length the second night arrived, 
Again their couch they press'd ; 

Poor Rupert hoped that all wzs o'er, 
And look'd for love and rest. 


Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him, 
A death-cold carcass found ; 

He saw it not, but thought he felt 
Its arms embrace him round. 


But oh ! when midnight came, again 
The fiend was at his side, 

And, as it strain'd him in its grasp, 
With howl exulting cried : — 


He started up, and then return'd, 
But found the phantom still ; 

In vain he shrunk, it clipp'd him round, 
With damp and deadly chill ! 


" Husband, husband, I've the ring, 
" The ring thou gav'st to me ; 

" And thou'rt to me forever wed, 
" As I am wed to thee !" 


And when he bent, the earthy lips 

A kiss of horror gave ; 
'Tvvas like the smell from charnel vaults, 

Or from the mould'ring grave ! 


In agony of wild despair, 
He started from the bed ; 

And thus to his bewilder'd wife 
The trembling Rupert said : 


Ill-fated Rupert ! — wild and loud 

Then cried he to his wife, 
" Oh ! save me from this horrid fiend, 

" My Isabel ! my life !" 


" Oh Isabel ! dost thou not see 
" A shape of horrors here, 

" That strains me to its deadly kiss, 
" And keeps me from my dear ?" 


But Isabel had nothing seen, 

She look'd around in vain ; 
And much she mourn'd the mad conceit 

That rack'd her Rupert's brain. 


" No, no, my love ! my Rupert, I 
" No shape of horrors see ; 

" And much I mourn the phantasy 
" That keeps my dear from me." 



130 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



This night, just like the night before, 

In terrors pass'd away, 
Nor did the demon vanish thence 

Before the dawn of day. 

Said Rupert then, " My Isabel, 

" Dear partner of my wo, 
u To Father Austin's holy cave 

" This instant will I go." 

Now Austin was a reverend man, 

Who acted wonders maint — 
Whom all the country round believed 

A devil or a saint ! 

To Father Austin's hoty cave 

Then Rupert straightway went ; 
And told him all, and ask'd him how 

These horrors to prevent. 

The Father heard the youth, and then 

Retired awhile to pray ; 
And, having pray'd for half an hour 

Thus to the youth did say : 

" There is a place where four roads meet, 

" Which I will tell to thee ; 
" Be there this eve, at fall of night, 

" And list what thou shalt see 

" Thou'lt see a group of figures pass 

" Iu strange disorder'd crowd, 
" Travelling by torchlight through the roads, 

" With noises strange and loud. 

<: And one that's high above the rest, 

" Terrific towering o'er, 
" Will make thee know him at a glance, 

" So I need say no more. 

" To him from me these tablets give, 

" They'll quick be understood ; 
" Thou need'st not fear, but give them straight, 

" I've scrawl'd them with my blood !" 

The nightfall came, and Rupert all 

In pale amazement went 
To where the crossroads met, as he 

Was by the Father sent. 

And lo ! a group of figures came 

In strange disorder'd crowd, 
Travelling by torchlight through the roads, 

With noises strange and loud. 



And, as the gloomy train advanced, 

Rupert beheld from far 
A female form of wanton mien 

High seated on a car. 

And Rupert, as he gazed upon 

The loosely vested dame, 
Thought of the marble statue's look, 

For hers was just the same. 

Behind her walk'd a hideous form, 

With eyeballs flashing death ; 
Whene'er he breathed, a sulphur'd smoke 

Came burning in his breath. 

He seem'd the first of all the crowd, 

Terrific towering o'er ; 
" Yes, yes," said Rupert, ' ibis is he, 

" And I need ask no more." 

Then slow he went, and to this fiend 

The tablets trembling gave, 
Who look'd and read them with a yell 

That would disturb the grave. 

Aj*d when he saw the blood-scrawl'd name, 

His eyes with fury shine ; 
" I thought," cries he, " his time was out, 

" But he must soon be mine !" 

Then darting at the youth a look 

Which rent his soul with fear, 
He went unto the female fiend, 

And whisper d in her ear. 

The female fiend no sooner heard 

Than, with reluctant look, 
The very ring that Rupert lost, 

She from her finger took. 

And, giving it unto the youth, 
With eyes that breathed of hell, 

She said, in that tremendous voice, 
Which he remember'd well : 

" In Austin's name take back the ring, 

" The ring thou gav'st to me ; 
" And thou'rt to me no longer wed, 

" Nor longer I to thee." 

He took the ring, the rabble pass'd, 

He home return'd again ; 
His wife was then the happiest fair, 

The happiest he of men. 



JUVENILE 


POEMS. 131 




Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft, 


TO 


How light the magic pencil ran ! 




Till Fear would come, alas, as oft, 


OS SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL ASD A RICH GIRDLE. 


And trembling close what Hope began. 


Jiapyapirai 5rj\ov<j'i datcpvuv poov. 


A tear or two had dropp'd from Grief, 


Jlp. Nicephor. in Oruirocritio. 


And Jealousy would, now and then, 




Ruffle in haste some snow-white leaf, 


Put off the vestal veil, nor, oh ! 


Which Love had still to smooth again. 


Let weeping angels view it ; 




Your cheeks belie its virgin snow, 


But, ah ! there came a blooming boy, 


And blush repenting through it 


Who often turn'd the pages o'er, 




And wrote therein such words of joy, 


Put off the fatal zone you wear ; 


That all who read them sigh'd for more. 


The shining pearls around it 




Are tears, that fell from Virtue there, 


And Pleasure was this spirit's name, 


The hour when Love unbound it 


And though so soft his voice and look, 




Yet Innocence, whene'er he came, 




Would tremble for her spotless book. 
For, oft a Bacchant cup he bore, 






With earth's sweet nectar sparkling bright ; 


WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF 


And much she fear'd lest, mantling o'er, 


OF 


Some drops should on the pages light. 


A LADY'S COMMONPLACE BOOK. 


And so it chanced, one luckless night, 


Here is one leaf reserved for me, 


The urchin let that goblet fall 


From all thy sweet memorials free ; 


O'er the fair book, so pure, so white, 


And here my simple song might tell 


And sullied lines and marge and all ! 


The feelings thou must guess so well. 




But could I thus, within thy mind, 


In vain now, touch'd with shame, he tried 


One little vacant corner find, 


To wash those fatal stains away ; 


Where no impression yet is seen, 


Deep, deep had sunk the sullying tide, 


Where no memorial yet hath been, 


The leaves grew darker every day. 


Oh ! it should be my sweetest care 
To write my name forever t here .' 


And Fancy's sketches lost their hue, 

And Hope's sweet lines were all effaced, 




And Love himself now scarcely knew 




What Love himself so lately traced. 






At length the urchin Pleasure fled, 


TO 


(For how, alas ! could Pleasure stay ?) 


MRS. BL . 


And Love, while many a tear he shed, 


WRITTEN IN' HER ALBUM. 


Reluctant flung the book away. 


They say that Love had once a book 


The index now alone remains, 


(The urchin likes to copy you,) 


Of all the pages spoil'd by Pleasure, 


Where, all who came, the pencil took, 


And though it bears some earthy stains, 


And wrote, like us, a line or two. 


Yet Memory counts the leaf a treasure. 


'Twas Innocence, the maid divine, 


And oft, they say, she scans it o'er, 


Who kept this volume bright and fair, 


And oft, by this memorial aided, 


And saw that no unhallow'd line 


Brings back the pages now no more, 


Or thought profane should enter there ; 


And thinks of lines that long have faded 


And daily did the pages fill 


I know not if this tale be true, 


With fond device and loving lore, 


But thus the simple facts are stated ; 


And every leaf she turn'd was still 


And I refer their truth to you, 


More bright than that she turn'd before. 


Since Love and you are near related. 



132 MOORE'S WORKS. 


TO 

CARA, 


TO 

CARA, 


AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. 


ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR'S DAY 


Conceal'd within the shady wood 


When midnight came to close the year, 


A mother left her sleeping child, 


We sigh'd to think it thus should take 


And flew, to cull her rustic food, 


The hours it gave us — hours as dear 


The fruitage of the forest wild. 


As sympathy and love could make 




Their blessed moments, — every sun 


But storms upon her pathway rise, 


Saw us, my love, more closely one. 


The mother roams, astray and weeping ; 




Far from the weak appealing cries 


But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh 


Of him she left so sweetly sleeping. 


Which cam« a new year's light to shed, 




That smile we ; vught from eye to eye 


She hopes, she fears ; a light is seen, 


Told us, those moments were not fled : 


And gentler blows the night wind's breath ; 


Oh, no, — we felt, some future sun 


Yet no — 'tis gone — the storms are keen, 


Should see us still more closely one. 


The infant may be chill'd to death ! 






Thus may we ever, side by side, 


Perhaps, ev'n now, in darkness shrouded, 


From happy years to happier glide ; 


His little eyes lie cold and still ; — 


And still thus may the passing sigh 


And yet, perhaps, they are not clouded, 


We give to hours, that vanish o'er is 


Life and love may light them still. 


Be follow'd by the smiling eye, 




That Hope shall shed on scenes before us I 


Thus, Cara, at our last farewell, 




When, fearful ev'n thy hand to touch, 




I mutely ask'd those eyes to tell 




If parting pain'd thee half so much : 




I thought, — and, oh ; forgive the thought, 


TO 


For none was e'er by love inspired 


. ... , 1801. 


Whom fancy had not also taught 




To hope the bliss his soul desired. 


To be the theme of every hour 




The heart devotes to Fancy's power, 


Yes, I did think, in Cara's mind, 


When her prompt magic fills the mind 


Though yet to that' sweet mind unknown, 


With friends and joys we've left behind, 


I left one infant wish behind, 


And joys return and friends are near, 


One feeling, v hich I call'd my own. 


And all are welcomed with a tear : — 




In the mind's purest seat to dwell, 


Oh blest ! though Dut in fancy blest, 


To be remember'd oft and well 


How did I ask of Pity's care, 


By one whose heart, though vain and wild, 


To shield and strengthen, in thy breast, 


By passion led, by youth beguiled, 


The nursling I had cradled there. 


Can proudly still aspire to be 




All that may yet win smiles from thee : — 




If thus to live in every part 


And, many an hour, beguiled by pleasure, 


Of a lone, weary wanderer's heart ; 


And many an hour of sorrow numb'ring, 


If thus to be its sole employ 


I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure, 


Can give thee one faint gleam of joy, 


I left within thy bosom slumb'ring. 


Believe it, Mary, — oh ! believe 




A tongue that never can deceive, 


Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it, 


Though, erring, it too oft betray 


Haply, it yet a thiob may give — 


Ev'n more than Love should dare to say, — 


Yet, no — perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it ; 


In Pleasure's dream or Sorrow's hour, 


Say, dearest — does the feeling live ? 


In crowded hall or lonely bower, 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



133 



The business of my life shall be, 
Forever to remember thee. 
And though that heart be dead to mine, 
Since Love is life and wakes not thine, 
I'll take thy image, as the form 
Of one whom Love had fail'd to warm, 
Winch, though it yield no answering thrill, 
Is not less dear, is worshipp'd still — 
I'L take it, wheresoe'er I stray, 
The bright, cole 1 burden of my way. 
To keep this semblance fresh in bloom, 
My heart shall be its lasting tomb, 
And Memory, with embalming care, 
Shall keep it fresh and fadeless there. 



THE 

GENIUS OF HARMONY, 

AN IRREGULAR ODE. 

Ad harmoniam canere mundum. 

Cicero de Jfat. Deor., lib. iii. 

There lies a shell beneath the waves, 
In many a hollow winding wreath'd, 
Sueh as of old 
Echoed the breath that warbling sea-maids breathed ; 
This magic shell, 
From the white bosom of a syren fell, 
As once she wander'd by the tide that laves 
Sicilia's sands of gold. 

1 In the "Histoire Naturelle des Antilles," there is an ac- 
count of some curious shells, found at Curacoa, on the back 
of which were lines, filled with musical characters so dis- 
tinct and perfect, that the writer assures us a very charming 
trio was sung from one of them. " On le nomme musical, 
parcequ'il porte sur le dos des lignes noiratres pleines de 
notes, qui ont une espece de cle pour les mettre en chant, 
de sorte que Ton dlroit qu'il ne manque que la lettre acette 
tablature naturelle. Cecurieux gentilhomme (M. du Montel) 
rapporte qu'il enavu qui avoient cinq lignes, une cle. et des 
notes, qui fermoient un accord parfait. Q.uelqu'un y avoit 
ajoute la lettre, que la nature avoit oubliee, et la faisoit chan- 
ter en forme de trio, dont l'air etoit fort agreable." — Chap. xix. 
art. 11. The author adds, a poet might imagine that these 
shells were used by the syrens at their concerts. 

2 According to Cicero, and his commentator, Macrobius, 
the lunar tone is the gravest and faintest on the planetary 
heptachord. " Quam ob causam summus ille cceli stellifer 
eursus, cujus conversio est concitatior, acuto et excitato 
movetur sono; gravissimo autem hie lunarisatque infimus." 
— Somn. Scip. Because, says Macrobius, "spiritu ut in ex- 
tremitate languescente jam volvitur, et propter angustias 
quibus penultimus orbis arctatur impetu leniore convertitur." 
— In Somn. Scip., lib. ii. cap. 4. In their musical arrange- 
ment of the heavenly bodies, the ancient writers are not very 
intelligible. — See Ptolem., lib. iii. 

Leone Hebreo, in pursuing the idea of Aristotle, that the 
heavens are animal, attributes their harmony to perfect and 
reciprocal love. "Non pero manca fra loro il perfetto et 
teciproco amore : la causa principale, che ne mostra il loro 



It bears 
Upon its shining side the mystic notes, 

Of those entrancing airs, 1 
The genii of the deep were wont to swell, 
When heaven's eternal orbs their midnight music 
Oh ! seek it, wheresoe'er it floats ; [roll'd ! 

And, if the power 
Of thrilling numbers to Ihy soul be dear, 

Go, bring the bright shell to my bower, 
And I will fold thee in such downy dreams 
As lap the Spirit of the Seventh Sphere, 
When Luna's distant tone falls faintly on his ear ia 
And thou shalt o\vu s 
That, through the circle of creation's zone, 
Where matter slumbers or where spirit beams ; 
From the pellucid tides, 3 that whirl 
The planets through their maze of song, 
To the small rill, that weeps along 
Murmuring o'er beds s>i pearl : 
From the rich sigh 
Of the sun's arrow through an evening sky,* 
To the faint breath tl e tuneful osier yields 

On Afric's burning fields f 
Thou'lt wondering own this universe divine 

Is mine ! 
That I respire in all and all in me, 
One mighty mingled soid of boundless harmony. 

Welcome, welcome, mystic shell ! 
Many a star has ceased to burn, 6 
Many a tear has Saturn's urn 
O'er the cold bosom of the ocean wept, 7 

amore, e la lor amicitia armonica et la concordanza, che 
perpetuamente si trova in loro." — Dialog, ii. di Amore, p. 
58. This " reciprico amore" of Leone is the <pi\oT)]s of the 
ancient Empedocles, who seems, in his Love and Hate of 
the Elements, to have given a glimpse of the principles of 
attraction and repulsion. See the fragment to which I al- 
lude in Laertius, AX>ors [isv <pi\orr]Ti, GVvzpxoji£v\ k. t. A.., 
lib. viii. cap. 2, n. 12. 

3 Leucippus, the atomist, imagined a kind of vortices in 
the heavens, which he borrowed from Anaxagoras, and pos- 
sibly suggested to Descartes. 

4 Heraclides, upon the allegories of Homer, conjectures 
that the idea of the harmony of the spheres originated with 
this poet, who, in representing the solar beams as arrows, 
supposes them to emit a peculiar sound in the air. 

5 In the account of Africa which D'Ablancourt has trans- 
lated, there is mention of a tree in that country, whose 
branches when shaken by the hand produce very sweet 
sounds. "Le meme aiiteur (Abenzegar) dit, qu'il y a un 
certain arbre, qui produit des gaules comme d'osier, et qu en 
les prenant a la main et les branlant, elles font une espece 
d'harmonie fort agreable," &c. &x. — L'Jlfriquede Marmot. 

6 Alluding to the extinction, or at least the disappearance, 
of some of those fixed stars, which we are taught to consider 
as suns, attended each by its system. Descartes thought 
that our earth might formerly have been a sun, which be- 
came obscured by a thick incrustation over its surface. This 
probably suggested the idea of a central fire. 

1 Porphyry says, that Pythagoras held the sea to be a tear, 
Tnv SaXarrav pev CKaXet eivou 6aicpvoi>, (De Vita ;) and some 



134 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Since Ihy aerial spell 
Hath in the waters slept. 
Now blest I'll fly 
With the bright treasure to my choral sky, 
Where she, who waked its early swell, 
The Syren of the heavenly choir, 
Walks o'er the great string of my Orphic Lyre ;* 
Or guides around the burning pole 
The winged chariot of some blissful soul : 2 
While thou— 
Oh son of earth, what dreams shall rise for thee ! 
Beneath Hispania's sun, 
Thou'lt see a streamlet run, 
Which I've imbued with breathing melody ; 8 „. 
And there, when night-winds down the current die, 
Thou'lt hear how like a harp its waters sigh : 
A liquid chord is eveiy wave that flows, 
An airy plectrum every breeze that blows. 4 

There, by that wondrous stream, 

Go, lay thy languid brow, 
And I will send thee such a godlike dream, 
As never bless'd the slumbers even of him, 5 
Who, many a night, with his primordial lyre, 6 

Sate on the chill Pangaean mount, 7 

And, looking to the orient dim, 
Watch'd the first flowing of that sacred fount, 

From which his soul had drunk its fire. 

one else, if I mistake not, has added the planet Saturn as the 
source of it. Empedocles, with similar affectation, called the 
sea "the sweat of the earth :" tdpuira ms yns- See Ritters- 
husius upon Porphyry, Num. 41. 

i The system of the harmonized orbs was styled by the an- 
cients the Great Lyre of Orpheus, for which Lucian thus 
accounts: — r\ 6s Avpr) itrraixiTog sovca tt\v tcov Kivovpsvcov 
atiTpaiv apjxoviav GVvs0aXXsTO, k. t, A. in Jlstrolog. 

2 AisiXs t//u%aj icrapiOpovs tois aarpoig, svsijxs 3-' SKacTrjv 
irpos UacTov, kcu sp(3i(3aoas 'ilE EIE OXHMA.— " Distribu- 
ting the souls severally among the stars, and mounting each 
soul upon a star as on its chariot." — Plato, Timceus. 

3 This musical river is mentioned in the romance of 
Achilles Tatius. TLttsi rroTafxov . . rjv 6s axovaai SsXrjs tov 
vScltos XoXovvtos- The Latin version, in supplying the hia- 
tus which is in the original, has placed the river in Hi-ma- 
nia. "In Hispania quoque fluvius est, quern primo aspectn," 
&c. &c. 

■> These two lines are translated from the words of Achilles 
Tatius. lEav yap oXiyos avspos sis ?as divas six-rrsari, to psv 
vdojp w$ x°P^ r l upovcTai. to 6s -nvsvjia tov vScitos TrXrjKTpov 
yivzrai. to pevpa 6s ojj KiQapa XaXsi. — Lib. ii. 

s Orpheus. 

6 They called his lyre af>x ai oTpoKov enraxopdov Opfysws. 
See a curious work by a professor of Greek at Venice, enti- 
tled "Hebdomartes, sive septcm de septenario libri."— Lib. 
iv. cap. 3, p. 177. 

^ Eratosthenes, in mentioning the extreme veneration of 
Orpheus for Apollo, says that he was accustomed to go to the 
Pangffian mountain at daybreak, and there wait the rising 
of the sun, that he might be the first to hail its beams.— 
Ensysipopsvos ts ttis vvktos, koto. ty]v so>0ivrjv sizi to opos 
to KaXovjxsvov Ylayyaiov, npocsitsvs rag avaro\as t Iva i6r\ 
tov 'IIAiuv npwTov. — KaTao-Tspiop. 24. 



Oh ! think what visions, in that lonely hour, 
Stole o'er his musing breast ; 
What pious ecstasy 8 
Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power, 
Whose seal upon this new-born world impress'd 9 
The various forms of bright divinity ! 

Or, dost thou know what dreams I wove, 
'Mid the deep horror of that silent bower, 10 
Where the rapt Samian slept his holy slumber ? 
When, free 
From earthly chain, 
From wreaths of pleasure and from bonds of pain, 

His spirit flew through fields above, 
Drank at the source of nature's fontal number, 11 
And saw, in mystic choir, around him move 
The stars of song, Heaven's burning minstrelsy ! 
Such dreams, so heavenly bright, 
I swear 
By the great diadem that twines my hair, 
And by the seven gems that sparkle there, 12 

Mingling their beams 
In a soft iris of harmonious light, 

Oh, mortal! such shall be thy radiant dreams. 



8 There are some verses of Orpheus preserved to us, which 
contain sublime ideas of the unity and magnificence of the 
Deity. For instance, those which Justin Martyr has pro- 
duced : — 

Ovtos jxsv xaXmoy sg ovpavov SGTrjpiKTai 

Xpvosio svi Spovw, k. t. X. J3d Grcec. Cohortat. 

It is thought by some that these are to be reckoned" among 
the fabrications, which were frequent in the early times of 
Christianity. Still, it appears doubtful to whom they are to 
be attributed, being too pious for the Pagans, and too poeti- 
cal for the Fathers. 

9 In one of the Hymns of Orpheus, he attributes a figured 
seal to Apollo, with which he imagines that deity to have 
stamped a variety of forms upon the universe. 

10 Alluding to the cave near Samos, where Pythagoras de- 
voted the greater part of his days and nights to meditation 
and the mysteries of his philosophy. lamblich. de Vil. This, 
as Holstenius remarks, was in imitation of the Magi. 

11 The tetractys, or sacred number of the Pythagoreans, 
on which they solemnly swore, and which they called nayav 
acvaov Qvcrsws, "the fountain of perennial nature." Lucian 
has ridiculed this religious arithmetic very cleverly in his 
Sale of Philosophers. 

12 This diadem is intended to represent the analogy be- 
tween the notes of music and the prismatic colors. We find 
in Plutarch a vague intimation of this kindred harmony in 
colors and sounds. — Oipis ts km aKorj, psra <poovr}s ts ko-i 
<Pmtos Tinv apixoviav suri^aivovai. — De Musica. 

Cassiodorus, whose idea I may be supposed to have bor- 
rowed, says, in a letter upon music to Boetius, "Ut diadema 
oculis, varia luce gemmarum, sic cythara diversitate soni, 
blanditur auditui." This is indeed the only tolerable thought 
in the letter.— Lib. ii. Variar. 



, 




I D IS , 



J- 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



135 



I found her not — the chamber seem'd 
Like some divinely haunted place, 

Where fairy forms had lately beam'd, 
And left behind their odorous trace ! 

It felt, as if her lips had shed 
A sigh around her, ere she fled, 
Which hung, as on a melting lute, 
When all the silver chords are mute, 
There lingers still a trembling breath 
After the note's luxurious death, 
A shade of song, a spirit air 
Of melodies which had been there. m 

I saw the veil, which, all the day, 

Had floated o'er her cheek of rose ; 
I saw the couch, where late she lay 

In languor of divine repose ; 
And I could trace the hallow'd print 

Her limbs had left, as pure and warm 
As if 'twere done in rapture's mint, 

And Love himself had stamp'd the form. 

Oh my sweet mistress, where wert thou ? 

In pity fly not thus from me ; 
Thou art my life, my essence now, 

And my soul dies of wanting thee. 



TO 

MRS. HENRY TIGHE, 

ON READING HER " PSYCHE." 

Tell me the witching tale again, 
For never has my heart or ear 

Hung on so sweet, so pure a strain, 
So pure to feel, so sweet to hear. 

Say, Love, in all thy prime of fame, 
When the high heaven itself was thine 



i See the Story in Apuleius. With respect to this beau- 
tiful allegory of Love and Psyche, there is an ingenious idea 
suggested by the senator Buonarotti, in his " Osservazioni 
sopra alcuni frammenti di vasi antichi." He thinks the fable is 
taken from some very occult mysteries, which had long been 
celebrated in honor of Love ; and accounts, upon this sup- 
position, for the silence of the more ancient authors upon the 
subject, as it was not till towards the decline of pagan super- 
stition, that writers could venture to reveal or discuss such 
ceremonies. Accordingly, observes this author", we find Lu- 
cian and Plutarch treating, without reserve, of the Dea Syria, 
as well as of Isis and Osiris ; and Apuleius, to whom we are 
indebted for the beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche, has 
also detailed some of the mysteries of Isis. See the Giornale 
di Litterati d'ltalia, torn, xxvii. articol. 1. See also the ob- 



When piety confess'd the flame, 
And even thy errors were divine ; 

Did ever Muse's hand so fair 

A glory round thy temples spread? 

Did ever lip's ambrosial air 

Such fragrance o'er thy altars shed? 

One maid there was, who round her lyre 
The mystic myrtle wildly wreathed ; — 

But all her sighs were sighs of fire, 
The myrtle wither'd as she breathed. 

Oh «~ou, that love's celestial dream, 

In all its purity, would know, 
Let not the senses' ardent beam 

Too strongly through the vision glow. 

Love safest lies, conceal'd in night, 

The night where heaven has bid hue lie ; 

Oh ! shed not there unhallow'd light, 
Or, Psyche knows, the boy will fly. 

Sweet Psyche, many a charmed hour, 
Through many a wild and magic Wuste, 

To the fair fount and blissful bower 2 

Have I, in dreams, thy light foot traced ! 

Where'er thy joys are number'd now, 
Beneath whatever shades of rest, 

The Genius of the starry brow 3 

Hath bound thee to thy Cupid's breast ; 

Whether above the horizon dim, 

Along whose verge our spirits stray, — 

Half sunk beneath the shadowy rim, 
Half brighten'd by the upper ray, 4 — 

Thou dwellest in a world, all light, 
Or, lingering here, dost love to be, 

To other souls, the guardian bright 

That Love was, through this gloom, to thee ; 



servations upon the ancient gems in the Museum Florenti- 
num, vol. i. p. 156. 

I cannot avoid remarking here an error into which the 
French Encyclopedistes have been led by M. Spon. in their 
article Psyche. They say " Petrone fait un recit de la 
pompe nuptiale de ces deux amans, (Amour et Psyche.) 
Deja, dit-il," &c. &c. The Psyche of Petronius, however, 
is a servant-maid, and the marriage which he describes is 
that of the young Pannychis. See Spoil's Eecherches curi- 
euses, &c. Dissertat. 5. 

3 Allusions to Mrs. Tighe's Poem, 
s Constancy. 

< By this image the Platonists expressed the middle state 
of the soul between sensible and intellectual existence. 



136 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Still be the song to Psyche dear, 

The song, whose gentle voice was given 

To be, on earth, to mortal ear, 
An echo of her own, in heaven. 



FROM 

THE HIGH PRIEST OF APOLLO 

TO 
A VIRGIN OF DELPHU 



Cum digno digna . . * 



Sulpicia. 



" Who is the maid, with golden hair, 
" With eye of fire, and foot of air, 
" Whose harp around my altar swells, 
" The sweetest of a thousand shells ?" 
'Twas thus the deity, who treads 
The arch of heaven, and proudly sheds 
Day from his eyelids — thus he spoke, 
As through my cell his glories broke. 

Aphelia is the Delphic fair, 2 
With eyes of fire and golden hair, 
Aphelia's are the airy feet, 
And hers the harp divinely swtet ; 
For foot so light has never trod 
The laurell'd caverns 3 of the god, 
Nor harp so soft hath ever given 
A sigh to earth or hymn to heaven. 

" Then tell the virgin to unfold, 
" In looser pomp, her locks of gold* 
" And bid those eyes more fondly shine 
" To welcome down a Spouse Divine ; 
" Since He, who lights the path of years — 
" Even from the fount of morning's tears 

i This poem, as well as a few others that occur after- 
wards, formed part of a work which I had early projected, 
and even announced to the public, but which, luckily per- 
haps for myself, had been interrupted by my visit to America 
in the year 1803. 

Among those impostures in which the priests of the pagan 
temples are known to have indulged, one of the most favorite 
was that of announcing to some fair votary of the shrine, that 
the God himself had become enamored of her beauty, and 
would descend in all his glory, to pay her a visit within the 
recesses of the fane. An adventure of this description formed 
an episode in the classic romance which I had sketched out ; 
and the short fragment, given above, belongs to an epistle by 
which the story was to have been introduced. 

a In the 9th Pythic of Pindar, where Apollo, in the same 
manner, requires of Chiron some information respecting the 
fair Cyrene, the Centaur, in obeying, very gravely apologizes 
for telling the God what his omniscience must know so per- 
fectly already . 



" To where his setting splendors burn 

" Upon the western sea-maid's urn — 

" Doth not, in all his course, behold 

" Such eyes of fire, such hair of gold. 

" Tell her, he comes, in blissful pride, 

" His lip yet sparkling with the tide 

" That mantles in Olympian bowls,— 

" The nectar of eternal souls ! 

" For her, for her he quits the skies, 

" And to her kiss from nectar flies. 

" Oh, he would quit his star-throned height, 

" And leave the world to pine for light, 

" Might he but pass the horns of shade, 

" Beside his peerless Delphic maid, 

" She, more than earthly woman blest, 

" He, more than god on woman's breast !" 

There is a cave beneath the steep,* 
Where living rills of crystal weep 
O'er herbage of the loveliest hue 
That ever spring begemm'd wi«. u dew ; 
There oft the greensward's glos&y int 
Is brighten'd by the recent print 
Of many a faun and naiad's feet, — 
Scarce touching earth, their step so fleet, — 
That there, by moonlight's ray, had trod, 
In light dance, o'er the verdant sod. 
" There, there," the god, impassion'd, said, 
" Soon as the twilight tinge is fled, 
" And the dim orb of lunar souls 5 
" Along its shadowy pathway rolls — 
" There shall we meet, — and not ev'n He, 
" The God who reigns immortally, 
" Where Babel's turrets paint their pride 
" Upon th' Euphrates' shining tide, 6 — 
" Not ev'n when to his midnight loves 
" In mystic majesty he moves, 
" Lighted by many an odorous fire, 
" And hymn'd by all Chaldaea's choir, — 

Et Se yi xp>l Kai rrap oofiov avTi<j>£pi%ai, 

E/3£W. 

3 AXX' tig da<pva)5rj yva\a prjaofxat ratie. 

Euripid. Ton. v. 76. 

< The Corycian Cave, which Pausanias mentions. The 
inhabitants of Parnassus held it sacred to the Corycian 
nymphs, who were children of the river Plistus. 

6 See a preceding note, p. 81, n. 2. It should seem that lunar 
spirits were of a purer order than spirits in general, as 
Pythagoras was said by his followers to have descended from 
the regions of the moon. The heresiarch Manes, in the same 
manner, imagined that the sun and moon are the residence 
of Christ, and that the ascension was nothing more than his 
flight to those orbs. 

6 The temple of Jupiter Belus, at Babylon ; in one of whose 
towers there was a large chapel set apart for these celestial 
assignations. " No man is allowed to sleep here," says Herod- 
otus ; " but the apartment is appropriated to a female, whom, 
if we believe the Chaldsean priests, the deity selects from the 
women of the country, as his favorite." Lib. i. cap. 181. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 137 


" E'er yet, o'er mortal brow, let shine 


'Tis thus the world's obtrusive wrongs 


" Such effluence of Love Divine, 


Obscure with malice keen 


" As shall to-night, blest maid, o'er thine." 


Some timid heart, which only longs 




To live and die unseen. 


Happy the maid, whom heaven allows 




To break for heaven her virgin vows ! 




Happy the maid! — her robe of shame 
Is whiten'd by a heavenly flame, 






Whose glory, with a ling'ring trace, 




Shines through and deifies her race \ l 


THE KISS. 




Grow to my Up, thou sacred kiss, 




On which my soul's beloved swore 
That there should come a time of bliss, 






When she would mock my hopes no more. 


FRAGMENT. 


And fancy shall thy glow renew, 


Pity me, love ! I'll pity thee, 


In sighs at morn, and dreams at night, 


If thou indeed hast felt like me. 


And none shall steal thy holy dew 


All, all my bosom's peace is o'er ! 


Till thou'rt absolved by rapture's rite. 


At night, which was my hour of calm, 


Sweet hours that are to make me blest, 


When, from the page of classic lore, 


Fly, swift as breezes, to the goal, 


From the pure fount of ancient lay 


And let my love, my more than soul 


My soul has drawn the placid balm, 


Come blushing to this ardent breast. 


Which charm'd its every grief away, 


Then, while in every glance I drink 


Ah ! there I find that balm no more. 


The rich o'erflowings of her mind, 


Those spells, which make us oft forget 


Oh ! let her all enamor'd sink 


The fleeting troubles of the day, 
In deeper sorrows only whet 


In sweet abandonment resign'd, 


Blushing for all our struggles past, 


The stings they cannot tear away 


And miu-muring, " I am thine at last !" 


When to my pillow rack'd I fly, 




With wearied sense and wakeful eye : 




"While my brain maddens, where, oh, where 
Is that serene consoling prayer, 






Which once has harbinger'd my rest, 




When the stilt soothing voice of Heaven 


SONG. 


Hath seem'd to whisper in my breast, 


" Sleep on, thy errors are forgiven !" 


Think on that look whose melting ray 


No, though I still in semblance pray, 


For one sweet moment mix'd with mine, 


My thoughts are wand'ring far away, 


And for that moment seem'd to say, 


And ev'n the name of Deity 


" I dare not, or I would be thine !" 


Is murmur'd out in sighs for thee. 






Think on thy ev'ry smile and glance, 




On all thou hast to charm and move * 




And then forgive my bosom's trance, 




Nor tell me it is sin to love. 


A NIGHT THOUGHT. 




How oft a cloud, with envious veil, 


Oh, not to love thee were the sin ; 


Obscures yon bashful light, 


For sure, if Fate's decrees be done, 


Which seems so modestly to steal 


Thou, thou art destined still to win, 


Along the waste of night ! 


As I am destined to be won ! 


1 Fontenelle, in his playful rifacimento of the learned ma- 


chap. vii. Crebillon, too, in one of his most amusing little 


terials of Van-Dale, has related in his own inimitable man- 


stories, has made the Genie Mange-Taupes, of the Isle Jon- 


ner an adventure of this kind which was detected and ex- 


quille, assert this privilege of spiritual beings in a manner 


posed at Alexandria. See L'Histoire des Oracles, dissert. 2. 


rather formidable to the husbands of the island. 



138 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



THE CATALOGUE. 

" Come, tell me," says Rosa, as kissing and kiss'd, 

One day she reclined on my breast ; 
" Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list 

" Of the nymphs you have loved and caress' d." — 
Oh Rosa ! 'twas only my fancy that roved, 

My heart at the moment was free ; 
But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved, 

And the number shall finish with thee. 

My tutor was Kitty ; in infancy wild 

She taught me the way to be blest ; 
She taught me to love her, I loved like a child, 

But Kitty could fancy the rest. 
This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore 

I have never forgot, I allow: 
I have had it by rote very often before, 

But never by heart until now. 

Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was all flame, 

But my head was so full of romance 
That I fancied her into some chivalry dame, 

And I was her knight of the lance. 
But Martha was not of this fanciful school, 

And she laugh'd at her poor little knight ; 
While I thought her a goddess, she thought me a fool, 

And I'll swear she was most in the right. 

My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks, 

Again I was tempted to rove ; 
But Cloris, I found, was so learned in books 

That she gave me mora logic than love. 
So I left this young Sappho, and hasten'd to fly 

To those sweeter logicians in bliss, 
Who argue the point with a soul-telling eye, 

And convince us at once with a kiss. 

Oh ! Susan was then all the world unto me, 

But Susan was piously given ; 
And the worst of it was, we could never agree 

On the road that was shortest to Heaven. 
" Oh, Susan !" I've said, in the moments of mirth 

" What's devotion to thee or to me? 
" I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, 

" And believe that that heaven's in thee /" 



IMITATION OF CATULLUS 

TO HIMSELF. 

Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, &c. 

Cease the sighing fool to play ; 
Cease to trifle life away ; 



Nor vainly think those joys thine own, 
Which all, alas, have falsely flown. 
What hours, Catullus, once were thine, 
How fairly seem'd thy day to shine, 
When lightly thou didst fly to meet 
The girl whose smile was then so sweet — 
The girl thou lovedst with fonder pain 
Than e'er thy heart can feel again. 

Ye met — your souls seem'd all in one, 
Like tapers that commingling shone ; 
Thy heart was warm enough for both, 
And hers, in truth, was nothing loath 

Such were the hours that once were thine 
But, ah ! those hours no longer shine. 
For now the nymph delights no more 
In what she loved so much before ; 
And all Catullus now can do, 
Is to be proud and frigid too ; 
Now follow where the wanton flies, 
Nor sue the bliss that she denies. 
False maid ! he bids farewell to thee, 
To love, and all love's misery ; 
The heyday of his heart is o'er, 
Nor will he court one favor more. 

Fly, perjured girl ! — but whither fly ? 
Who now will praise thy cheek and eye ? 
Who now will drink the syren tone, 
Which tells him thou art all his own ? 
Oh, none : — and he who loved before 
Can never, never love thee more. 



Neither do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no more !" 

St. John, chap. viii. 

Oh woman, if through sinful wile 

Thy soul hath stray'd from honor's track, 

'Tis mercy only can beguile, 

By gentle ways, the wand'rer back. 

The stain that on thy virtue lies, 

Wash'd by those tears, not long will stay ; 
As clouds that sully morning skies 

May all be wept in show'rs away 

Go, go, be innocent, — and live ; 

The tongues of men may wound thee sore ; 
But Heav'n in pity can forgive, 

And bid thee " go, and sin no more !" 



JUVEtfTLE POEMS. 



139 



NONSENSE. 

Good reader ! if you e'er have seen, 

When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, 
The mermaids, with their tresses green, 

Dancing upon the western billow : 
If you have seen, at twilight dim, 
When the lone spirit's vesper hymn 

Floats wild along the winding shore, 
If you have seen, through mist of eve, 
The fairy train their ringlets weave, 
Glancing along the spangled green : — 

If you have seen all this, and more, 
God bless me, what a deal you've seen ! 



EPIGRAM, 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

" I never give a kiss (says Prue) 
" To naughty man, for I abhor it " 

She will not give a kiss, 'tis true ; 

She'll take one though, and thank you for it. 



ON A SQUINTING POETESS. 

To no one Muse does she her glance confine, 
But has an eye, at once, to all the Nine ! 



To 



Moria pur quando vuol, non e bisogna mutar ni faccia ni 
voce per esser un Angelo. 1 

Die when you will^you need not wear 
At Heaven's Court a form more fair 

Than Beauty here on earth has given ; 
Keep but the lovely looks we see — 
The voice we hear — and you will be 

An angel ready-made for Heaven ! 



TO ROSA. 

A far conserva, e cumulo d'amanti. Past. Fid. 

And are you then a thing of art, 
Seducing all, and loving none ; 

1 The words addressed by Lord Herbert of Cherbury, to 
the beautiful nun at Murano— See his Life. 



And have I strove to gain a heart 

Which every coxcomb thinks his own ? 

Tell me at once if this be true, 

And I will calm my jealous breast ; 

Will learn to join the dangling crew, 
And share your simpers with the rest. 

But if your heart be not so free, — 
Oh ! if another share that heart, 

Tell not the hateful tale to me, 
But mingle mercy with your art. 

I'd rather think you "false as hell," 
Than find you to be all divine, — 

Than know that heart could love so well, 
Yet know that heart would not be mine ! 



TO PHILLIS. 

Phillis, you little rosy rake, 

That heart of yours I long to rifle : 

Come, give it me, and do not make 
So much ado about a trifle .' 



TO A LADY, 



ON HER SINGING. 



Thy song has taught my heart to feel 
Those soothing thoughts of heav'nly love, 

Which o'er the sainted spirits steal 
When list'ning to the spheres above ! 

When, tired of life and misery, 
I wish to sigh my latest breath, 

Oh, Emma ! I will fly to thee, 
And thou shalt sing me into death. 

And if along thy lip and cheek 

That smile of heav'nly softness play, 

Which, — ah ! forgive a mind that's weak, — 
So oft has stol'n my mind away ; 

Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky, 
That comes to charm me into bliss: 

I'll gaze and die — Who would not die, 
If death were half so sweet as this ? 



140 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



SONG. 

ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS. . 

WRITTEN IN IRELAND. 1799. 

Of all my happiest hours of joy, 

And even I have had my measure, 
When hearts were full, and ev'ry eye 

Hath kindled with the light of pleasure, 
An hour like this I ne'er was given, 

So full of friendship's purest blisses ; 
Young Love himself looks down from heaven, 
To smile on such a day as this is. 

Then come, my friends, this hour improve, 

Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever ; 
And may the birth of her we love 
Be thus with joy remember'd ever ! 

Oh ! banish ev'ry thought to-night, 

Which could disturb our soul's communion ; 
Abandon'd thus to dear delight, 

We'll ev'n for once forget the Union ! 
On that let statesmen try their pow'rs, 

And tremble o'er tho rights they'd die for ; 
The union of the soul be ours, 

And 6Y / 7 union else we sigh for. 

Then come, my friends, &c. 

In ev'ry eye around I mark 

The feelings of the heart o'erflowing ; 
From ev'ry soul I catch the spark 

Of sympathy, in friendship glowing. 
Oh ! could such moments ever fly ; 

Oh ! that we ne'er were doom'd to lose 'em ; 
And all as bright as Charlotte's eye, 

And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom. 

Then come, my friends, &c. 

For me, whate'er my span of years, 

Whatever sun may light my roving ; 
Whether I waste my life in tears, 

Or live, as now, for mirth and loving ; 
This day shall come with aspect kind, 

Wherever fate may cast your rover ; 
He'll think of those he left behind, 

And drink a health to bliss that's over ! 

Then come, my friends, &c. 



SONG. 1 



Mary, I believed thee true, 

And I was bless' d in thus believing ; 

i These words were written to the pathetic Scotch air 
Galla Water." 



But now I mourn that e'er I knew 
A girl so fair and so deceiving. 
Fare thee well. 

Few have ever loved like me, — 

Yes, I have loved thee too sincerely ! 

And few have e'er deceived like thee, — 
Alas ! deceived me too severely. 

Fare thee well ! — yet think awhile 

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee ; 

Who now would rather trust that smile, 
And die with thee than live without thee. 

Fare thee well ! I'll think of thee, 

Thou leav'st me many «. bitter token ; 

For see, distracting woman, see, 

My peace is gone, my heart is broken ! — 
Fare thee well ! 



MORALITY. 

A FAMILIAR EPISTLE. 
ADDRESSED TO 

J. AT— NS-N, ESQ. M. R. I. A. 

Though long at school and college dosing, 
O'er books of verse and books of prosing, 
And copying from their moral pages 
Fine recipes for making sages ; 
Though long with those divines at school, 
Who think to make us good by rule ; 
Who, in methodic forms advancing, 
Teaching morality like dancing, 
Tell us, for Heaven or money's sake, 
What steps we are through life to take : 
Though thus, my friend, so long employ'd, 
With so much midnight oil destroy'd, 
I must confess, my searches past, 
I've only learn'd to doubt at last. 
I find ihe doctors and the sages 
Have differ'd in all climes and ages, 
And two in fifty scarce agree 
On what is pine morality. 
'Tis like the rainbow's shifting zone, 
And every vision makes its own. 

The doctors of the Porch advise, 
As modes of being great and wise, 
That we should cease to own or know 
The luxuries that from feeling flow : — 
" Reason alone must claim direction, 
" And Apathy's the soul's perfection. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



141 



" Like a dull lake the heart must lie ; 

" Nor passion's gale nor pleasure's sigh, 

" Though Heav'n the breeze, the breath, supplied) 

" Must curl the wave or swell the tide !" 

Such was the rigid Zeno's plan 
To form his philosophic man ; 
Such were the modes he taught mankind 
To weed the garden of the mind ; 
They tore from thence some weeds, 'tis true, 
But all the fiow'rs were ravaged too ! 

Now listen to the wily strains, 
Which, on Cyrene's sandy plains, 
When Pleasure, nymph with loosen'd zone, 
Usurp'd the philosophic throne, — 
Hear what the courtly sage's 1 tongue 
To his surrounding pupils sung : — 
" Pleasure's the only noble end 
" To which all human pow'rs should tend, 
" And Virtue gives her heav'nly lore, 
" But to make Pleasure please us more. 
" Wisdom and she were both design'd 
" To make the senses more refined, 
" That ;uan might revel, free from cloying, 
" Then most a sage when most enjoying !" 

Is this morality ? — Oh, no ! 
Ev'n I a wiser path could show. 
The flow'r within this vase confined, 
The pure, the unfading flow'r of mind, 
Must not throw all its sweets away 
Upon a mortal mould of clay : 
No, no, — its richest breath should rise 
In virtue's incense to the skies. 

But thus it is, all sects we see 
Have watchwords of morality : 
Some cry out Venus, others Jove ; 
Here 'tis Religion, there 'tis Love. 
But while they thus so widely wander, 
While mystics dream, and doctors ponder ; 
And some, in dialectics firm, 
Seek virtue in a middle term ; 
While thus they strive, in Heaven's defiance, 
To chain morality with science ; 
The plain good man, whose actions teach 
More virtue than a sect can preach, 
Pursues his course, unsagely bless'd, 
His tutor whisp'ring in his breast ; 
Nor could he act a purer part, 
Though he had Tully all by heart. 
And when he drops the tear on wo, 
He little knows or cares to know 



Aristippus. 



That Epictetus blamed that tear, 
By Heaven approved, to virtue dear ! 

Oh ! when I've seen the morning beam 
Floating within the dimpled stream ; 
While Nature, wak'ning from the night, 
Has just put on her robes of light, 
Have I, with cold optician's gaze, 
Explored the doctrine of those rays ? 
No, pedants, I have left to you 
Nicely to sep'rate hue from hue. 
Go, give that moment up to art, 
When Heaven and nature claim the heart ; 
And, dull to all their best attraction, 
Go — measure angles of refraction. 
While I, in feeling's sweet romance, 
Look on each daybeam as a glance 
From the great eye of Him above, 
Wak'ning his world with looks of love ! 



THE 

TELL-TALE LYRE. 

I've heard, there was in ancient days 

A Lyre of most melodious spell ; 
'Twas heav'n to hear its faiiy lays, 

If half be true that legends tell. 

'Twas play'd on by the gentlest sighs, 
And to their breath it breathed again 

In such entrancing melodies 

As ears had never drunk til then ! 

Not harmony's serenest touch 
So stilly could the notes prolong ; 

They were not heavenly song so much 
As they were dreams of heavenly song ! 

If sad the heart, whose murm'ring air 
Along the chords in languor stole, 

The numbers it awaken'd there 
Were eloquence from pity's soul. 

Or if the sigh, serene and light, 

Was but the breath of fancied woes, 

The string, that felt its airy flight, 
Soon whisper'd it to kind repose. 

And when young lovers talk'd alone, 
If, 'mid their bliss that Lyre was near, 

It made their accents all its own, 

And sent forth notes that Heaven might hear. 



142 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



There was a nymph, who long had loved, 
But dared not tell the world how well : 

The shades, where she at evening roved, 
Alone could know, alone could tell. 

'Twas there, at twilight time, she stole, 

When the first star announced the night, — 

With him who claim'd her inmost soul, 
To wander by that soothing light. 

It chanced that, in the fairy bower 

Where bless'd they woo'd each other's smile, 
This Lyre, of strange and magic power, 

Hung whisp'ring o'er their heads the while. 

And as, with eyes commingling fire, 
They listen'd to each other's vow, 

The youth full oft would make the Lyre 
A pillow for the maiden's brow : 

And, while the melting words she breathed 
Were by its echoes wafted round, 

Her locks had with the cords so wreathed, 
One knew not which gave forth the sound. 

Alas, their hearts but little thought, 

While thus they talk'd the horns away, 

That every sound the Lyre was taught 
Would linger long, and long betray. 

So mingled with its tuneful soul 

Were all their tender murmurs grown, 

That other sighs unanswer'd stole, 

Nor words it breathed but theirs alone. 

Unhappy nymph ! thy name was sung 
To every breeze that wander'd by ; 

The secrets of thy gentle tongue 

Were breathed in song to earth and sky. 

The fatal Lyre, by Envy's hand 

Hung high amid the whisp'ring groves, 

To every gale by which 'twas fann'd, 
Proclaim'd the myst'ry of your loves. 

Nor long thus rudely was thy name 

To earth's derisive echoes given ; 
Some pitying spirit downward came, 

And took the Lyre and thee to heaven. 

There, freed from earth's unholy wrongs, 
Both happy in Love's home shall be ; 

Thou, uttering naught but seraph songs, 
And that sweet Lyre still echoing thee ! 



PEACE AND GLORY. 

WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF WAR. 

Where is now the smile, that lighten'd 

Every hero's couch of rest ? 
Where is now the hope, that brighten'd 

Honor's eye and Pity's breast ? 
Have we lost the wreath we braided 

For our weary warrior men ? 
Is the faithless olive faded ? 

Must the bay be pluck'd again ? 

Passing hour of sunny weather, 

Lovely, in your light awhile, 
Peace and Glory, wed together, 

Wander'd through our blessed isle. 
And the eyes of Peace would glisten, 

Dewy as a morning sun, 
When the timid maid would listen 

To the deeds her chief had done. 

Is their hour of dalliance over ? 

Must the maiden's trembling feet 
Waft her from her warlike lover 

To the desert's still retreat ? 
Fare you well ! with sighs we banish 

Nymph so fair and guests so bright ; 
Yet the smile, with which you vanish, 

Leaves behind a soothing light ; — 

Soothing light, that long shall sparkle 

O'er your warrior's sanguined way, 
Through the field where horrors darkle, 

Shedding hope's consoling ray. 
Long the smile his heart will cherish, 

To its absent idol true ; 
While around him myriads perish, 

Glory still will sigh for you ! 



SONG. 



Take back the sigh, thy lips of art 

In passion's moment breathed to me ; 
Yet, no — it must not, will not part, 
'Tis now the life-breath of my heart, 
And has become too pure for thee. 

Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh 

With all the warmth of truth impress'd ; 
Yet, no — the fatal kiss may lie, 
Upon thy lip its sweets would die, 
Or bloom to make a rival blest. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



143 



Take back the vows that, night and day, 

My heart received, I thought, from thine : 
Yet, no — allow them still to stay, 
They might some other heart betray, 
As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine. 



LOVE AND REASON. 

Quand l'homme commence a raisonner, il cesse de sentir." 
J. J. Rousseau. 1 

'Twas in the summer time so sweet, 

When hearts and flowers are both in season, 
That — who, of all the world, should meet, 
1 One early dawn, but Love and Reason ! 

Love told his dream of yesternight, 

While Reason talk'd about the weather \ 

The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright, 
And on they took then way together. 

The boy in many a gambol flew, 
While Reason, like a Juno, stalk'd, 

And from her portly figure threw 
A lengthen'd shadow, as she walk'd. 

No wonder Love, as on they pass'd, 
Should find that sunny morning chill, 

For still the shadow Reason cast 

Fell o'er the boy, and cool'd him still. 

In vain he tried his wings to warm, 

Or find a pathway not so dim, 
For still the maid's gigantic form 

Would stalk between the sun and him. 

" This must not be," said little Love- — 
" The sun was made for more than you." 

So, turning through a myrtle grove, 
He bid the portly nymph adieu. 

Now gayly roves the laughing boy 

O'er many a mead, by many a stream ; 

In every breeze inhaling joy, 

And drinking bliss in every beam. 

From all the gardens, all the bowers, 
He cull'd the many sweets they shaded, 

And ate the fruits and smell'd the flowers, 
Till taste was gone and odor faded. 

1 Quoted somewhere in St. Pierre's Etudes de la Nature. 



But now the sun, in pomp of noon, 
Look'd blazing o'er the sultry plains ; 

Alas ! the boy grew languid soon, 

And fever thrill'd through all his veins. 

The dew forsook his baby brow, 

No more with healthy bloom he smiled- 

Oh ! where was tranquil Reason now, 
To cast her shadow o'er the child ? 

Beneath a green and aged palm, 

His foot at length for shelter turning, 

He saw the nymph reclining calm, 
With brow as cool as his was burning. 

" Oh ! take me to that bosom cold," 
In murmurs at her feet he said ; 

And Reason oped her garment's fold, 
And flung it round his fever'd head. 

He felt her bosom's icy touch, 

And soon it lull'd his pulse to rest ; 

For, ah ! the chill was quite too much, 
And Love expired on Reason's breast ! 



Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear ; 

While in these arms you lie, 
This world hath not a wish, a fear, 
That ought to cost that eye a tear, 

That heart, one single sigh. 

The world ! — ah, Fanny, Love must shun 
The paths where many rove ; 

One bosom to recline upon, 

One heart to be his only-one, 
Are quite enough for Love. 

What can we wish, that is not here 

Between your arms and mine ? 
Is there, on earth, a space so dear 
As that within the happy sphere 
Two loving arms entwine ? 

For me, there's not a lock of jet 

Adown your temples curl'd, 
Within whose glossy, tangling net, 
My soul doth not, at once, forget 

All, all this worthless world. 

'Tis in those eyes, so full of love, 

My only worlds I see ; 
Let but their orbs in sunshine move, 
And earth below and skies above, 

May frown or smile for me. 



144 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ASPASIA. 

'Twas in the fair Aspasia's bower, 
That Love and Learning, many an hour, 
In dalliance met ; and Learning smiled 
With pleasure on the playful child, 
Who often stole, to find a nest 
Within the folds of Learning's vest. 

There, as the list'ning statesman hung 
In transport on Aspasia's tongue, 
The destinies of Athens took 
Their color from Aspasia's look. 
Oh happy time, when laws of state, 
When all that ruled the country's fate, 
Its glory, quiet, or alarms, 
Was pi ami' d between two snow-white arms S 

Blest times ! they could not always last — 
And yet, ev'n now, they are not past. 
Though we have lost the giant mould, 
In which their men were cast of old, 
Woman, dear woman, still the same, 
While beauty breathes through soul or frame, 
While man possesses heart or eyes, 
Woman's bright empire never dies ! 

No, Fanny, love, they ne'er shall say, 
That beauty's charm hath pass'd away ; 
Give but the universe a soul 
Attuned to woman's soft control, 
And Fanny hath the charm, the skill, 
To wield a universe at will. 



i It was imagined by some of the ancients that there is an 
ethereal ocean above us, and that the sun and moon are two 
floating, luminous islands, in which the spirits of the blest 
reside. Accordingly we find that the word Hiaavos was some- 
times synonymous with arip, and death was not unfrequent- 
ly called SlKF.avoio nopos, or "the passage of the ocean." 

2 Eunapius, in his life of Iamblichus, tells us of two beau- 
tiful little spirits or loves, which Iamblichus raised by en- 
chantment from the warm springs at Gadara ; " dicens astan- 
tibus (says the author of the Dii Fatidici, p. 160) illos 
esse loci Genios :" which words, however, are not in Euna- 
pius. 

I find from Cellarius, that Amatha, in the neighborhood of 
Gadara, was also celebrated for its warm springs, and I have 
preferred it as a more poetic name than Gadara. Cellarius 
quotes Hieronymus, 



Est et alia villa in vicinia Gadarae 



GRECIAN GIRL'S DREAM 

OF THE BLESSED ISLANDS.! 
TO HER LOVER. 

fix 1 T£ KaXos 

HvOayopris, baooi re x°P ov GTripilav £/3ojto?. 

AnoWuiv nepi UXorivov. Oracul. Metric, a Joan. 
Opsop. collecta. 

Was it the moon, or was it morning's ray, 

That call'd thee, dearest, from these arms away ? 

Scarce hadst thou left me, when a dream of night 

Came o'er my spirit so distinct and bright, 

That, while I yet can vividly recall 

Its witching wonders, thou shalt hear them all. 

Methought I saw, upon the lunar beam, 

Two winged boys, such as thy muse might dream, 

Descending from above, at that still hour, 

And gliding, with smooth step, into my bower. 

Fair as the beauteous spirits that, all day, 

In Amatha's warm founts imprison'd stay, 2 

But rise at midnight, from th' enchanted rill, 

To cool their plumes upon some moonlight hill. 

At once I knew their mission ; — 'twas to bear 
My spirit upward, through the paths of air, 
To that elysian realm, from whence stray beams 
So oft, in sleep, had visited my dreams. 
Swift at their touch dissolved the ties, that clung 
All earthly round me, and aloft I sprung ; 
While, heav'nward guides, the little genii flew 
Thro' paths of light, refresh'd by heaven's own dew, 
And fann'd by airs still fragrant with the breath 
Of cloudless climes and worlds that know not death. 

Thou know'st, that, far beyond our nether sky, 
And shown but dimly to man's erring eye, 
A mighty ocean of blue ether rolls, 3 
Gemm'd with bright islands, where the chosen souls, 
Who've pass'd in lore and love their earthly hours, 
Repose forever in unfading bowers. 



nomine Amatha, ubi calidse aqute erumpunt." — Geograph. 
Antiq. lib.iii. cap. 13. 

8 This belief of an ocean in the heavens, or " waters above 
the firmament," was one of the many physical errors in which 
the early fathers bewildered themselves. Le P. Baltus, in 
his " Defense des Saints Peres accuses de Platonisme," taking 
it for granted that the ancients were more correct in their 
notions, (which by no means appears from what I have al- 
ready quoted,) adduces the obstinacy of the fathers, in this 
whimsical opinion, as a proof of their repugnance to even 
truth from the hands of the philosophers. This is a strange 
way of defending the fathers, and attributes much more than 
they deserve to the philosophers. For an abstract of this 
work of Baltus, (the opposer of Fontenelle, Van Dale, &c, 
in the famous Oracle controversy,) see ''Bibliotheque des 
Auteurs Ecclesiast. du 18° Siecle," part. 1, torn. ii. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



145 



That very moon, whose solitary light 

So often guides thee to my bower at night, 

Is no chill planet, but an isle of love, 

Floating in splendor through those seas above, 

And peopled with bright forms, aerial grown, 

Nor knowing aught of earth but love alone. 

Thither, I thought, we wing'd our airy way :— 

Mild o'er its valleys stream'd a silvery day, 

While, all around, on lily beds of rest, 

Reclined the spirits of the immortal Blest. 1 

Oh ! there I met those few congenial maids, 

Whom love hath warm'd, in philosophic shades ; 

There still Leontium, 2 on her sage's breast, 

Found lore and love, was tutor'd and caress'd ; 

And there the clasp of Pythia's 3 gentle arms 

Repaid the zeal which deified her charms. 

The Attic Master, 4 in Aspasia's eyes, 

Forgot the yoke of less endearing ties, 

While fair Theano, 5 innocently fair, 

Wreathed playfully her Samian's flowing hair, 6 

Whose soul now fix'd, its transmigrations past, 

Found in those arms a resting-place, at last ; 

And smiling own'd, whate'er his dreamy thought 

In mystic numbers long had vainly sought, 

The One that's form'd of Two whom love hath 

bound, 
Is the best number gods or men e'er found. 

But think, my Theon, with what joy I thrilFd, 
When near a fount, which through the valley 
rilPd, 

i There were various opinions among the ancients with re- 
spect to their lunar establishment; some made it anelysium, 
and others a purgatory; while some supposed it to be a kind 
of entrepot between heaven and earth, where souls which had 
left their bodies, and those that were on their way to join 
them, were deposited in the valley of Hecate, and remained 
"till further orders. Tuts irepi at\j)vr]v aepi^eyeiv avras icaroi- 
kciv, Kat avr' avrrjs Karoj x cj p £lv £l S Tr l v neptysiov ytvcviv. — 
Stob. lib. i. Eclog. Physic. 

2 The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called her his 
"dear little Leontium," (Aeovrapiov,) as appears by a frag- 
ment of one of his letters in Laertius. This Leontium was a 
woman of talent ; " she had the impudence (says Cicero) to 
write against Theophrastus ;" and Cicero, at the same time, 
gives her a name which is neither polite nor translatable. 
" Meretricula etiam Leontium contra Theophrastum scribere 
ausa est." — Be Natur. Deor. She left a daughter called 
Danae, who was just as rigid an Epicurean as her mother ; 
something like Wieland's Danae in Agathon. 

It would sound much better, I think, if the name were 
Leontia, as it occurs the first lime in Laertius ; but M. Me- 
nage will not hear of this reading. 

3 Pythia was a woman whom Aristotle loved, and to whom 
after her death he paid divine honors, solemnizing her mem- 
ory by the same sacrifices which the Athenians offered to 
the Goddess Ceres. For this impious gallantry the philoso- 
pher was, of course, censured ; but it would be well if cer- 
tain of our modern Stagyrites showed a little of this super- 
stition about the memory of their mistresses. 

* Socrates, who used to console himself in the society of 
Aspasia for those " less endearing ties" which he found at 



10 



My fancy's eye beheld a form recline, 

Of lunar race, but so resembling thine 

That, oh ! 'twas but fidelity in me, 

To fly, to clasp, and worship it for thee. 

No aid of words the unbodied soul requires, 

To waft a wish or embassy desires ; 

But by a power, to spirits only given, 

A deep, mute impulse, only felt in heaven, 

Swifter than meteor shaft through summer skies, 

From soul to soul the glanced idea flies. 

Oh, my beloved, how divinely sweet 
Is the pure joy, when kindred spirits meet ! 
Like him, the river-god, 7 whose waters flow, 
With love their only light, through caves below, 
Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids, 
And festal rings, with which Olympic maids 
Have deck'd his current, as an offering meet 
To lay at Arethusa's shining feet. 
Think, when he meets at last his fountain -bride, 
What perfect love must thrill the blended tide ! 
Each lost in each, till, mingling into one, 
Their lot the same for shadow or for sun, 
A type of true love, to the deep they run. 
'Twas thus — 

But, Theon, 'tis an endless theme, 
And thou grow'st weary of my half-told dream. 
Oh would, my love, we were together now, 
And I would woo sweet patience to thy brow, 
And make thee smile at all the magic tales 
Of starlight bowers and planetary vales, 

home with Xantippe. For an account of this extraordinary 
creature, Aspasia, and her school of erudite luxury at 
Athens, see L'Histoire de l'Academie, &c. torn. xxxi. p. 69. 
Segur rather fails on the inspiring subject of Aspasia. — 
" Les Femmes," torn. i. p. 122. 

The author of the " Voyage du Monde de Descartes" has 
also placed these philosophers in the moon, and has allotted 
seigneuries to them, as well as to the astronomers, (part ii. 
p. 143 ;) but he ought not to have forgotten their wives and 
mistresses; " curae non ipsa in morte relinquunt." 

6 There are some sensible letters extant under the name of 
this fair Pythagorean. They are addressed to her female 
friends upon the education of children, the treatment of ser- 
vants, &c. One, in particular, to Nicostrata, whose husband 
had given her reasons for jealousy, contains such truly con- 
siderate and rational advice, that it ought to be translated for 
the edification of all married ladies. See Gale's Opuscul. 
Myth. Phys. p. 741. 

s Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, and Doctor 
Thiers (in his Histohe des Perruques) seems to take for 
granted it was all his own ; as he has not mentioned him 
among those ancients who were obliged to have recourse 
to the " coma apposititia." L'Histoire des Perruques, chapi- 
tre i. 

T The river Alpheus, which flowed by Pisa or Olympia, 
and into which it was customary to throw offerings of dif- 
ferent kinds, during the celebration of the Olympic games. 
In the pretty romance of Clitophon and Leucippe, the river 
is supposed to carry these offerings as bridal gifts to the foun- 
tain Arethusa. Kat tm ir\v Kptdovaav ovtll) tov A\$tiov 
Wji(poaTo\tL. brav ovv h tu>v oXvpirioju eoprr), k. t. A. Lib. i 



146 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Which my fond soul, inspired by thee and love, 


Ah ! — if there were not something wrong, 


In slumber's loom hath fancifully wove. 


The world would see them blended oft ; 


But no ; no more — soon as to-morrow's ray 


The Chain would make the Wreath so strong ! 


O'er soft Illissus shall have died away, 


The Wreath would make the Chain so soft I 


I'll come, and, while love's planet in the west, 


Then might the gold, the flow'rets be 


Shines o'er our meeting, tell thee all the rest 


Sweet fetters for my love and me. 




But, Fanny, so unbless'd they twine 




That (Heaven alone can tell the reason) 
When mingled thus they cease to shine, 






Or shine but for a transient season. 


TO CLOE. 


Whether the Chain may press too much, 


IMITATED FROM MARTIAL. 


Or that the Wreath is slightly braided, 




Let but the gold the flow'rets touch, 


I could resign that eye of blue 


And all their bloom, their glow is faded ! 


Howe'er its splendor used to thrill me ; 


Oh ! better to be alwavs free, 


And ev'n that cheek of roseate hue, — 


Than thus to bind my love to me, 


To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me. 




The timid girl new hung her head, 


That snowy neck I ne'er should miss, 


And, as she turn'd an upward glance, 


However much I've raved about it ; 


I saw a doubt its twilight spread 


And sweetly as that lip can kiss, 


Across her brow's divine expanse. 


I think I could exist without it. 


Just then, the garland's brightest rose 




Gave one of its love-breathing sighs — 


In short, so well I've learn'd to fast, 


Oh ! who can ask how Fanny chose, 


That, sooth my love, I know not whether 


That ever look'd in Fanny's eyes ? 


I might not bring myself at last, 


" The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shall be 


To — do without you altogether. 


" The tie to bind my soul to thee." 


THE 

WREATH AND THE' CHAIN. 




I bring thee, love, a golden chain, 


TO 


I bring thee too a flowery wreath ; 
The gold shall never wear a stain, 






The flow'rets long shall sweetly breathe. 


And hast thou mark'd the pensive shade, 


Come, tell me which the tie shall be, 


That many a time obscures my brow, 


To bind thy gentle heart to me. 


Midst all the joys, beloved maid, 




Which thou canst give, and only thou ? 


The chain is form'd of golden threads, 




Bright as Minerva's yellow hair, 


Oh ! 'tis not that I then forget 


When the last beam of evening sheds 


The bright looks that before me shine ; 


Its calm and sober lustre there. 


For never throbb'd a bosom yet 


The Wreath's of brightest myrtle wove, 


Could feel their witchery, like mine. 


With sun-lit drops of bliss among it, 




And many a rose-leaf, cull'd by Love, 


When bashful on my bosom hid, 


To heal his lip when bees have stnng it 


And blushing to have felt so bless'd, 


Come, tell me which the tie shall be, 


Thou dost but lift thy languid lid, 


To bind thy gentle heart to me. 


Again to close it on my breast ; — 


Yes, yes, I read that ready eye, 


Yes, — these are minutes all thine own, 


Which answers when the tongue is loath, 


Thine own to give, and mine to feel ; 


Thou lik'st the form of either tie, 


Yet ev'n in them, my heart has known 


And spread'st thy playful hands for both. 


The sigh to rise, the tear to steal. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



147 



For I have thought of former hours, 
When he who first thy soul possess'd, 

Like me awaked its witching powers, 
Like me was loved, like me was blest. 

Upon his name thy murm'ring tongue 
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt ; 

Upon his words thine ear hath hung, 
With transport all as purely felt. 

For him — yet why the past recall, 
To damp and wither present bliss ? 

Thou'rt now my own, heart, spirit, all, 

And Heaven could grant no more than this 

Forgive me, dearest, oh ! forgive ; 

I would be first, be sole to thee, 
Thou shouldst have but begun to live, 

The hour that gave thy heart to me. 

Thy book of life till then effaced, 

Love should have kept that leaf alone 

On which he first so brightly traced 
That thou wert, soul and all, my own 



TO 

'S PICTURE. 



Go then, if she, whose shade thou art, 
No more will let thee sooth my pain ; 

Yet, tell her, it has cost this heart 
Some pangs, to give thee back again. 

Tell her, the smile was not so dear, 

With which she made thy semblance mine, 

As bitter is the burning tear, 

With which I now the gift resign. 

Yet go — and could she still restore, 
As some exchange for taking thee. 

The tranquil look which first I wore, 
When her eyes found me calm and free ; 

Could she give back the careless flow, 
The spirit that my heart then knew— 

Yet, no, 'tis vain— go, picture, go- 
Smile at me once, and then — adieu ! 

i Love and Psyche are here considered as the active and 
passive principles of creation, and the universe is supposed 
to have received its first harmonizing impulse from the nup- 
tial sympathy between these two powers. A marriage is 
generally the first step in cosmogony. Timanis held Form to 
be the father, and Matter the mother of the World ; Elion 



FRAGMENT 



OF 



A MYTHOLOGICAL HYMN TO LOVE.i 

Blest infant of eternity ! 
Before the day-star learn' d to move, 
In pomp of fire, along ins grand career, 

Glancing the beamy shafts of light 
From his rich quiver to the farthest sphere, 
Thou wert alone, oh Love ! 
Nestling beneath the wings of ancient Night, 
Whose horrors seem'd to smile hi shadowing thee. 

No form of beauty sooth'd thine eye, 

As through the dim expanse it wander'd wide ; 

No kindred spirit caught thy sigh, 

As o'er the watery waste it ling'ring died. 

Unfelt the pulse, unknown the power, 
That latent in his heart was sleeping, — 

Oh Sympathy ! that lonely hour 

Saw Love himself thy absence weeping. 

But look, what glory through the darkness bt ams ! 
Celestial airs along the water glide : — 
What Spirit art thou, moving o'er the tide 
So beautiful ? oh, not of earth, 
But, in that glowing hour, the birth 
Of the young Godhead's own creative dreams. 

; Tis she ! 
Psyche, the firstborn spirit of the air. 
To thee, oh Love, she turns, 
On thee her eyebeam burns : 
Blest hour, before all worlds ordain'd to be ! 

They meet — 
The blooming god — the spirit fair 

Meet in communion sweet. 
Now, Sympathy, the horn* is thine ; 
All nature feels the thrill divine, 
The veil of Chaos is withdrawn, 
And their first kiss is great Creation's dawn J 



and Berouth, I think, are Sanchoniatho's first spiritual lovers, 
and Manco-capac and his wife introduced creation amongst 
the Peruvians. In short, Harlequin seems to have studied 
cosmogonies, when he said " tutto il mondo e fiuto come la 
nostra famiglia." 



148 



MOORE'S WORKS. 






TO 

HIS SERENE HIGHNESS 

THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER, 

ON HIS 

PORTRAIT OF THE LADY ADELAIDE FORBES. 

Donington Park, 1802. 
To catch the thought, by painting's spell, 

Howe'er remote, howe'er refined, 
And o'er the kindling canvass tell 

The silent story of the mind ; 

O'er nature's form to glance the eye, 
And fix, by mimic light and shade, 

Her morning tinges, ere they fly, 

Her evening blushes, ere they fade; — 

Yes, these are Painting's proudest powers ; 

The gift, by which her art divine 
Above all others proudly towers, — 

And these, oh Prince ! are richly thine. 

And yet, when Friendship sees thee trace, 

In almost living truth express'd, 
This bright memorial of a face 

On which her eye delights to rest ; 

While o'er the lovely look serene, 

The smile of peace, the bloom of youth, 

The cheek, that blushes to be seen, 
The eye that tells the bosom's truth ; 

While o'er each line, so brightly true, 
Our eyes with ling'ring pleasure rove, 

Blessing the touch whose various hue 
Thus brings to mind the form we love ; 

i Though I have styled this poem a Dithyrambic Ode, I 
cannot presume to say that it possesses, in any degree, the 
characteristics of that species of poetry. The nature of the 
ancient Dithyrambic is very imperfectly known. According 
to M. Burette, a licentious irregularity of metre, an extrava- 
gant research of thought and expression, and a rude embar- 
rassed construction, are among its most distinguishing fea- 
tures ; and in all these respects, I have but too closely, I 
fear, followed my models. Burette adds, " Ces caracteres 
des dithyrambes se font sentir a ceux qui lisent attentive- 
ment les odes de Pindare." — Mernoircs de VJJcad. vol. x. p. 
306. The same opinion may be collected from Schmidt's 
dissertation upanihe subject. I think, however, if thnDithy- 
rambics of Pindar were in our possession, we should find 
that, however wild and fanciful, they were by no means the 
tasteless jargon they are represented, and that even their ir- 
regularity was what Boileau calls " un beau desordre." Chia- 
brera, who has been styled the Pindar of Italy, and from 
whom all its poetry upon the Greek model was called Chia- 
breresco, (as Crescimbeni informs us, lib. i. cap. 2,) has 
given, amongst his Vendemmie, a Dithyrambic, " all' uso de' 
Greci ;" full of those compound epithets, which, we are told, 
were a chief characteristic of the style, (vvvQernvs 6c \e£eis 
troiovv — Suid. AtOvpajx^oSii. ;) such as 



We feel the magic of thy art, 
And own it with a zest, a zeal, 

A pleasure, nearer to the heart 
Than critic taste can ever feel 



WhK 



THE FALL OF HEBE 

A DITHYRAMBIC ODE 1 

'Twas on a day 
he immortals at their banquet lay ; 
The bowl 
Sparkled with starry dew, 
The weeping of those myriad urns of light, 
Within whose orbs, the almighty Power, 
At nature's dawning hour, 
Stored the rich fluid of ethereal soul. 2 

Around, 
Soft odorous clouds, that upward wing their flight 

From eastern isles, 
(Where they have bathed them in the orient ray, 
And with rich fragrance all their bosoms fill'd,) 
In circles flew, and, melting as they flew, 
A liquid daybreak o'er the board distill'd. 

All, all was luxury ! 
All must be luxury, where Lyaeus smiles. 
His locks divine 
Were crown'd 
With a bright meteor-braid, 
Which, like an ever-springing wreath of vine, 

Shot into brilliant leafy shapes, 
And o'er his brow in lambent tendrils play'd : 

Briglindorato Pegaso 
Nubicalpestator. 
But I cannot suppose that Pindar, even amidst all the license 
of dithyrambics, would ever have descended to ballad-Ian 
guage like the following : 

Bella Filli, e bella Clori, 
Non piu dar pregio a tue bellezze e taci, 
Che se Bacco fa vezzi alle mie labbra 
Fo le fwhe a' vostri baci. 

esser vorrei Coppier, 

E se troppo desiro 
Deh fossi io Bottiglier. 

Rime del Chiabrera, part ii. p. 352. 

2 This is a Platonic fancy. The philosopher supposes, in 
his Timaeus, that, when the Deity had formed the soul of the 
world, he proceeded to the composition of other souls, in 
which process, says Plato, he made use of the same cup, 
though the ingredients he mingled were not quite so pure as 
for the former; and having refined the mixture with a little 
of his own essence, he distributed it among the stars, which 
served as reservoirs of the fluid. — Taur' eiirc kcli ttuXiv em 
tov irporspov Kparrtpa ev a> rrjv tov itavros ipvxw Kepavwi 
tjiicrye, k. T >. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



49 



While mid the foliage hung, 
Like lucid grapes, 
A thousand clustering buds of light, 
Cull'd from the gardens of the galaxy 

Upon his bosom Cytherea's head 

Lay lovely, as when first the Syrens sung 

Her beauty's dawn, 
And all the curtains of the deep, undrawn, 
Reveal'd her sleeping in its azure bed. 
The captive deity 
Hung lingering on her eyes and lip, 
With looks of ecstasy. 

Now, on his arm, 
In blushes she reposed, 
And, while he gazed on each bright charm, 
To shade his burning eyes her hand in dalliance stole. 

And now she raised her rosy mouth to sip 
The nectar'd wave 
Lyasus gave, 
And from her eyelids, half-way closed, 
Sent forth a melting gleam, 
Which fell, like sun-dew, in the bowl : 
While her bright hair, in mazy flow 

Of gold descending 
Adown her cheek's luxurious glow, 

Hung o'er the goblet's side, 
And was reflected in its crystal tide, 
Like a bright crocus flower, 
Whose sunny leaves, at evening hour 
With roses of Cyrene blending, 1 
Hang o'er the mirror of some silvery stream. 

The Olympian cup 
Shone in the hands 
Of dimpled Hebe, as sho wing'd her feet 
Up 
The empyreal mount, 
To drain the soul-drops at their stellar fount f 
And still 
As the resplendent rill 

1 We learn from Theophrastus, that the roses of Cyrene 
were particularly fragrant.-Euoo-^ara ra 6e to. ev Kvprjvr] poSa. 

2 Heraclitus (Physicus) held the soul to be a spirk of the 
stellar essence — " Scintilla stellaris essentiae." — Macrobius, 
in Somn. Scip. lib. i. cap. 14. 

3 The country of the Hyperboreans. These people were 
supposed to be placed so far north that the north wind could 
not affect them ; they lived longer than any other mortals ; 
passed their whole time in music and dancing, &c. &c. But 
the most extravagant fiction related of them is that to which 
the two lines preceding allude. It was imagined that, instead 
of our vulgar atmosphere, the Hyperboreans breathed nothing 
but feathers ! According to Herodotus and Pliny, this idea 
was suggested by the quantity of snow which was observed to 
fall in those regions ; thus the former: Ta wv nrepa eo;agou- 
ras rtjv x LOva T° V S T.KvQai te ko.i tovs nepioiKOVs Sokcw Xcyetv. 



Gush'd forth into the cup with mantling heat, 
Her watchful care 
Was still to cool its liquid fire 
With snow-white sprinklings of that feathery 

air 
The children of the Pole respire, 
In those enchanted lands, 3 
Where life is all a spring, and north winds never 
blow. 

But oh ! 
Bright Hebe, what a tear, 
And what a blush were thine, 
When, as the breath of every Grac^ 
Wafted thy feet along the studded sphere. 
With a bright cup for Jove himself to drii.it, 
Some star, that shone beneath thy tread, 

Raising its amorous head 
To kiss those matchless feet, 

Check'd thy career too fleet , 
And all heaven's host of eyes 
Entranced, but fearful all, 
Saw thee, sweet Hebe, prostrate fall 

Upon the bright floor of the azure skies 
Where, mid its stars, thy beauty lay, 
As blossom, shaken from the spray 
Of a spring thorn, 
Lies mid the liquid sparkles of the morn. 
Or, as in temples of the Paphian shade, 
The worshippers of Beauty's queen behold 
An image of their rosy idol, laid 
Upon a diamond shrine. 

The wanton wind, 
Which had pursued the flying fair, 
And sported mid the tresses unconfined 
Of her bright hair, 
Now, as she fell, — oh wanton breeze ! 
Ruffled the robe, whose graceful flow 
Hung o'er those limbs of unsunn'd snow, 
Purely as the Eleusinian veil 
Hangs o'er the Mysteries ! 5 

— Herodot. lib. iv. cap. 31. Ovid tells the fable otherwise: 
see Metamorph. lib. xv. 

Mr. O'Halloran, and some other Irish antiquarians, have 
been at great expense of learning to prove that the strange 
country, where they took snow for feathers, was Ireland, and 
that the famous Abaris was an Irish Druid. Mr. Rowland, 
however, will have it that Abaris was a Welshman, and 
that his name is only a corruption of Ap Rees ! 

4 It is Servius, I believe, who mentions this unlucky trip 
which Hebe made in her occupation of cup-bearer ; and Hoff- 
man tells it after him : " Cum Hebe pocula Jovi administrans, 
perque lubricum minus caute incedens, cecidisset," &c. 

6 The arcane symbols of this ceremony were deposited in 
the cista, where they lay religiously concealed from the eyes 
of the profane. They were generally carried in the procession 
by an ass; and hence the proverb, which one may so often 



150 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The brow of Juno flush'd— 

Love bless'd the breeze ! 
The Muses blush'd ; 
And every cheek was hid behind a lyre, 
While every eye look'd laughing through the strings. 

But the bright cup ? the nectar'd draught 
Which Jove himself was to have quaff'd ? 
Alas, alas, upturn'd it lay 
By the fall'n Hebe's side ; 
While, in slow lingering drops, th' ethereal tide, 
As conscious of its own rich essence, ebb'd away. 

Who was the Spirit that remember'd Man, 
In that blest hour, 
And, with a wing of love, 
Brush'd off the goblet's scatter'd tears, 
As, trembling, near the edge of heaven they ran, 
And sent them floating to our orb below ?* 
Essence of immortality ! 

The shower 
Fell glowing through the spheres ; 
While all around new tints of bliss, 
New odors and new light, 
Enrich'd its radiant flow. 

Now, with a liquid kiss, 
It stole along the thrilling wire 
Of Heaven's luminous Lyre, 2 
Stealing the soul of music in its flight : 
And now, amid the breezes bland, 
That whisper from the planets as they roll, 
The bright libation, softly fann'd 
By all their sighs, meandering stole. 
They who, from Atlas' height, 

Beheld this rosy flame 
Descending through the waste of night, 
Thought 'twas some planet, whose empyreal frame 

Had kindled, as it rapidly revolved 
Around its fervid axle, and dissolved 
Into a flood so bright ! 



apply in the world, " asinus portat mystena." See the 
Divine Legation, book ii. sect. 4. 

1 In the Geoponica, lib. ii. cap. 17, there is a fable some- 
what like this descent of the nectar to earth. Bv ovpavcp ruv 
$r.o)i> £vo}X' )V l il:vcJl 'i Kai T0V vixrapos iroXXov TrapaKCtfjtevov, 
avaaKipTrjiraL x°P £l( J- T0V E/swra kcli avcaeiaai no nrepio tov 
Kparripnsrrjv (iaaiv,K<u nepiTpajjai jtcv avrov to Se vsicrap 
etg riqv yr\v eicxvOev, k. t. X. Vid. Alitor, de Re Rust. edit. 
Cantab. 1704. 

2 The constellation Lyra. The astrologers attribute great 
virtues to this sign in ascendenti, which are enumerated by 
Pontano, in his Urania : 

Ecce novem cum pectine chordas 

Emodulans, lrmlcctque novo vaga sidera cantu, 
Q,uo captae nascentum animae concordia ducunt 
Pectora, &c. 
* The Egyptians represented the dawn of day by a young 



The youthful Day, 
Within his twilight bower, 
Lay sweetly sleeping 
On the flush'd bosom of a lotos-flower ; 9 
When round him, in profusion weeping, 
Dropp'd the celestial shower, 

Steeping 
The rosy clouds, that curl'd 
About his infant head, 
Like myrrh upon the locks of Cupid shed. 

But, when the waking boy 
Waved his exhaling tresses through the sky, 
O mom of joy ! — 
The tide divine, 
All glorious with the vermil dye 
It drank beneath his orient eye, 
DistilPd, in dews, upon the world, 
And every drop was wine, was heavenly wine ! 
Blest be the sod, and blest the flower 
On which descended first that shower, 
All fresh from Jove's nectareous springs ; — 
Oh far less sweet the flower, the sod, 
O'er which the Spirit of the Rainbow flings 
The magic mantle of her solar God ! 4 



RINGS AND SEALS. 

' SLuitep crtypayiScg ra (piXrjjxara. 

Achilles Tatius, lib. ii. 

" Go I" said the angry, weeping maid, 
" The charm is broken ! — once betray' d, 
" Never can this wrong'd heart rely 
" On word or look, on oath or sigh. 
" Take back the gifts, so fondly given, 
" With promised faith and vows to heaven ; 
" That little ring which, night and morn, 
" With wedded truth my hand hath worn ; 



boy seated upon a lotos. Ecrf Aiyvirrovs Uipaicas apxv ava- 
toXtjs iraiSiov veoyvov ypacpovrai tm Xurto KaOe^ofxevov .-Plu- 
tarch, irepi tov p.r t xpav epiierp. See also his Treatise de Isid. 
et Osir. Observing that the lotos showed its head above 
water at sunrise, and sank again at his setting, they conceived 
the idea of consecrating this flower to Osiris, or the sun. 

This symbol of a youth sitting upon a lotos is very frequent 
on the Abraxases, or Basilidian stones. See Montfaucon, 
torn. ii. planche 158, and the " Supplement," &c. torn. ii. lib. 
vii. chap. 5. 

4 The ancients esteemed those flowers and trees the sweet- 
est upon which the rainbow had appeared to rest; and the 
wood they chiefly burned in sacrifices, was that which the 
smile of Iris had consecrated. Plutarch. Sympos. lib. iv. cap. 
2, where (as Vossius remarks) icaiovai, instead of Ka^ovct, is 
undoubtedly the genuine reading. See Vossiup for some 
curious particularities of the rainbow, De Origin, ei Progress. 
Idololat. lib. iii. cap. 13. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



151 



" That seal which oft, in moments blest, 

" Thou hast upon my lip impress'd, 

" And sworn its sacred spring should be 

" A fountain seal'd 1 for only thee : 

" Take, take them back, the gift and vow, 

" All sullied, lost and hateful now !" 

I took the ring — the seal I took, 
While, oh, her every tear and look 
Were such as angels look and shed, 
When man is by the world misled. 
Gently I whisper'd, " Fanny, dear ! 
" Not half thy lover's gifts are here : 
" Say, where are all the kisses given, 
" From morn to noon, from noon to even, — 
" Those signets of true love, worth more 
" Than Solomon's own seal of yore, — 
" Where are those gifts, so sweet, so many ? 
" Come, dearest, — give back all, if any." 

While thus I whisper'd, trembling too, 
Lest all the nymph had sworn was true, 
I saw a smile relenting rise 
'Mid the moist azure of her eyes, 
Like daylight o'er a sea of blue, 
Whiie yet in mid-air hangs the dew. 
She let her cheek repose on mine, 
She let my arms around her twine ; 
One kiss was half allow'd, and then — 
The ring and seal were hers again. 



MISS SUSAN B— CKF— D, 2 

ON HER SINGING. 

I more than once have heard, at night, 
A song, like those thy lip hath given, 

And it was sung by shapes of light, 

Who look'd and breathed, like thee, of heaven. 

But this was all a dream of sleep, 

And I have said, when morning shone, 

" Why should the night-witch, Fancy, keep 
" These wonders for herself alone ?" 

I knew not then that fate had lent 
Such tones to one of mortal birth ; 

i "There are gardens, supposed to be those of King Solo- 
mon, ii the neighborhood of Bethlehem. The friars show 
a fountain, which, they say, is the 'sealed fountain' to 
which the holy spouse in the Canticles is compared ; and 
they pretend a tradition, that Solomon shut up these springs 



I knew not then that Heaven had sent 
A voice, a form like thine on earth. 

And yet, in all that flowery maze 

Through which my path of life has led, 

When I have heard the sweetest lays 
From lips of xosiest lustre shed ; 

When I have felt the warbled word 
From Beauty's lip, in sweetness vying 

With music's own melodious bird, 
When on the rose's bosom lying ; 

Though form and song at once combined 
Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill, 

My heart hath sigh'd, my ear hath pined 
For something lovelier, softer still : — 

Oh, I have found it all, at last, 
In thee, thou sweetest living lyre 

Through which the soul of song e'ei cass'd, 
Or feeling breathed its sacred fire. 

All that I e'er, in wildest flight 

Of fancy's dreams, could hear or see 

Of music's sigh or beauty's light 
Is realized, at once, in thee ! 



IMPROMPTU, 

ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS. 

O dulces comitum valete cretus ! Catullub. 

No, never shall my soul forget 

The friends I found so cordial -hearted ; 

Dear shall be the day we met, 

And dear shall be the night we parted. 

If fond regrets, however sweet, 

Must with the lapse of time decay, 

Yet still, when thus in mirth you meet, 
Fill high to him that's far away ! 

Long be the light of memory found 

Alive within your social glass ; 
Let that be still the magic round, 

O'er which Oblivion dares not pass. 

and put his signet upon the door, to keep them for his own 
drinking."— MaundrelVs Travels See also the notes to Mr. 
Good's Translation of the Song of Solomon. 
2 The present Duchess of Hamilton. 



■ 
152 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 




Oh ! thou becom'st each moment dearer ; 


A WARNING. 


Every chance that brings me nigh thee, 


TO 


Brings my ruin nearer, nearer, — 




I am lost, unless I fly thee. 




Nay, if thou dost not scorn and hate me, ' 


Oh fair as heaven and chaste as light ! 


Doom me not thus so soon to fall ; 


Did nature mould thee all so bright, 


Duties, fame, and hopes await me, — 


That thou shouldst e'er be brought to weep 


But that eye would blast them all ! 


O'er languid virtue's fatal sleep, 




O'er shame extinguish'd, honor fled, 


For, thou hast heart as false and cold 


Peace lost, heart wither'd, feeling dead ? 


As ever yet allured or sway'd, 




And couldst, without a sigh, behold 


No, no ! a star was born with thee, 


The ruin which thyself had made. 


Which sheds eternal purity. 




Thou hast, within those sainted eyes, 


Yet, — could I think that, truly fond, 


So fair a transcript of the skies, 


That eye but once would smile on me, 


In lines of light such heavenly lore, 


Ev'n as thou art, how far beyond 


That man should read them and adore. 


Fame, duty, wealth, that smile vrculd be ! 


Yet have I known a gentle maid 




Whose mind and form were both array'd 


Oh ! but to win it, night and day, 


In nature's purest light, like thine ; — 


Inglorious at thy feet reclined, 


Who wore that clear, celestial sign, 


I'd sigh my dreams of fame away, 


Which seems to mark the brow that's fair 


The world for thee forgot, resign'd. 


For destiny's peculiar care : 




Whose bosom too, like Dian's own, 


But no, 'tis o'er, and — thus we part, 


Was guarded by a sacred zone, 


Never to meet again — no, never. 


Where the bright gem of virtue shone ; 


False woman, what a mind and heart 


Whose eyes had, in their light, a charm 


Thy treach'ry has undone forever ! 


Against all wrong, and guile, and harm. 




Yet, hapless maid, in one sad hour, 




These spells have lost their guardian power ; 
The gem has been beguiled away ; 






Her eyes have lost their chast'ning ray ; 




The modest pride, the guiltless shame, 




The smiles that from reflection came, 


WOMAN. 


All, all have fled, and left her mind 




A faded monument behind ; 


Away, away — you're all the same, 


The ruins of a once pure shrine, 


A smiling, flutt'ring, jilting throng ; 


No longer fit for guest divine. 


And, wise too late, I burn with shame, 


Oh ! 'twas a sight I wept to see — 


To think I've been your slave so long 


Heaven keep the lost one's fate from thee ! 






Slow to be won, and quick to rove, 




From folly kind, from cunning loath, 




Too cold for bliss, too weak for love, 
Yet feigning all that's best in both ; 






Still panting o'er a crowd to reign, — 




More joy it gives to woman's breast 


TO 


To make ten frigid coxcombs vain, 





Than one true, manly lover blest. 


'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now, 


Away, away — your smile's a curse — 


While yet my soul is something free ; 


Oh ! blot me from the race of men, 


While yet those dangerous eyes allow 


Kind pitying Heaven, by death or worse, 


One minute's thought to stray from thee 


If e'er I love such things again. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



153 



Notffit ra diArara. 



Euripides. 



Come, take thy harp — 'tis vain to muse 

Upon the gathering ills we see ; 
Oh ! take thy harp and let me lose 

All thoughts of ill in hearing thee. 

Sing to me. love ! — though death were near. 
Thy song could make my soul forget — 

Nay, nay, in pity, dry that tear, 
All may be well, be happy yet. 

Let me but see that snowy arm 
Once more upon the dear harp lie, 

And I will cease to dream of harm, 
Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh. 

Give me that strain of mournful touch, 

We used to love long, long ago, 
Before our hearts had known as much 

As now, alas ! they bleed to know. 

Sweet notes ! they tell of former peace, 
Of all that look'd so smiling then, 

Now vanish'd, lost — oh pray thee, cease, 
I cannot bear those sounds again. 

Art thou, too, wretched ? yes, thou art ; 

I see thy tears flow fast with mine — 
Come, come to this devoted heart, 

'Tis breaking, but it still is thine ! 

i In Plutarch's Essay on the Decline of the Oracles, Cleom- 
brotus, one of the interlocutors, describes an extraordinary 
man whom he had met with, after long research, upon the 
hanks of the Red Sea. Once in every year, this supernat- 
ural personage appeared to mortals and conversed with 
them ; the rest of his time he passed among the Genii and 
the Nymphs. Uepi ti\v spvdpav SaXao-crav evpov, avdpcjiroig 
ava irav £to; ana% evrvyxavovra, raAAa Se <rvv rats WfJKpais, 
vofxaai koli dat/too-i, log ecpacrKe. He spoke in a tone not far 
removed from singing, and whenever he opened his lips, a 
fragrance filled the place: (pBeyyopevov 6e rov tottov eviodia 
Ka.Tf.ixe, rov arojxaTog }](Ji(ttoi> airoirveovTog. From him Cle- 
ombrotus learned the doctrine of a plurality of worlds. 

2 The celebrated Janus Dousa, a little before his death, 
imagined that he heard a strain of music in the air. See the 
poem of Heinsius, " In harmoniam quam paulo ante obitum 
audire sibi visus est Dousa." Page 501. 

s evQa paKapwp 



avpai nepnrvr.ovcTLV av- 
Qepa 6e x9 vaov ^Aeyst. 



Pindar. Olymp. ii. 



* Cham, the son of Noah, is supposed to have taken with 
him into the ark the principal doctrines of magical, or rather 
of natural science, which he had inscribed upon some very 
durable substances, in order that they might resist the ravages 



VISION OF PHILOSOPHY. 

j Twas on the Red Sea coast, at morn, we met 
The venerable man ; J a healthy bloom 
Mingled its softness with the vigorous thought 
That tower'd upon his brow ; and, when he spoke, 
'Twas language sweeten'd into song — such holy 

sounds 
As oft, they say, the wise and virtuous hear, 
Prelusive to the harmony of heaven, 
When death is nigh f and still, as he unclosed 
His sacred lips, an odor, all as bland 
As ocean-breezes gather from the flowers 
That blossom >n elysium, 3 breathed around. 
With silent awe we listen'd, while he told 
Of the dark veil which many an age had hung 
O'er Nature's form, till, long explored by man, 
The mystic shroud grew thin and jemiinous, 
And glimpses of that heavenly form shone thro' : — 
Of magic wonders, that were known and taught 
By him (or Cham or Zoroaster named) 
Who mused amid the mighty cataclysm, 
O'er his rude tablets of primeval lore ; 4 
And gathering round him, in the sacred ark, 
The mighty secrets of that former globe, 
Let not the living star of science 5 sink 
Beneath the waters, which ingulf'd a world ! — 
Of visions, by Calliope reveal'd 
To him, 6 who traced upon his typic lyre 
The diapason of man's mingled frame, 
And the grand Doric heptachord of heaven. 
With all of pure, of wondrous and arcane, 
Which the grave sons of Mochus, many a night, 

of the deluge, and transmit the secrets of antediluvian 
knowledge to his posterity. See the extracts made by Bayle, 
in his article, Cham. The identity of Cham and Zoroas- 
ter depends upon the authority of Berosus, (or rather the 
impostor Annius,) and a few more such respectable testi- 
monies. See Naude's Apologie pour les Grands Homines, 
&c, chap, viii., where he takes more trouble than is neces- 
sary in refuting this gratuitous supposition. 

5 Chamurn a posteris hujus artis admiratoribus Zoroastrum, 
sen vivum astrum, propterea fuisse dictum et pro Deo habi- 
tum. — Bochart. Geograph. Sacr. lib. iv. cap. 1. 

6 Orpheus.— Paulinus, in his Hebdomades, cap. 2, lib. iii., 
has endeavored to show, after the Platonists, that man is a 
diapason, or octave, made up of a diatesseron, which is his 
soul, and a diapente, which is his body. Those frequent allu- 
sions to music, by which the ancient philosophers illustrated 
their sublime theories, must have tended very much to ele- 
vate the character of the art, and to enrich it with associa- 
tions of the grandest and most interesting nature. See a pre- 
ceding note, for their ideas upon the harmony of the spheres. 
Heraclitus compared the mixture of good and evil in this 
world to the blended varieties of harmony in a musical instru- 
ment, (Plutarch, de Aniime Procreat. ;) and Euryphamus. the 
Pythagorean, in a fragment preserved by Stoba-us, describes 
human life, in its perfection, as a sweet and well-tuned lyre. 
Some of the ancients were so fanciful as to suppose that the 



154 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Told to the young and bright-hair'd visitant 
Of Carmel's sacred mount. 1 — Then, in a flow 
Of calmer converse, he beguiled us on 

operations of the memory were regulated by a kind of musi- 
cal cadence, and that ideas occurred to it " per arsin et the- 
sin," while others converted the whole man into a mere 
harmonized machine, whose motion depended upon a certain 
tension of the body, analogous to that of the strings in an 
instrument. Cicero indeed ridicules Aristoxenus for this 
fancy, and says, "Let him teach singing, and leave philoso- 
phy to Aristotle ;" but Aristotle himself, though decidedly 
opposed to the harmonic speculations of the Pythagoreans 
and Platonists, could sometimes condescend to enliven his 
doctrines by reference to the beauties of musical science ; 
as, in the treatise Hspi Koa/xov attributed to him, KaOanep 6e 
ev x^P' : Kopvtyaiov Karap^avrog, k. t. X. 

The Abbe Batteux, in his inquiry into the dt&ffine of the 
Stoics, attributes to those philosophers the same mode of il- 
lustration. " L'ame etoit cause active notetv atrtog ; le corps 
cause passive yde rov naoxctv : — l'uneagissantdansl'autre ; 
et y prenant, par son action meme, un caractere, des formes, 
des modifications, qu'elle n'avoit pas par elle-meme ; a peu 
pres comme l'air, qui, chasse dans un instrument de 
musique, fait connoitre, par les differens sons qu'il produit, 
les differentes modifications qu'il y recoit." See a fine simile 
founded upon this notion in Cardinal Polignac's poem, lib. 
5, v. 734. 

1 Pythagoras is represented in Iamblichus as descending 
with great solemnity from Mount Carmel, for which reason 
the Carmelites have claimed him as one of their fraternity. 
This Mochus or Moschus, with the descendants of whom 
Pythagoras conversed in Phoenicia, and from whom he de- 
rived the doctrines of atomic philosophy, is supposed by some 
to be the same with Moses. Huett has adopted this idea, 
Demonstration Evangelique, Prop. iv. chap. 2, § 7; and Le 
Clerc, among others, has refuted it. See Biblioth. Choisie, 
torn. i. p. 75. It is certain, however, that the doctrine of 
atoms was known and promulgated long before Epicurus. 
" With the fountains of Democritus," says Cicero, " the gar- 
dens of Epicurus were watered ;" and the learned author of 
the Intellectual System has shown, that all the early philos- 
ophers, till the time of Plato, were atomists. We find Epicu- 
rus, however, boasting that his tenets were new and unbor- 
rowed, and perhaps few among the ancients had any stronger 
claim to originality. In truth, if we examine their schools of 
philosophy, notwithstanding the peculiarities which seem to 
distinguish them from each other, we may generally observe 
that the difference is but verbal and trifling ; and that, among 
those various and learned heresies, there is scarcely one to 
be selected, whose opinions are its own, original and exclu- 
sive. The doctrine of the world's eternity may be traced 
through all the sects. The continual metempsychosis of 
Pythagoras, the grand periodic year of the Stoics, (at the con- 
clusion of which the universe is supposed to return to its 
original order, and commence a new revolution,) the succes- 
sive dissolution and combination of atoms maintained by the 
Epicureans — all these tenets are but different imitations of 
the same general belief in the eternity of the world. As ex- 
plained by St. Austin, the periodic year of the Stoics disa- 
grees only so far with the idea of the Pythagoreans, that in- 
stead of an endless transmission of the soul through a variety 
of bodies, it restores the same body and soul to repeat their 
former round of existence, so that the "identical Plato, who 
lectured in the Academy of Athens, shall again and again, 
at certain intervals, during the lapse of eternity, appear in 

the same Academy and resume the same functions :" 

sic eadem tempora temporaliumque rerum volumina repeti, 
ut v. g. sicut in isto sfeculo Plato philosophus in urbe Athe- 



Through many a maze of Ga rden and of Porch, 
Through many a system, where the scatter'd light 
Of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam 

niensi, in ea. schola qua3 Academia dicta est, discipulos 
docuit, ita per innumerabilia retro sa?cula, multum plexis 
quidem intervallis, sed certis, et idem Plato, et eadem civi- 
tas, eademque schola, iidemque discipuli repeti ti et per 
innumerabilia deinde saecula repetendi sint.— De Civitat. 
Dei, lib. xii. cap. 13. Vanini, in his dialogues, has given us 
a similar explication of the periovic revolutions of the world. 
"Ea de causa, qui nunc sunt in us*' ritus, centies millies 
fuerunt, totiesque renascentur quoties uiAjderunt." 52. 

The paradoxical notions "f the Stoics upon the beauty, 
the riches, the dominion of their imaginary sage, are among 
the most distinguishing characteristics of their school, and, 
according to their advocate Lipsius, were peculiar to that 
sect. "Priora ilia (decreta) quae passim in philosophantium 
scholis fere obtinent, ista qua? peculiaria huic sectse et ha- 
bent contradictionem : i. e.'paradoxa." — Manuduct. ad Stoic. 
Philos. lib. iii. dissertat. 2. But it is evident (as the Abbe 
Gamier has remarked, Memoires de l'Acad. torn, xxxv.) that 
even these absurdities of the Stoics are borrowed, and that 
Plato is the source of all their extravagant paradoxes. We 
find their dogma, " dives qui sapiens," (which Clement of 
Alexandria has transferred from the Philosopher to the 
Christian, Paedagog. lib. iii. cap. 6.) expressed in the prayer of 
Socrates at the end of the Pheedrus. £1 $i\s Hav re kcli 
aWoi boot rrjSe Sfoj, Soirire pot koXco yeveoQat ravdoQev 
ra^wdf.v Se boa £%w, rots evrog etvat pot 0(Aicr nXovotov 6c 
vopt^otpt rov <ro(pov. And many other instances might be 
adduced from the Avrepaorat, the JloXtrtxos, &c. to prove 
that these weeds of paradox were all gathered among the 
bowers of the Academy. Hence it is that Cicero, in the 
preface to his Paradoxes, calls them Socratica; and Lipsius, 
exulting in the patronage of Socrates, says, "Ule totus est 
uoster." This is indeed a coalition, which evinces as much 
as can be wished the confused similitude of ancient philo- 
sophical opinions : the father of skepticism is here enrolled 
among the founders of the Portico ; he, whose best knowl- 
edge was that of his own ignorance, is called in to authorize 
the pretensions of the most obstinate dogmatists in all an- 
tiquity. 

Rutilius, in his Itinerarium, has ridiculed the sabbath of 
the Jews, as "lassati mollis imago Dei ;" but Epicurus gave 
an eternal holiday to his gods, and, rather than disturb the 
slumbers of Olympus, denied at once the interference of a 
Providence. He does not, however, seem to have been sin- 
gular in this opinion. Theophilus of Antioch, if he deserve 
any credit, imputes a similar belief to Pythagoras : — <pr)cri 
(TlvOayopag) re tcov ttuvtcjv Seovg avOpwwv prjSev (ppovrt- 
i^etv. And Plutarch, though so hostile to the followers of 
Epicurus, has unaccountably adopted the very same theo- 
logical error. Thus, after quoting the opinion of Anaxago- 
ras and Plato upon divinity, he adds, Kotvcog ovv apapra- 
vovotv apeporepot, bri rov Seov evotrjaav emorpetpopevov 
twv av9po3TTtv(ov. — De Placit. Philosopk. lib. i. cap. 7. Plato 
himself has attributed a degree of indifference to the gods, 
which is not far removed from the apathy of Epicurus's 
heaven ; as thus, in his Philebus, where Protarchus asks, 
Ovkovv eixog ye owe x ai P Elv Stovg, owe to evavrtov ; and 
Socrates answers, Haw pev ovv eixog, aoxip-ov yovv avrwv 
exarepov ytyvopevov eortv ; — while Aristotle supposes a still 
more absurd neutrality, and concludes, by no very flattering 
analogy, that the deity is as incapable of virtue as of vice. 
Kat yap oionep ovSev $r)ptov eart Kama, ovi' apery, ovrcog 
ovSe $eov. — Ethic. Nicomach. lib. vii. cap. 1. In truth, Aris- 
totle, upon the subject of Providence, was little more correct 
than Epicurus. He supposed the moon to be the limit of 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



155 



From the pure sun, which, though refracted all 

Into a thousand hues, is sunshine still, 1 

And bi ight through every change ! — he spoke of Him, 

divine interference, excluding, of course, this sublunary 
world from its influence. The first definition of the world, 
in his treatise Tlspi Kotrpiov, (if this treatise be really the 
work of Aristotle,) agrees, almost verbum verbo, with that 
in the letter of Epicurus to Pythocles ; and both omit the 
mention of a deity. In his Ethics, too, he intimates a doubt 
whether the gods feel any interest in the concerns of man- 
kind. — Ei yap rig sir i peseta rwv avQpoiirivuv vno v£«v yivs- 
rai. It is true, he adds uazsp Sokei, but even this is very 
skeptical. 

In these erroneous conceptions of Aristotle, we trace the 
cause of that general neglect which his philosophy experi- 
enced among the early Christians. Plato is seldom much 
more orthodox, but the obscure enthusiasm of his style al- 
lowed them to accommodate all his fancies to their own 
purpose. Such glowing steel was easily moulded, and Pla- 
tonism became a sword in the hands of the fathers. 

The Providence of the Stoics, so vaunted in their school, 
was a power as contemptibly inefficient as the rest. All was 
fate in the system of the Portico. The chains of destiny 
were thrown over Jupiter himself, and their deity was like 
the Borgia of the Epigrammatist, " et Csesar et nihil." Not 
even the language of Seneca can reconcile this degra- 
dation of divinity "Ille ipse omnium conditor ac rector 
scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur ; semper paret, seme! jus- 
sit." — Lib. de Providentid, cap. 5. 

With respect to the difference between the Stoics, Peripa- 
tetics, and Academicians, the following words of Cicero 
prove that he saw but little to distinguish them from each 
other : — " Peripateticos et Academicos, nominibus differentes, 
re congruentes ; a quibus Stoici ipsi verbis magis quam sen- 
tentiis dissenserunt." — Academic, lib. ii. 5 ; and perhaps 
what Reid has remarked upon one of their points of contro- 
versy might be applied as effectually to the reconcilement of 
all the rest. " The dispute between the Stoics and Peripa- 
tetics was probably all for want of definition. The one said 
they were good under the control of reason, the other that 
they should be eradicated." — Essays, vol. hi. In short, it 
appears a no less difficult matter to establish the boundaries 
of opinion between any two of the Philosophical sects, than 
it would be to fix the landmarks of those estates in the 
moon, which Ricciolus so generously allotted to his brother 
astronomers. Accordingly we observe some of the greatest 
men of antiquity passing without scruple from school to 
school, according to the fancy or convenience of the mo- 
ment. Cicero, the father of Roman philosophy, is some- 
times an Academician, sometimes a Stoic ; and, more than 
once, he acknowledges a conformity with Epicurus ; "non 
sine causa igitur Epicurus ausus est dicere semper in pluri- 
bus bonis esse sapientem, quia semper sit in voluptatibus." — 
Tusculav. Qitcest. lib. v. Though often pure in his theolo- 
gy, Cicero sometimes smiles at futurity as a fiction ; thus, 
in his Oration for Cluentius, speaking of punishments in the 
life to come, he says, " Quae si falsa sunt, id quod omnes in- 
telligunt, quid ei tandem aliud mors eripuit, praeter sensum 
doloris 1"— though here we should, perhaps, do him but 
justice by agreeing with his commentator Sylvius, who re- 
marks upon this passage, " Use autem dixit, ut causa; suae 
subserviret." The poet Horace roves like a butterfly through 
the schools, and now wings along the walls of the Porch, 
now basks among the flowers of the Garden ; while Virgil, 
with a tone of mind strongly philosophical, has yet left us 
wholly uncertain as to the sect which he espoused. The 
balance of opinion declares him to have been an Epicurean, 
but the ancient author of his life asserts that he was an 



The lone, 2 eternal One, who dwells above, 

And of the soul's untraceable descent 

From that high fount of spirit, through the grades 

Academician ; and we trace through his poetry the tenets 
of almost all the leading sects. The same kind of eclectic 
indifference is observable in most of the Roman writers. 
Thus Propertius, in the fine elegy to Cynthia, on his depar- 
ture for Athens, 

Hlic vel studiis animum emendare Platonis, 
Incipiam, aut hortis, docte Epicure, tuis. 

Lib. iii. Eleg. 21. 

Though Broeckhusius here reads, " dux Epicure," which 
seems to fix the poet under the banners of Epicurus. Even 
the Stoic Seneca, whose doctrines have been considered so 
orthodox that St. Jerome has ranked him among the eccle- 
siastical writers, while Boccaccio doubts (in consideration 
of his supposed correspondence with St. Paul) whether 
Dante should have placed him in limbo with the rest of the 
Pagans — even the rigid Seneca has bestowed such commen- 
dations on Epicurus, that if only those passages of his works 
were preserved to us, we could not hesitate, I think, in pro- 
nouncing him a confirmed Epirarean. With smilar incon- 
sistency, w^e find Porphyry, in his work upon abstinence, 
referring to Epicurus as an example of the most strict 
Pythagorean temperance ; and Lancelotti (the author of 
" Farfalloni degli antici Istorici") has been seduced by this 
grave reputation of Epicurus into the absurd error of asso- 
ciating him with Chrysippus, as a chief of the Stoic school. 
There is no doubt, indeed, that however the Epicurean sect 
might have relaxed from its original purity, the morals of 
its founder were as correct as those of any among the an- 
cient philosophers ; and his doctrines upon pleasure, as ex- 
plained in the letter to Menceceus, are rational, amiable, and 
consistent with our nature. A late writei, De Sablons, in i 
his Grands Hommes venges, expresses strong indignation 
against the Encyclopedistes for their just and animated praises 
of Epicurus, and discussing the question, " si ce philosophe 
etoit vertueux," denies it upon no other authority than the 
calumnies collected by Plutarch, who himself confesses 
that, on this particular subject, he consulted only opinion 
and report, without pausing to investigate their truth. — 
AAXa rr)v Su$av, ov ty]v a\rjQsiav crKOirovpf.v. To the factious 
zeal of his illiberal rivals, the Stoics, Epicuras chiefly owed 
these gross misrepresentations of the life and opinions of 
himself and his associates, which, notwithstanding the 
learned exertions of Gassendi, have still left an odium on 
the name of his philosophy; and we oueht to examine the 
ancient accounts of this philosopher with about the same 
degree of cautious belief which, in reading ecclesiastical 
history, we yield to the invectives of the fathers against the 
heretics, — trusting as little to Plutarch upon a dogma of 
Epicurus, as we would to the vehement St. Cyril upon a 
tenet of Nestorius. (1801.) 

The preceding remarks, I wish the reader to observe, 
were written at a time when I thought the studies to which 
they refer much more important as well as more amusing 
than, I freely confess, they appear to me at present. 

i Lactantius asserts that all the truths of Christianity 
may be found dispersed through the ancient philosrpbical 
sects, and that any one who would collect these scattered 
fragments of orthodoxy might form a code in no respect 
differing from that of the Christian. " Si extitisset aliquis, 
qui veritatem spnrsam per singulos per sectasque diffusam 
colligeret in unum, ac redigeret in corpus, is profecto nou 
dissentiret a nobis." — Inst. lib. vi. c. 7. 

2 To povov kcii tpr,pov. 



156 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Of intellectual being, till it mix 

With atoms vague, corruptible, and dark ; 

Nor yet even then, though sunk in earthly dross, 

Corrupted all, nor its ethereal touch 

Quite lost, but tasting of the fountain still. 

As some bright river, which has roll'd along 

Through meads of flowery light and mines of gold, 

When pour'd at length into the dusky deep, 

Disdains to take at once its briny taint, 

But keeps unchanged awhile the lustrous tinge, 

Or balmy freshness, of the scenes it left. 1 

And here the old man ceased — a winged train 
Of nymphs and genii bore him from our eyes. 
The fair illusion fled ! and, as I waked, 
'Twas clear that my rapt soul had roam'd the while, 
To that bright realm of dreams, that spirit-world, 
Which mortals know by its long track of light 
O'er midnight's sky, and call the Galaxy. 2 



MRS 

To see thee eveiy day that came, 
To find thee still each day the same ; 
In pleasure's smile, or sorrow's tear 
To me still ever kind and dear ; — 
To meet thee early, leave thee late, 
Has been so long my bliss, my fate, 
That life, without this cheering ray, 
Which came, like sunshine, every day, 
And all my pain, my sorrow chased, 
Is now a lone and loveless waste. 

Where are the chords she used to touch ? 
The aira, the songs she loved so much? 
Those songs are hush'd, those chords are still, 
And so, perhaps, will every thrill 
Of feeling soon be lull'd to rest, 
Which late I waked in Anna's breast. 
Yet, no — the simple notes I play'd 
From memory's tablet soon may fade ; 
The songs, which Anna loved to hear, 
May vanish from her heart and ear ; 
But friendship's voice shall ever find 
An echo in that gentle mind, 
Nor memory lose nor time impair 
The sympathies that tremble there. 



i This bold Platonic image I have taken from a passage in 
Father Bouchet's letter upon the Metempsychosis, inserted 
in Picart's Cerem. Relig. torn. iv. 

3 According to Pythagoras, the people of Dreams are souls 



TO 

LADY HEATHCOTE, 

ON AN 

OLD RING FOUND AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS. 

" Tunnebridge est a la meme distance de Londres, que 
Fontainebleau l'est de Paris. Ce qu'il y a de beau et de ga- 
lant dans Pun et dans Pa litre sexe s'y rassemble au tems 
des eaux. La compagnie," &c. &c. 

See Memoires de Grammont, Second Part, chap. iii. 

Tunbridge Wells. 
When Grammont graced these happy springs, 

And Tunbridge saw, upon her Pantiles, 
The merriest wight of all the kings 

That ever ruled these gay, gallant isles ; 

Like us, by day, they rode, they walk'd, 
At eve, they did as we may do, 

And Grammont just like Spencer talk'd, 
And lovely Stewart smiled like you. 

The only different trait is this, 

That woman then, if man beset her, 

Was rather given to saying " yes," 
Because, — as yet, sho knew no better 

Each night they held a coterie, 

Where, every fear to slumber charm' d, 

Lovers were all they ougn;, to be, 
And husbands not the least alarm'd. 

Then call'd they up their school-day pranks, 
Nor thought it much their sense beneath 

To play at riddles, quips, and cranks, 
And lords show'd wit, and ladies teeth 

As — " Why are husbands like the mint ?" 
Because, forsooth, a husband's duty 

Is but to set the name and print 
That give a currency to beauty. 

" Why is a rose in nettles hid 

" Like a young widow, fresh and fair ?" 

Because 'tis sighing to be rid 

Of weeds, that " have no business there !" 

And thus they miss'd and thus they hit, 

And now they struck and now they parried ; 

And some lay in of full grown wit, 
While others of a pun miscarried. 

collected together in the Galaxy. — Ari/jtog 6e ovEif. cjv, Kara 
IlvOayopav, at ipvxat ag trvvayeodui (prjaiv as rov yaSa\iav. 
— Porphyr. de Antro Nymph. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



157 



'Twas one of those facetious nights 
That Grammont gave this forfeit ring 

For breaking grave conundrum-rites, 
Or punning ill, or — some such thing : — 

From whence it can be fairly traced, 

Through many a branch and many a bough, 

From twig to twig, until it graced 
The snowy hand that wears it now. 

All this I'll prove, and then, to you, 

Oh Tunbridge ! and your springs ironical, 

I swear by Heathcote's eye of blue 
To dedicate the important chronicle. 

Long may your ancient inmates give 
Their mantles to your modern lodgers, 

And Charles's loves in Heathcote live, 
And Charles's bards revive in Rogers. 

Let no pedantic fools be there ; 

Forever be those fops abolish'd, 
With heads as wooden as thy ware, 

And, Heaven knows ! not half so polish'd. 

But still receive the young, the gay, 
The few who know the rare delight 

Of reading Grammont every day, 
And acting Grammont every night. 



THE DEVIL AMONG THE SCHOLARS, 

A FRAGMENT. 

Tt kolkov b ys\u>s; 

Chrysost. Homil. in Epist. ad Hebrceos. 

* * * 

But, whither have these gentle ones, 
These rosy nymphs and black-eyed nuns, 
With all of Cupid's wild romancing, 

1 Mamurra, a dogmatic philosopher, who never doubted 
about any thing, except who was his father. — "Nulla de re 
unquam praterquam de patre dubitavit.'' — In Vit. He was 
very- learned — " La-dedans, (that is, in his head when it was 
opened.) le Punique heurte le Persan, l'Hebreu cheque 
l'Arabique, pour ne point parler de la mauvaise intelligence 
du Latin avec le Grec," &c. — See L'Hisloire de Montmaur, 
torn. ii. p. 91. 

2 Bombastus was one of the names of that great scholar 
and quack Paracelsus.— " Philippus Bombastus latet sub 
splendido tegmine Aureoli Theophrasti Paracelsi," says Sta- 
delius de circumforanea Literatorum vanitate. — He used to 
fight the devil every night with a broadsword, to the no 
small terror of his pupil Oporinus, who has recorded the cir- 
cumstance. (Vide Oporin. Vit. apud Christian. Gryph. Vit. 
Select, qunrundam Eruditissimorum, &c.) Paracelsus had 
but a poor opinion of Galen :— " My very beard (says he in 
his Paragraenum) has more learning in it than either Galen 
or Avicenna." 

3 The angel, who scolded St. Jerom for reading Cicero, as 
Gratian tells the story in his " Concordantia discordantium 



Led my truant brains a dancing ? 
Instead of studying tomes scholastic, 
Ecclesiastic, or monastic, 
Off I fly, careering far 
In chase of Pollys, prettier far 
Than any of their namesakes are, — 
The Polymaths and Polyhistors, 
Polyglots and all their sisters. 
So have I known a hopeful youth 
Sit down in quest of lore and truth, 
With tomes sufficient to confound him, 
Like Tohu Bohu, heap'd around him,— 
Mamurra 1 stuck to Theophrastus, 
And Galen tumbling o'er Bombastus. 2 
When lo ! while all that's learn'd and wise 
Absorbs the boy, he lifts his eyes, 
And through the window of his study 
Beholds some damsel fair and ruddy, 
With eyes, as brightly turn'd upon him as 
The angel's 3 were on Hieronymus. 
Quick fly the folios, widely scatter'd, 
Old Homer's laurell'd brow is batter'd, 
And Sappho, headlong sent, flies just in 
The reverend eye of St. Augustin. 
Raptured he quits each dozing sage, 
Oh woman, for thy lovelier page : 
Sweet book ! — unlike the books of art, — 
Whose errors are thy fairest part ; 
In whom the dear errata column 
Is the best page in all the volume !* 

But to begin my subject rhyme — 
'Twas just about this devilish time, 
When scarce there happen'd any frolics 
That were not done by Diabolics, 
A cold and loveless son of Lucifer, 
Who woman scorn'd, nor saw the use of her, 
A branch of Dagon's family, 
(Which Dagon, whether He or She, 

Canonum," and says, that for this reason bishops were not 
allowed to read the Classics : " Episcopus Gentilium libros 
non legat." — Distinct. 37. But Gratian is notorious for lying 
— besides, angels, as the illustrious pupil of Pantenus assures 
us, have got no tongues. Ovx? w? fj/jnv ra una, uvtws ekzi- 
voi$ i) yXwrra* ovfr av opyava rtj Jw/j (pujvns ayyeXoig. — 
Clem. Alexand. Stromat. 

4 The idea of the Rabbins, respecting the origin of woman, 
is not a little singular. They think that man was originally 
formed with a tail, like a monkey, but that the Deity cut off 
this appendage, and made woman of it. Upon this extra- 
ordinary supposition the following reflection is founded :— 

If such is the tie between women and men, 

The ninny who weds is a pitiful elf, 
For he takes to his tail like an idiot again, 

And thus makes a deplorable ape of himself. 

Yet. if we may judge as the fashions prevail, 
Every husband remembers th' original plan, 

And, knowing his wife is no more than his tail. 
Why he — leaves her behind him as much as he can. 



158 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Is a dispute that vastly better is 

Referr'd to Scaliger 1 et c&teris,) 

Finding lhat, in this cage of fools, 

The wisest sots adorn the schools, 

Took it at once his head Satanic in, 

To grow a great scholastic manikin, — 

A doctor, quite as learn'd and fine as 

Scotus John or Tom Aquinas, 2 

Lully, Hales Irrefragabilis, 

Or any doctor of the rabble is. 

In languages, 3 the Polyglots, 

Compared to him, were Babel sots ; 

He chatter'd more than ever Jew did, 

Sanhedrim and Priest included ; — » 

Priest and holy Sanhedrim 

Were one-and-seventy fools to him 

But chief the learned demon felt a 

Zeal so strong for gamma, delta, 

That, all for Greek and learning's glory,* 

He nightly tippled " Graaco more," 

And never paid a bill or balance 

Except upon the Grecian Kalends : — 

From whence your scholars, when they want 

tick, 
Say, to be Artie's to be ore tick, 
In logics he was quite Ho Panu ; 6 
Knew as much as ever man knew. 
He fought the combat syllogistic 
With so much skill and art eristic, 



1 Scaliger. de Emendat. Tempor. — Dagon was thought by- 
others to be a certain sea-monster, who came every day out 
of the Red Sea to teach the Syrians husbandry.— See Jacques 
Gaffarel, (Ouriosites Inoui'es, chap, i.,) who says he thinks 
this story of the sea-monster " carries little show of proba- 
bility with it." 

2 I wish it were known with any degree of certainty 
whether the Commentary on Boethius attributed to Thomas 
Aquinas be really the work of this Angelic Doctor. There 
are some bold assertions hazarded in it: for instance, he 
says that Plato kept school in a town called Academia, and 
that Alcibiades was a very beautiful woman whom some 
of Aristotle's pupils fell in love with : — "Alcibiades mulier 
fuit plucherrima, quam videntes quidam discipuli Aristote- 
lis," &c. — See Freytag Jldparat. Littcrar. art. 86, torn. i. 

8 The following compliment was paid to Laurentius Valla, 
upon his accurate knowledge of the Latin language: — 
Nunc postquam manes defunctus Valla petivit, 
Non audet Pluto verba Latina loqui. 
Since Val arrived in Pluto's shade, 

His no\ins and pronouns all so pat in, 
Pluto himself would be afraid 
To say his soul's his own, in Latin ! 
See for these lines the " Auctorum Censio" of Du Verdier 
(page 29.) 

i It is much to be regretted that Martin Luther, with all 
his talents for reforming, should yet be vulgar enough to 
laugh at Camerarius for writing to him in Greek. "Master 
Joachim (says he) has sent me some dates and some raisins, 
and has also written me two letters in Greek. As soon as I 
am recovered, I shall answer them in Turkish, that he too 
may have the pleasure of reading what he does not under- 



That though you were the learn'd Stagirite, 

At once upon the hip he had you right. 

In music, though he had no ears 

Except for that among the spheres, 

(Which most of all, as he averr'd it, 

He dearly loved, 'cause no one heard it,) 

Yet aptly he, at sight, could read 

Each tuneful diagram in Bede, 

And find, by Euclid's corollaria, 

The ratios of a jig or aria. 

But, as for all your warbling Delias, 

Orpheuses and Saint Cecilias, 

He own'd he thought them much surpass'd 

By that redoubted Hyaloclast* 

Who still contrived by dint of throttle, 

Where'er he went to crack a bottle. 

Likewise to show his mighty knowledge, he, 
On things unknown in physiology, 
Wrote many a chapter to divert us, 
(Like that great little man Albertus,) 
Wherein he show'd the reason why, 
When children first are heard to cry, 
If boy the baby chance to be, 
He cries O A !— if girl, O E !— 
Which are, quoth he, exceeding fair hints 
Respecting their first sinful parents ; 
" Oh Eve !" exclaimeth little madam, 
While little master cries, " Oh Adam !" 7 



stand." " Graeca sunt, legi non possunt," is the ignorant 
speech attributed to Accursius ; but very unjustly : — for, far 
from asserting that Greek could not be read, that worthy ju- 
ris-consult upon the Law G. D. de Bonor. Possess, expressly 
says, "Graecae literae possunt intelligi et legi.", (Vide Nov. 
Libror. Rarior. Collection. Fascic. IV.) — Scipio Carteroma- 
chus seems to have been of opinion that there is no salva- 
tion out of the pale of Greek Literature : " Via prima salutis 
Graia, pandetur ab urbe :" and the zeal of Laurentius Rho- 
domannus cannot be sufficiently admired, when he exhorts 
his countrymen, " per gloriam Christi, per salutem patriae, 
per reipublicas decus et emolumentum," to study the Greek 
language. Nor must we forget Phavorinus, the excellent 
Bishop of Nocera, who, careless of all the usual commenda- 
tions of a Christian, required no further eulogium on his 
tomb than " Here lieth a Greek Lexicographer." 

6 'O navv. — The introduction of this language into English 
poetry has a good effect, and ought to be more universally 
adopted. A word or two of Greek in a stanza would serve as 
ballast to the most " light o'love" verses. Ausonius, among 
the ancients, may serve as a model :— 

Ou yap poi Septs eariv in hacregione jxevovti 
A%iov ab nostris emSevea esse Kaprivais. 

Ronsard, the French poet, has enriched his sonnets and odes 
with many an excellent morsel from the Lexicon. His 
"chere Entelechie," in addressing his mistress, can only be 
equalled by Cowley's " Antiperistasis." 

« Or Glass-Breaker— Morhofius has given an account of 
this extraordinary man, in a work, published 1682, — "De 
vitreo scypho fracto," &c. 

7 Translated almost literally from a passage in Albertus de 
Secretis, &c. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



159 



But 'twas in Optics and Dioptrics, 
Our daemon play'd his first and top tricks. 
He held that sunshine passes quicker 
Through wine than any other liquor ; 
And though he saw no great objection 
To steady light and clear reflection, 
He thought the aberrating rays, 
Which play about a bumper's blaze, 
Were by the doctors look'd, in common, on, 
As a more rare and rich phenomenon. 
He wisely said that the sensorium 
Is for the eyes a great emporium, 
To which these noted picture -stealers 
Send all they can and meet with dea..ers. 
In many an optical proceeding 
The brain, he said, show'd great good-breeding : 
For instance, when we ogle women 
(A trick which Barbara tutor'd him in,) 
Although the dears are apt to get in a 
Strange position on the retina 
Yet instantly the modest brain 
Doth set them on their legs again I 1 

Our doctor thus, with " stuff 'd sufficiency" 
Of all omnigenous omnisciency, 

i Alluding to that habitual act of the judgment, by which, 
notwithstanding the inversion of the image upon the retina, 
a correct impression of the object is conveyed to the senso- 
rium. 

2 Under this description, I believe "the Devil among the 
Scholars" may be included. Yet Leibnitz found out the uses 
of incomprehensibility, when he was appointed secretary to 
a society of philosophers at Nuremberg, chiefly for his in- 
genuity in writing a cabalistical letter, not one word of 
which either they or himself could interpret See the Eloge 



Began (as who would not begin 

That had, like him, so much within ?) 

To let it out in books of all sorts, 

Folios, quartos, large and small sorts ; 

Poems, so very deep and sensible 

That they were quite incomprehensible : 2 

Prose, which had been at learning's Fair, 

And bought up all the trumpery there, 

The tatter'd rags of every vest, 

In which the Greeks and Romans dress'd, 

And o'er her figure swoll'n and antic 

Scatter'd them all with airs so frantic, 

That those, who saw what fits she had, 

Declared unhappy Prose was mad ! 

Epics he wrote and scores of rebuses, 

All as neat as old Turnebus's ; 

Eggs and altars, cyclopaedias, 

Grammars, prayer-books — oh ! 'twere tedious, 

Did I but tell the half, to follow „ne : 

Not the scribbling bard of Ptolemy, 

No — nor the hoary Trismegistus, 

(Whose writings all, thank heaven ! have miss'd us,) 

E'er fill'd with lumber such a wareroom 

As this great " porcus literarum !" 

* * # * 



Historique de M. de Leibnitz, l'Europe Savante.— People 
in all ages have loved to be puzzled. We-find Cicero thank- 
ing Atticus for having sent him a work of Serapion ' ex 
quo (says he) quidem ego (quod inter nos liceat dicere) 
millesimam partem vix intelligo." Lib. ii. epist. 4. And 
we know that Avicenna, the learned Arabian, read Aris- 
totle's Metaphysics forty times over for the mere pleasure 
of being able to inform the world that he could not compre- 
hend one syllable throughout them. (Nicolas Massa in 
Vit Avicen.' 



160 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA, 



FRANCIS, EARL OF MOIRA, 

GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES, MASTER-GENERAL OF 
THE ORDNANCE, CONSTABLE OF THE TOWER, ETC. 

My Lord, 

It is impossible to think of addressing a 
Dedication to your Lordship without calling to 
mind the well-known reply of the Spartan to a 
rhetorician, who proposed to pronounce an eu- 
loginm on Hercules. " On Hercules !" said the 
honest Spartan, " who ever thought of blaming 
Hercules ?" In a similar manner the concurrence 
of public opinion has left to the panegyrist of your 
Lordship a very superfluous task. I shall, there- 
fore, be silent on the subject, and merely entreat 
your indulgence" to the very humble tribute of 
gratitude which I have here the honor to pre- 
sent. 

I am, my Lord, 

With every feeling of attachment 
and respect, 
Your Lordship's very devoted Servant, 

THOMAS MOORE. 

27 Bury Street, St. James's, 
Ji-pril 10, 1806. 



PREFACE. 1 

The principal poems in the following collection 
were written during an absence of fourteen months 
from Europe. Though curiosity was certainly not 
the motive of my voyage to America, yet it hap- 
pened that the gratification of curiosity was the only 
advantage which I derived from it. Finding my- 
self in the country of a new people, whose infancy 
had promised so much, and whose progress to 
maturity has been an object of such interesting 
speculation, I determined to employ the short 

i This Preface, as well as the Dedication which precedes 
it, were prefixed originally to the miscellaneous volume en- 



period of time which my plan of return to Europe 
afforded me, in travelling through a few of the 
States, and acquiring some knowledge of the in- 
habitants. 

The impression which my mind received from 
the character and manners of these republicans, 
suggested the Epistles which are written from the 
city of Washington and Lake Erie. 2 How far I 
was right, in thus assuming the tone of a satirist 
against a people whom I viewed but as a stranger 
and a visiter, is a doubt which my feelings did 
not allow me time to investigate. All I presume 
to answer for is the fidelity of the picture which 
I have given ; and though prudence might have 
dictated gentler language, truth, I think, would 
have iustified severer. . 

1 went to America with prepossessions by no 
means unfavorable, and indeed rather indulged 
in many of those illusive ideas, with respect to the 
purity of the government and the primitive happi- 
ness of the people , which I had early imbibed in 
my native country, where, unfortunately, discon- 
tent at home enhances every distant temptation, 
and the western world has long been looked to as a 
retreat from real or imaginary oppression ; as, in 
short, the elysian Atlantis, where persecuted patri- 
ots might find their visions realized, and be welcomed 
by kinared spirits to liberty and repose. In all 
thes? fluttering expectations I found myself com- 
pletely disappointed, and felt inclined to say to 
America, as Horace says to his mistress, " in- 
tentata nites." Brissot, in the preface to his travels, 
observes, that " freedom in that country is carried 
to so high a degree as to border upon a state of 
nature ;" and there certainly is a close approx- 
imation to savage life, not only in the liberty 
which they enjoy, but in the violence of party 
spirit and of private animosity which results from 
it. This illiberal zeal imbitters all social inter- 
course ; and, though I scarcely could hesitate in 
selecting the party whose views appeared to me 
the more pure and rational, yet I am sorry to ob- 

titled"Odes and Epistles," of which, hitherto, the poems 
relating to my American tour have formed a part. 

2 Epistles VI., VII., and VIII. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



16* 



serve that, in asserting their opinions, they both 
assume an equal share of intolerance ; the Demo- 
crats, consistently with their principles, exhibiting 
a vulgarity of rancor, which the Federalists too often 
are so forgetful of their cause as to imitate. 

The rude familiarity of the lower orders, and 
indeed the unpolished state of society in general, 
would neither surprise nor disgust if they seemed 
to flow from that simplicity of character, that hon- 
est ignorance of the gloss of refinement, which may 
be looked for in a new and inexperienced people. 
But, when we find them arrived at maturity in most 
of the vices, and all the pride of civilization, while 
they are still so far removed from its higher and 
better characteristics, it is impossible not to feel 
that this youthful decay, this crude anticipation of 
the natural period of corruption, must repress every 
sanguine hope of the future energy and greatness of 
America. 

I am conscious that, in venturing these few 
remarks, I have said just enough to offend, and by 
no means sufficient to convince ; for the limits of 
a preface prevent me from entering into a justifica- 
tion of my opinions, and I am committed on the 
subject as effectually as if I had written volumes 
in their defence. My reader, however, is apprized 
of the very cursory observation upon which these 
opinions are founded, and can easily decide for him- 
self upon the degree of attention or confidence which 
they merit 

With respect to the poems in general, which 
occupy the following pages, I know not in what 
manner to apologize to the public for intruding upon 
their notice such a mass of unconnected trifles, 
such a world of epicurean atoms as I have here 
brought in conflict together. 1 To say that I have 
been tempted by the liberal offers of my bookseller, 
is an excuse which can hope for but little indulgence 
from the critic ; yet I own that, without this season- 
able inducement, these poems veiy possibly would 
never have been submitted to the world. The 
glare of publication is too strong for such imperfect 
productions : they should be shown but to the eye 
of friendship, in that dim light of privacy which is 
as favorable to poetical as to female beauty, and 
serves as a veil for faults, while it enhances every 
charm which it displays. Besides, this is not a 
period for the idle occupations of poetry, and times 
like the present require talents more active and more 
useful. Few have now the leisure to read such 
trifles, and I most sincerely regret that I have had 
the leisure to write them. 



i See the foregoing Note, p. 160. 

s Pythagoras ; who was supposed to have a power of 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA 



LORD VISCOUNT STRANGFORD. 

ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE AZORES, 
MOONLIGHT. 



Sweet Moon ! if, like Crotona's sage, 2 
By any spell my hand could dare 

To make thy disk its ample page, 

And write my thoughts, my wishes there ; 

How many a friend, whose careless eye 

Now wanders o'er that starry sky, 

Should smile, upon thy orb to meet 

The recollection, kind and sweet, 

The reveries of fond regret, 

The promise, never to forget, 

And all my heart and soul would send 

To many a dear-loved, distant friend. 

How little, when we parted last, 
I thought those pleasant times were past, 
Forever past, when brilliant joy 
Was all my vacant heart's employ : 
When, fresh from mirth to mirth again, 

We thought the rapid hours too few ; 
Our only use for knowledge then 

To gather bliss from all we knew. 
Delicious days of whim and soul ! 

When, mingling lore and laugh together, 
We lean'd the book on Pleasure's bowl, 

And turn'd the leaf with Folly's feather. 
Little I thought that all were fled, 
That, ere that summer's bloom was shed, 
My eye should see the sail unfurl'd 
That wafts me to the western world. 

And yet, 'twas time ; — in youth's sweet days, 
To cool that season's glowing rays, 
The heart awhile, with wanton wing, 
May dip and dive in Pleasure's spring ; 
But, if it wait for winter's breeze, 
The spring will chill, the heart will freeze 
And then, that Hope, that fairy Hope, — 

Oh I she awaked such happy dreams, 
And gave my soul such tempting scope 

For all its dearest, fondest scnemes, 



writing upon the Moon by the means of a magic mirror.- 
Sen Bayle, art. Fythag. 



162 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



That not Verona's child of song, 

When flying from the Phrygian shore, 

With lighter heart could bound along, 
Or pant to be a wand'rer more I 1 

Even now delusive hope will steal 
Amid the dark regrets I feel, 
Soothing, as yonder placid beam 

Pursues the murmurers of the deep, 
And lights them with consoling gleam, 

And smiles them into tranquil sleep. 
Oh ! such a blessed night as this, 

I often think, if friends were near, 
How we should feel, and gaze with bliss 

Upon the moon-bright scenery here ! 
The sea is like a silvery lake, 

And o'er its cairn the vessel glides 
Gently, as if it fear'd to wake 

The slumber of the silent tides. 
The only envious cloud that lowers 

Hath hung its shade on Pico's height, 2 
Where dimly, mid the dusk, he towers, 

And scowling at this heav'n of light, 
Exults to see the infant storm 
Cling darkly round his giant form ! 

Now, could I range those verdant isles, 

Invisible at this soft hour, 
And see the looks, the beaming smiles, 

That brighten many an orange bower ; 
And could I lift each pious veil, 

And see the blushing cheek it shades, — 
Oh ! I should have full many a tale, 

To tell of young Azorian maids. 3 
Yes, Strangford, at this hour, perhaps, 

Some lover (not too idly blest, 
Like those, who in their ladies' laps 

May cradle every wish to rest) 
Warbles, to touch his dear one's soul, 

Those madrigals, of breath divine, 
Which Camoens' harp from Rapture stole 

And gave, all glowing warm, to thine. 4 
Oh ! could the lover learn from thee, 

And breathe them with thy graceful tone, 
Such sweet, beguiling minstrelsy 

Would make the coldest nymph his own. 

But, hark ! — the boatswain's pipings tell 
'Tis time to bid my dream farewell : 
Eight bells : — the middle watch is set ; 
Good night, my Strangford i — ne'er forget 

i Alluding to these animated lines in the 44th Carmen of 
Catullus : — 

Jam mens prsetrepidans avet vagari, 
Jam lseti studio pedes vigescunt! 

a A very high mountain on one of the Azores, from which 



That, far beyond the western sea 
Is one, whose heart remembers thee. 



STANZAS. 



Qv[io$ Se ttot' tixos 

[it npooQwvEi raSe 

TivowKt TavQpwntia pri <je(5ziv ayav. 

iEscHYLL. Fragment. 

A beam of tranquillity &miled *n the west, 

The storms of the morning pursued us no more ; 

And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest. 
Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er. 

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour, 

Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead ; 

And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their power, 
As the billow the force of the gale that was fled. 

I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone 
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh ; 

When the saddest emotion my bosom had known, 
Was pity for those who were wiser than I. 

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire 
The pearl of the soul may be melted away ; 

How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire 

We inherit from heav'n, may be quench'd in the 
clay; 

And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame, 
That Pleasure no more might its purity dim ; 

So that, sullied but little, or brightly the same, 
I might give back the boon I had borrow'd from 
him. 

How blest was the thought ! it appear'd as if Heaven 
Had already an opening to Paradise shown ; 

As if, passion all chasten'd and error forgiven, 
My heart then began to be purely its own 

I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky, 

Which morning had clouded, was clouded no 
more : 

" Oh ! thus," I exclaim'd, " may a heavenly eye 
" Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before." 

the island derives its name. It is said by some to be as high 
as the Peak of Teneriffe. 

3 I believe it is Guthrie who says, that the inhabitants of 
the Azores are much addicted to gallantry. This is an as- 
sertion in which even Guthrie may be credited. 

4 These islands belong to the Portuguese. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 163 


TO 


A mother saw our eyelids close, 




And bless'd them into pure repose ; 


THE FLYING FISH. 1 


Then, haply if a week, a day, 


When I have seen thy snow-white wing 


I linger'd from that home away, 


From the blue wave at evening spring, 


How long the little absence seem'd ! 


And show those scales of silvery white, 


How bright the look of welcome beam'd, 


So gayly to the eye of light, 


As mute you heard, with eager smile, 


As if thy frame were form'd to rise, 


My tales of all that pass'd the while ! 


And live amid the glorious skies ; 




Oh ! it has made me proudly feel, 


Yet now, my Kate, a gloomy sea 


How like thy wing's impatient zeal 


Rolls wide between that home and me ; 


Is the pure soul, that rests not, pent 


The moon may thrice be born and die, 


Within this world's gross element, 


Ere ev'n that seal can reach mine eye, 


But takes the wing that God has given, 


Which used so oft, so quick to come, 


And rises into light and heaven ! 


Still breathing all the breath of home, — 




As if, still fresh, the cordial air 


But, when I see that wing, so bright, 


From lips beloved were lingering there. 


Grow languid with a moment's flight, 


But now, alas, — far different fate ! 


Attempt the paths of air in vain, 


It comes o'er ocean, slow and late, 


And sink into the waves again ; 


When the dear hand that fill'd its fold 


Alas ! the flattering pride is o'er; 


With words of sweetness may lie cold. 


Like thee, awhile, the soul may soar, 




Bat erring man must blush to think, 


But hence that gloomy thought ! at last, 


Like thee, again the soul may sink. 


Beloved Kate, the waves are past : 




I tread on earth securely now, 


Oh Virtue ! when thy clime I seek, 


And the green cedar's living bough 


Let not my spirit's flight be weak : 


Breathes more refreshment to my eyes 


Let me not, like this feeble thing, 


Than could a Claude's divinest dyes. 


With brine still dropping from its wing, 


At length I touch the happy sphere 


Just sparkle in the solar glow 


To liberty and virtue dear, 


And plunge again to depths below ; 


Where man looks up, and, proud to claim 


But, when I leave the grosser throng 


His rank within the social frame, 


With whom my soul hath dwelt so long, 


Sees a grand system round him roll, 


Let me, in that aspiring day, 


Himself its centre, sun, and soul ! 


Cast every lingering stain away, 


Far from the shocks of Europe — far 


And, panting for thy purer air, 


From every wild, elliptic star 


Fly up at once and fix me there. 


That, shooting with a devious fire, 




Kindled by heaven's avenging ire, 
So oft hath into chaos hurl'd 




TO 


The systems of the ancient world. 


MISS MOORE. 






The warrior here, in arms no more, 


FROM NORFOLK, IX VIRGINIA, NOVEMBER, 1803. 


Thinks of the toil, the conflict o'er, 


In days, my Kate, when life was new, 


And glorying in the freedom won 


When, lull'd with innocence and you, 


For hearth and shrine, for sire and son, 


I heard, in home's beloved shade, 


Smiles on the dusky webs that hide 


The din the world at distance made ; 


His sleeping sword's remember'd pride. 


When, every night my wea.y head 


While Peace, with sunny cheeks of toil, 


Sunk on its own unthorned bed, 


Walks o'er the free, unlorded soil, 


And, mild as evening's matron hour, 


Effacing with her splendid share 


Looks on the faintly shutting flower, 


The drops that war had sprinkled there. 


1 It is the opinion of St. Austin upon Genesis, and I believe 


■nero^cvoii n-po? ra vtiktcl. With this thought in our minds, 


of nearly all the Fathers, that birds, like fish, were originally 


when we first see the Flying-Fish, we could almost fancy- 


produced from the waters ; in defence of which idea they 


that we are present at the moment of creation and witness 


have collected every fanciful circumstance which can tend 


the birth of the first bird from the waves. 


to prove a kindred similitude between them; avyyeveiav tois 





164 



MOORE'S WORKS. 






Thrice happy land ! where he who flies 
From the dark ills of other skies, 
From scorn, or want's unnerving woes, 
May shelter him in proud repose : 
Hope sings along the yellow sand 
His welcome to a patriot land; 
The mighty wood, with pomp, receives 
The stranger in its world of leaves, 
Which soon their barren glory yield 
To the warm shed and cultured field ; 
And he, who came, of all bereft, 
To whom malignant fate had left 
Nor home nor friends nor country dear, 
Finds home and friends and country here. 

Such is the picture, warmly such, 
That Fancy long, with florid touch, 
Had painted to my sanguine eye 
Of man's new world of liberty. 
Oh ! ask me not, if Truth have yet 
Her seal on Fancy's promise set ; 
If ev'n a glimpse my eyes behold 
Of that imagined age of gold ; — 
Alas, not yet one gleaming trace I 1 
Never did youth, who loved a face 
As sketch'd by some fond pencil's skill, 
And made by fancy lovelier still, 
Shrink back with more of sad surprise, 
When the live model met his eyes, 
Than I have felt, in sorrow felt, 
To find a dream on which I've dwelt 
From boyhood's hour, thus fade and flee 
At touch of stern reality ! 

But, courage, yet, my wavering heart ! 
Blame not the temple's meanest part, 2 
Till thou hast traced the fabric o'er : — 
As yet, we have beheld no more 
Than just the porch to Freedom's fane ; 
And, though a sable spot may stain 
The vestibule, 'tis wrong, 'tis sin 
To doubt the godhead reigns within ! 
So here I pause — and now, my Kate, 
To you, and those dear friends, whose fate 
Touches more near this home-sick soul 
Than all the Powers from pole to pole, 
One word at parting — in the tone 
Most sweet to you, and most my own. 

1 Such romantic works as "The American Farmer's Let- 
ters,'' and the account of Kentucky hy Imlay, would seduce 
us into a belief, that innocence, peace, and freedom had de- 
serted the rest of the world for Martha's Vineyard and the 
banks of the Ohio. The French travellers, too, almost all 
from revolutionary motives, have contributed their share to 
the diffusion of this flattering misconception. A visit to the 
country is, however, quite sufficient to correct even the most 
enthusiastic prepossession. 



The simple strain I send you here, 8 
Wild though it be, would charm your ear, 
Did you but know the trance of thought 
In which my mind its numbers caught. 
'Twas one of those half- waking dreams, 
That haunt me oft, when music seems 
To bear my soul in sound along, 
And turn its feelings all to song. 
I thought of home, the according lays 
Came full of dreams of other days ; 
Freshly in each succeeding note 
I found some young remembrance float, 
Till following, as a clew, that strain, 
I wander'd back to home again. 

Oh ! love the song, and let it oft 
Live on your lip, in accents «oft. 
Say that it tells you, simply weii, 
All I have bid its wild notes tell, — 
Of Memory's dream, of thoughts that yet 
Glow with the light of joy that's set, 
And all the fond heart keeps in store 
Of friends and scenes beheld no more. 
And now, adieu ! — this artless air, 
With a few rhymes, in transcript fair, 
Are all the gifts I yet can boast 
To send you from Columbia's coast ; 
But when the sun, with warmer smile, 
Shall light me to my destin'd isle, 4 
You shall have many a cowslip-bell, 
Where Ariel slept, and many a shell, 
In which that gentle spirit drew 
From honey flowers the morning dew. 



A BALLAD. 

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. 

WRITTEN AT NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA. 

"They tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the 
death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from 
his friends, was never afterwards heard of. As he had fre- 
quently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but 
gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered 
into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been 
lost in some of its dreadful morasses." — Avon. 

" La Poesie a ses monstres comme la nature."— D'Alem- 

BERT. 

" They made her a grave, too cold and damp 
" For a soul su warm and true ; 

2 Norfolk, it must be owned, presents an unfavorable sped 
men of America. The characteristics of Virginia in genera) 
are not such as can delight either the politician or the mor 
alist, and at Norfolk they are exhibited in their least attrac- 
tive form. At the time when we arrived the yellow fevei 
had not yet disappeared, and every odor that assailed us in 
the streets very strongly accounted for its visitation. 

3 A trifling attempt at musical composition accompanied 
this Epistle. 4 Bermuda^ 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



165 



u And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, 1 
" Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, 
" She paddles her white canoe 

" And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, 

" And her paddle I soon shall hear ; 
" Long and loving our life shall be, 
" And I'll hide, the maid in a cypress tree, 

" When the footstep of death is near." 

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — 

His path was rugged and sore, 
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, 
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, 

And man never trod before. 

And, when on earth he sunk to sleep, 

If slumber his eyelids knew, 
He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep 
Its venomous tear and nightly steep 

The flesh with blistering dew ! 

And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake, 
And the copper-snake breathed in his ear, 
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, 
" Oh ! when shall I see the dusky Lake, 
" And the white canoe of my dear ?" 

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its surface play'd — 
"Welcome," he said, " my dear one's light!" 
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, 

The name of the death-cold maid. 

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark, 

Which carried him off from shore ; 
Far, far he follow'd the meteor spark, 
1'ie wind was high and the clouds were dark, 

And the boat return'd no more. 

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp, 

This lover and maid so true 
Are seen at the hour of miduight damp 
To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, 

And paddle their white canoe I 



1 The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve miles distant 
from Norfolk, and the Lake in the middle of it (about seven 
miles long) is called DrummoncPs Pond. 

2 Lady Donegall, I had reason to suppose, was at this time 
still in Switzerland, where the well-known powers of her 
p> ncil must have been frequently awakened. 

" The chapel of William Tell on the Lake of Lucerne. 



TO THE 

MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF DONEGALL. 

FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804. 

Lady ! where'er you roam, whatever land 
Woos the bright touches of that artist hand ; 
Whether you sketch the valley's golden meads, 
Where mazy Linth his lingering current leads f 
Enamor'd catch the mellow hues that sleep, 
At eve, on Meillerie's immortal steep ; 
Or musing o'er the Lake, at day's decline, 
Mark the last shadow on that holy shrine, 3 
Where, many a night, the shade of Tell complains 
Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains ; 
Oh ! lay the pencil for a moment by, 
Turn from the canvass that create e eye, 
And let its splendor, like the morning ray 
Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay. 

Yet, Lady, no — for song so rude as mine, 
Chase not the wonders of your art divine ; 
Still, radiant eye, upon the canvass dwell ; 
Still, magic finger, weave your potent spell ; 
And, while I sing the animated smiles 
Of fairy nature in these sun-born isles, 
Oh, might the song awake some x bright design, 
Inspire a touch, or prompt one happy line, 
Proud were my soul, to see its humble thought 
On painting's mirror so divinely caught ; 
While wondering Genius, as he lean'd to trace 
The faint conception kindling into grace, 
Might love my numbers for the spark they threw, 
And bless the lay that lent a charm to you. 

Say, have you ne'er, in nightly vision, stray'd 
To those pure isles of ever-blooming shade, 
Which bards of old, with kindly fancy, placed 
For happy spirits in th' Atlantic waste ? 4 
There listening, while, from earth, each breeze that 

came 
Brought echoes of their own undying fame, 
In eloquence of eye, and dreams of song, 
They charm'd their lapse of nightless hours along : — 
Nor yet in song, that mortal ear might suit, 
For every spirit was itself a lute, 
Where Virtue waken'd, with elysian breeze, 
Pure tones of thought and mental harmonies. 



* M. Gebelinsays, in his Monde Primitif, "Lorsque Stra- 
bon crut que les anciens theologiens et poe'tes placolent les 
champs elysees dans les isles de l'Ocean Atlantique, il n'en- 
tendit rien a leur doctrine." M. Gehelin's supposition, I have 
no doubt, is the more correct ; but that of Strabo is, in the 
present instance, most to my purpose. 



166 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Believe me, Lady, when the zephyrs bland 
Floated our bark to this enchanted land, — 
These leafy isles upon the ocean thrown, 
Like studs of emerald o'er a silver zone, — 
Not all the charm, that ethnic fancy gave 
To blessed arbors o'er the western wave. 
Could wake a dream, more soothing or sublime, 
Of bowers ethereal, and the Spirit's clime. 

Bright rose the morning, every wave was still, 
When the first perfume of a cedar hill 
Sweetly awaked us, and, with smiling charms, 
The fairy harbor woo'd us to its arms. 1 
Gently we stole, before the whisp'ring wind, 
Through plantain shades, that round, like awnings, 

twined 
And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails, 
Breathing our welcome to these vernal vales ; 
While, far reflected o'er the wave serene, 
Each wooded island shed so soft a green 
That the enamor'd keel, with whisp'ring play, 
Through liquid herbage seem'd to steal its way. 

Never did weary bark more gladly glide, 
Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide ! 
Along the margin, many a shining dome, 
White as the palace of a Lapland gnome, 
Brighten'd the wave ; — in every myrtle grove 
Secluded bashful, like a shrine of love, 
Some elfin mansion sparkled through the shade ; 
And, while the foliage interposing play'd, 
Lending the scene an ever-changing grace, 
Fancy would love, in glimpses vague, to trace 
The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch, 2 
And dream of temples, till her kindling torch 
Lighted me back to all the glorious days 
Of Attic genius ; and I seem'd to gaze 
On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, 
Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount. 

Then thought I, too, of thee, most swoet of all 
The spirit race that come at poet's call, 

1 Nothing can be more romantic than the little harbor of 
St. George's. The number of beautiful islets, the singular 
clearness of the water, and the animated play of the graceful 
little beats, gliding forever between the islands, and seeming 
to sail from one cedar-grove into another, formed altogether 
as lovely a miniature of nature's beauties as can well be 
imagined. 

2 This is an allusion which, to the few who are fanciful 
enough to indulge in it, renders the scenery of Bermuda par- 
ticularly interesting. In the short but beautiful twilight of 
their spring evenings, the white cottages, scattered over the 
islands, and but partially seen through the trees that sur- 
round them, assume often the appearance of little Grecian 
temples; and a vivid fancy may embellish the poor fisher- 
man's hut with columns such as the pencil of a Claude might 
imitate. I had one favorite object of this kind in my walks, 
which the hospitality of its owner robbed me of, by asking 
me to visit him. He was a plain good man, and received me 



Delicate Ariel ! who, in brighter hours, 
Lived on the perfume of these honey'd bowers, 
In velvet buds, at evening, loved to lie, 
And win with music every rose's sigh. 
Though weak the magic of my humble strain 
To charm your spirit from its orb again, 
Yet, oh, for her, beneath whose smile I sing, 
For her (whose pencil, if your rainbow wing 
Were dimm'd or ruffled by a wintry sky, 
Could smooth its feather and relume its dye,) 
Descend a moment from your stariy sphere, 
And, if the lime-tree grove that once was dear, 
The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy hill, 
The sparkling grotto can delight you still, 
Oh cull their choicest tints, their softest light, 
Weave all these spells into one dream of night, 
And, while the lovely artist slumbering lies, 
Shed the warm picture o'er her mental eyes ; 
Take for the task her own creative spells, 
And brightly show what song but faintly tells. 



GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ. 

OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA. 3 

FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804. 

Keivri 6 y rtvtjtoecaa Kai arporros, oia $■' aXiirXrf^t 
Aidviys kui [taWov ariSpofios rjcircp IrrKoiSf 
TlovTt) evearypiKTat.. 

Callimach. Hymn in Del. v. 11. 

Oh, what a sea of storm we've pass'd ! — 
High mountain waves and foamy showers, 

And battling winds whose savage blast 
But ill agrees with one whose hours 
Have pass'd in old Anacreon's bowers. 

Yet think not poesy's bright charm 

Forsook me in this rude alarm : 4 — 



well and warmly, but I could never turn his house into a 
Grecian temple again. 

3 This gentleman is attached to the British consulate at 
Norfolk. His talents are worthy of a much higher sphere ; 
but the excellent dispositions of the family with whom he 
resides, and the cordial repose he enjoys amongst. some of the 
kindest hearts in the world, should be almost enough to atone 
to him for the worst caprices of fortune. The consul him- 
self, Colonel Hamilton, is one among the very few instances 
of a man, ardently loyal to his king, and yet beloved by the 
Americans. His house is the very temple of hospitality, and 
I sincerely pity the heart of that stranger who, warm from 
the welcome of such a board, could sit down to write a libel on 
his host, in the true spirit of a modern philosophist. See the 
Travels of the Duke de la Kouchefoucault Liancourt, vol. ii. 

4 We were seven days on our passage from Norfolk to 
Bermuda, during three of which we were forced to lay-to in 
a gale of wind. The Driver sloop of war, in which I went, 



.J 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



167 



When close they reef d the timid sail, 

When, every plank complaining loud, 
We labor'd in the midnight gale, 

And ev'n our haughty mainmast bow'd, 
Even then, in that unlovely hour, 
The Muse still brought her soothing power, 
And, midst the war of waves and wind, 
In song's Elysium lapp'd my mind. 
Nay, when no numbers of my own 
Responded to her wakening tone, 
She open'd, with her golden key, 

The casket where my memory lays, 
Those gems of classic poesy, 

Which time has saved from ancient days. 

Take one of these, to Lais sung, — 
I wrote it while my hammock swung, 
As one might write a dissertation 
Upon " Suspended Animation !" 

Sweet 1 is your kiss, my Lais dear, 
But, with that kiss I feel a tear 
Gush from your eyelids, such as start 
When those who've dearly loved must part. 
Sadly you lean your head to mine, 
And mute those arms around me twine, 
Your hair adown my bosom spread, 
All glittering with the tears you shed. 
In vain I've kiss'd those lids of snow, 
For still, like ceaseless founts they flow, 
Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet 
Why is it thus ? do tell me, sweet ! 
Ah, Lais ! are my bodings right ? 
Am I to lose you 1 is to-night 

Our last go, false to heaven and me ! 

Your very tears are treachery. 



Such, while in air I floating hung, 
Such was the strain, Morgante mio ! 

was built at Bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an excellent 
sea-boat. She was then commanded by my very much re- 
gretted friend Captain Compton, who in July last was killed 
aboard the Lilly in an action with a French privateer. Poor 
Compton ! he fell a victim to the strange impolicy of allowing 
such a miserable thing as the Lilly to remain in the service ; 
so small, crank, and unmanageable, that a well-manned 
merchantman was at any time a match for her. 

i This epigram is by Paul the Silentiary, and maybe found 
in the Analecta of Brunck, vol. iii. p. 72. As the reading 
there is somewhat different from what I have followed in 
this translation, I shall give it as I had it in my memory at 
the time, and as it is in Heinsius, who, I believe, first pro- 
duced the epigram. See his Poemata. 

'R5v [isvsor.cpiXrinaTO Aaioos' f)8v 6c avrwv 
HnioStvriTtov SaKpv %«'5 fiXeQapaiv, 

Kai ttoXv KixXi£ovaa co/?£ic ev0 o<jt pvxov aiy\r}v, 
'Ufiirepa K£<f>a\riv Srjpov epctaafi£v>i. 

Mvpoixevrtv <5' £^«A?/cr<r ra 6* ws Spocreprjs airo nrjyris, 
AaKpva fxiyvvusvcov nnrri Kara cTOfiarwv 



The muse and I together sung, 
With Boreas to make out the trio 

But, bless the little fairy isle ! 
How sweetly after all our ills, 

We saw the sunny morning smile 
Serenely o'er its fragrant hills ; 

And felt the pure, delicious flow 

Of airs, that round this Eden blow 

Freshly as ev'n the gales that come 
• O'er our own healthy hills at home. 

Could you but view the scenery fair, 

That now beneath my window lies, 
You'd think, that nature lavish'd there 

Her purest wave, her softest skies, 
To make a heaven for love to sigh in, 
For bards to live and saints to die in. 
Close to my wooded bank below, 

In glassy calm the waters sleep, 
And to the sunbeam proudly show 

The coral rocks they love, to steep. 
The fainting breeze of morning fails ; 

The drowsy boat moves slowly past, 
And I can almost touch its sails 

As loose they flap around the mast. 
The noontide sun a splendor pours 
That lights up all these leafy shores ; 
While his own heav'n, its clouds and beams, 

So pictured in the waters lie, 
That each small bark, in passing, seems 

To float along a burning sky. 

Oh for the pinnace lent to thee, 3 

Blest dreamer, who, in vision bright, 
Didst sail o'er heaven's solar sea 

And touch at all its isles of light. 

Sweet Venus, what a clime he found 

Within thy orb's ambrosial round ! 4 — 

There spring the breezes, rich and warm, 

That sigh around thy vesper car; 

'EiireS' aveipojitvip, nvog ovveko. 8aKpva\zi(3tis; 
Atibia p.t} peXnrrjS' eote yap bpKairarai. 

2 The water is so clear around the island, that the rocks 
are seen beneath to a very great depth ; and, as we entered 
the harbor, they appeared to us so near the surface that it 
seemed impossible we should not strike on them. There is 
no necessity, of course, for heaving the lead ; and the negro 
pilot, looking down at the rocks from the bow of the ship, 
takes her through this difficult navigation with a skill and 
confidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest sailors. 

3 In Kircher's " Ecstatic Journey to Heaven," Cosmiel, the 
genius of the world, gives Theodidactus a boat of asbostos, 
with which he embarks into the regions of the sun. " Vides 
(says Cosmiel) hanc asbestinam naviculam commoditati tuse 
praparatam."— Itinerar. I. Dial. i. cap. 5. This work of 
Kircher abounds with strange fancies. 

4 When the Genius of the world and his fellow-traveller 
arrive at tne planet Venus, they find an island of loveliness, 
full of odors and intelligences, where angels preside, who 
shed the cosmetic influence of this planet over the earth; 



168 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


And angels dwell, so pure of form 


'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh, 


That each appears a living star. 1 


Of slumb'ring with the dead to-morrow 


These are the sprites, celestial queen ! 


In the cold deep, 


Thou sendest nightly to the bed 


Where pleasure's throb or tears of sorrow 


Of her I love, with touch unseen 


No more shall wake the heart or eye, 


Thy planet's bright'ning tints to shed ; 


But all must sleep. 


To lend that eye a light still clearer, 




To give that cheek one rose-blush more, 


Well ! — there are some, thou stormy bed, 


And bid that blushing lip be dearer, 


To whom thy sleep would be a treasure; 


Which had been all too dear before. 


Oh ! most to him, 




Whose lip hath drain'd life's cup of pleasure, 


But, whither means the muse to roam ? 


Nor left one honey drop to shed 


'Tis time to call the wand'rer home. 


Round sorrow's brim. 


Who could have thought the nymph would perch her 




Up in the clouds with Father Kircher ? 


Yes — he can smile serene at death : 


So, health and love to all your mansion ! 


Kind heaven, do thou but chase the weeping 


Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in, 


Of friends who love him ; 


The flow of heart, the soul's expansion, 


Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping 


Mirth and song, your board illumine. 


Where sorrow's sting or envy's Ueath 


At all your feasts, remember too, 


No more shall move him. 


When cups are sparkling to the brim, 




That here is one who drinks to you, 




And, oh ! as warmly drink to him. 






ODES TO NEA; 




WRITTEN AT BERMUDA. 


LINES, 

WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA. 

That sky of clouds is not the sky 




NEA Tvpavvti. — Euripid. Medea, v. 967. 


. 


To light a lover to the pillow 


Nay, tempt me not to love again, 


Of her he loves — 


There was a time when love was sweet ; 


The swell of yonder foaming billow 


Dear Nea ! had I known thee then, 


Resembles not the happy sigh 


Our souls had not been slow to meet. 


That rapture moves 


But, oh, this weary heart hath run, 




So many a time, the rounds of pain, 


Yet do I feel more tranquil far 


Not ev'n for thee, thou lovely one, 


Amid the gloomy wilds of ocean, 


Would I endure such pangs again. 


In this dark hour, 




Than when, in passion's young emotion, 


If there be climes, where never yet 


I've stolen, beneath the evening star, 


The print of beauty's foot was set, 


To Julia's bower. 


Where man may pass his loveless nights, 




Unfever'd by her false delights, 


Oh ! there's a holy calm profound 


Thither my wounded soul would fly, 


In awe like this, that ne'er was given 


Where rosy cheek or radiant eye 


To pleasure's thrill ; 


Should bring no more their bliss, or pain, 


'Tis as a solemn voice from heaven, 


Nor fetter me to earth again. 


And the soul, listening to the sound, 


Dear absent girl ! whose eyes of light, 


Lies mute and still. 


Though little prized when all my own, 


such being, according to astrologers, the " vis influxiva" of 


" An aquis globi Veneris baptismus institui potait ?" to which 


Venus. When they are in this part of the heavens, a casuis- 


the Genius answers, " Certainly." 


tical question occurs toTheodidactus, and he asks, "Whether 


1 This idea is Father Kircher's. " Tot animatos soles 


baptism may be performed with the waters of Venus 1"— 


dixisses."— Itinerar. I. Dial. i. cap. 5. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 109 


Now float before me, soft and bright 


Remember, o'er its circling flood 


As when they first enamoring shone, — 


In what a dangerous dream we stood — 


What hours and days have I seen glide, 


The silent sea before us, 


While fix'd, enchanted, by thy side, 


Around us, all the gloom of grove, 


Unmindful of the fleeting day, 


That ever lent its shade to love, 


I've let life's dream dissolve away. 


«• No eye but heaven's o'er us ! 


O bloom of youth profusely shed ! 




O moments ! simply, vainly sped, 


I saw you blush, you felt me tremble, 


Yet sweetly too — for Love perfumed 


In vain would formal art dissemble 


The flame which thus my life consumed ; 


All we then look'd and thought ; 


And brilliant was the chain of flowers, 


'Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 


In which he led my victim -hours. 


'Twas ev'ry thing that young hearts feel, 




By Love and Nature taught. 


Say, Nea, say, coiddst thou, like her, 




When warm to feel and quick to err, 


I stoop'd to cull, with faltering hand, 


Of loving fond, of roving fonder, 


A shell that, on the golden sand 


This thoughtless soul might wish to wander, — 


Before us faintly gleam'd ; 


Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim, 


I trembling raised it, and when y;^i 


Endearing still, reproaching never, 


Had kiss'd the shell, I kiss'd it too — 


Till ev'n this heart should burn with shame, 


How sweet, how wrong it seem'd ! 


And be thy own more fix'd than ever 1 




No, no — on earth there's only one 


Oh, trust me, 'twas a place, an hour, 


Could bind such faithless folly fast ; 


The worst that e'er the tempter's power 


And sure on earth but one alone 


Could tangle me or you in ; 


Could make such virtue false at last ! 


Sweet Nea, let us roam no more 




Along that wild and lonely shore, 


Nea, the heart which she forsook, 


Such walks may be our ruin. 


For thee were but a worthless shrine — 




Go, lovely girl, that angel look 




Must thrill a soul more pure than mine. 
Oh ! thou shalt be all else to me, 






That heart can feel or tongue can feign ; 




I'll praise, admire, and worship thee, 
But must not, dare not, love again. 


You read it in these spell-bound eyes, 
And there alone should love be read ; 




You hear me say it all in sighs, 




And thus alone should love be said. 
Then dread no more ; I will not speak ; 






Although my heart to anguish thrill. 




I'll spare the burning of your cheek, 




And look it all in silence still. 


Tale iter omne cave. 




Propert. lib. iv. eleg. 8. 






Heard you the wish I dared to name, 


I pray you, let us roam no more 


To murmur on that luckless night, 


Along that wild and lonely shore, 


When passion broke the bonds of shame-, 


Where late we thoughtless stray'd ; 


And love grew madness in your sight ? 


'Twas not for us, whom heaven intends 




To be no more than simple friends, 


Divinely through the graceful dance, 


Such lonely walks were made. 


You seem'd to float in silent song, 




Bending to earth that sunny glance, 


That little Bay, where turning in 


As if to light your steps along. 


From ocean's rude and angry din, 




As lovers steal to bliss, 


Oh ! how could others dare to touch 


The billows kiss the shore, and then 


That hallow'd form with hand so free, 


Flow back into the deep again, 


When but to look was bliss too much, 


As though they did not kiss. 


Too rare for all but Love and me ! 



170 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



With smiling eyes, that little thought 
How fatal were the beams they threw, 

My trembling hands you lightly caught, 
And round me, like a spirit, flew. 

Heedless of all, but you alone, — 

And you, at least, should not condemn, 

If, when such eyes before me shone, 
My soul forgot all eyes but them, — 

I dared to whisper passion's vow, — 

For love had ev'n of thought bereft me, — 

Nay, half-way bent to kiss that brow, 
But, with a bound, you blushing left me. 

Forget, forget that night's offence, 

Forgive it, if, alas ! you can ; 
'Twas love, 'twas passion — soul and sense — 

'Twas all that's best and worst in man. 

That moment, did th' assembled eyes 
Of heaven and earth my madness view, 

I should have seen, through earth and skies, 
But you alone — but only you. 

Did not a frown from you reprove, 
Myriads of eyes to me were none ; 

Enough for me to win your love, 
And die upon the spot when won. 



A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY. 

I just had turn'd the classic page, 
And traced that happy period over, 

When blest alike were youth and age, 

And love inspired the wisest sage, 

And wisdom graced the tenderest lover. 

Before I laid me down to sl?ep, 
Awhile I from the lattice g^ed 

Upon that still and moonlight deep, 
With isles like floating gardens raised 

For Ariel there his sports to keep ; 

While, gliding 'twixt their leafy shores, 

The lone night-fisher plied his oars. 

i Gassendi thinks that the gardens, which Pausanias men- 
tions in his first book, were those of Epicurus; and Stuart 
says, in his Antiquities of Athens, " Near this convent (the 
convent of Hagios Asomatos) is the place called at present 
Kepoi, or the Gardens; and Ampelos Kepos, or the Vine- 
yard Garden : these were probably the gardens which Pau- 
aanias visited." Vol. i. chap. 2. 



I felt, — so strongly fancy's power 
Came o'er me in that witching hour, — 
As if the whole bright scenery there 

Were lighted by a Grecian sky, 
And I then breathed the blissful air 

That late had thrill'd to Sappho's sigh. 

Thus, waking, dream'd I, — -and when Sleep 

Came o'er my sense, the dream went on ; 
Nor, through her curtain dim and deep, 

Hath ever lovelier vison shone. 
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd 
Through that serene, luxurious shade, 1 
Where Epicurus taught the Loves 

To polish virtue's native brightness, — 
As pearls, we're told, that fondling doves 

Have play'd with, wear a smoother whiteness.' 
'Twas one of those delicious nights 

So common in the climes of Greece, 
When day withdraws but half its lights, 

And all is moonshine, balm, and pr.«\ce. 
And thou wert there, my own beloved, 
And by thy side I fondly roved 
Through many a temple's reverend gloom, 
And many a bower's seductive bloom, 
Where Beauty learn'd what Wisdom taught, 
And sages sigh'd and lovers thought ; 
Where schoolmen conn'd no maxims stern, 

But all was form'd to sooth or move, 
To make the dullest love to learn, 

To make the coldest learn to love. 

And now the fairy pathway seem'd 

To lead us through enchanted ground, 
Where all that bard has ever dream'd 

Of love or luxury bloom'd around. 
Oh ! 'twas a bright, bewild'ring scene — 
Along the alley's deep'ning green 
Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers, 
And scented and illumed the bowers, 
Seem'd, as to him, who darkling roves 
Amid the lone Hercynian groves, 
Appear those countless birds of light, 
That sparkle in the leaves at night, 
And from their wings diffuse a ray 
Along the traveller's weary way. 3 
'Twas light of that mysterious kind, 

Through which the soul perchance may roam, 
When it has left this world behind, 

And gone to seek its heavenly home. 

2 This method of polishing pearls, by leaving them awhile 
to be played with by doves, is mentioned by the fanciful Car- 
danus, de Rerum Varietat. lib. vii. cap. 34. 

3 In Hercynio Germanise saltu inusitata genera alitum ac 
cepimus, quarum plume, ignium modo, colluceant noctibus. 
—Plin. lib. x. cap. 47. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



171 



And, Nea, thou wert by my side,. 

Through all this heav'nward path my guide. 

But, lo, as wand'ring thus we ranged 
That upward path, the vision changed ; 
And now, methought, we stole along 

Through halls of more voluptuous glory 
Than ever lived in Teian song, 

Or wanton'd in Milesian story. 1 
And nymphs were there, whose very eyes 
Seem'd soften'd o'er with breath of sighs ; 
Whose ev'ry ringlet, as it wreath'd, 
A mute appeal to passion breathed. 
Some flew, with amber cups, around, 

Pouring the flowery wines of Crete ; 2 
And, as they pass'd with youthful bound, 

The onyx shone beneath their feet. 3 
While others, waving arms of snow 

Entwined by snakes of burnish'd gold, 4 
And showing charms, as loath to show, 

Through many a thin Tarentian fold, 5 
Glided among the festal throng 
Bearing rich urns of flowers along. 
Where roses lay, in languor breathing, 
And the young bee-grape, 6 round them wreathing, 
Hung on their blushes warm and meek, 
Like curls upon a rosy cheek. 

Oh, Nea ! why did morning break 

The spell that thus divinely bound me ? 

Why did I wake? how could I wake 

With thee my own and heaven around me ! 



Well — peace to thy heart, though another's it be, 
And health to that cheek, though it bloom not for 



1 The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin in Mi- 
letus, a luxurious town of Ionia. Aristides was the most 
celebrated author of these licentious fictions. See Plutarch, 
(in Crasso,) who calls them aKuXaara /?i/?Xia. 

2 " Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenseus calls oivog 
avQocjiiai, from their fragrancy resembling that of the 
finest flowers." — Barry on Wines, chap. vii. 

s It appears that in very splendid mansions, the floor or 
pavement was frequently of onyx. Thus Martial: "Calca- 
tusque tuo sub pede lucet onyx." Epig. 50, lib. xii. 

4 Bracelets of this shape were a favorite ornament among 
the women of antiquity. Oi eniK'ipKioi o<pas Kai at xp vaai 
neSai QaiSog Kai Aptorayopas Kai kaifos <tapp.ana. — Philos- 
trat. Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of the fcpaxioiai 6pa- 
Kot/res. See his A mores, where he describes the dressing- 
room of a Grecian lady, and we find the " silver vase," the 
rouge, the tooth-powder, and all the " mystic order" of a 
modern toilet. 

s TapavriviSiov, Siaipavcs cvtvfxa, wvouauuevov axo tijs 
TapavTivuv xpr.o-£a)f Kai rpv<pris. — Pollux. 

s Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv., and " now called 



To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves, 7 
Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, 
And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet 
Their allurements forgive and their splendor forget. 

Farewell to Bermuda, 8 and long may the bloom 
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume ; 
May spring to eternity hallow the shade, 
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller 9 has stray'd. 
And thou— when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to 

roam 
Through the lime-cover'd alley that leads to thy 

home, 
Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done, 
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun, 
I have led thee along, and have told by the way 
What my heart all the night had been burning to 

say — 
Oh ! think of the past — give a sigh to those times, 
And a blessing for me to that alley of limes. 



If I were yonder wave, my dear, 
And thou the isle it clasps around, 

I would not let a foot come near 
My land of bliss, my fairy ground. 

If I were yonder conch of gold, 

And thou the pearl within it placed, 

I would not let an eye behold 

The sacred gems my arms embraced. 

If I were yonder orange-tree, 

And thou the blossom blooming there, 

I would not yield a breath of thee 
To scent the most imploring air. 

the Muscatel, (a muscarum telis,") says Pancirollus, book i., 
sect. 1, chap. 17. 

7 I had, at this time, some idea of paying a visit to the 
West Indies. 

8 The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were writ- 
ten Bermooda. See the commentators on the words "still- 
vex'd Bermoothes," in the Tempest. — I wonder it did not 
occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, 
the discoverer of this " island of hogs and devils" might have 
been no less a personage than the great John Bermudez, 
who, about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth 
century) was sent Patriarch of the Latin church to Ethiopia, 
and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons and 
the Griffins which he encountered. — Travels of the Jesuits, 
vol. i. lam afraid, however, it would take the Patriarch 
rather too much out of his way. 

9 Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda ; 
but the "Account of the European Settlements in America" 
affirms it confidently, (vol.ii.) I mention this work, however, 
less for its authority than for the pleasure I feel in quoting 
an unacknowledged production of the great Edmund Burke. 



172 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Oh ! bend not o'er the water's brink, 
Give not the wave that odorous sigh, 

Nor let its burning mirror drink 
The soft reflection of thine eye. 

That glossy hair, that glowing cheek, 
So pictured in the waters seem, 

That I could gladly plunge to seek 
Thy image in the glassy stream. 

Blest fate ! at once my chilly grave 
And nuptial bed that stream might be ; 

I'll wed thee in its mimic wave, 
And die upon the shade of thee. 

Behold the leafy mangrove, bending 
O'er the waters blue and bright, 

Like Nea's silky lashes, lending 
Shadow to her eyes of light. 

Oh, my beloved ! where'er I turn, 

Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes 

In every star thy glances burn ; 
Thy blush on every flow'ret lies. 

Nor find I in creation aught 
Of bright, or beautiful, or rare, 

Sweet to the sense, or pure to thought, 
But thou art found reflected there. 



THE 

SNOW SPIRIT. 

No, ne'er did the wave in its element steep 

An island of lovelier charms : 
It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, 

Like Hebe in Hercules' arms. 
The blush of your bowers is light to the eye, 

And their melody balm to the ear ; 
But the fiery planet of day is too nigh, 

And the Snow Spirit never comes here. 

The down from his wing is as white as the pearl 

That shines through thy lips when they part, 
And it falls on the green earth as melting, my girl, 

As a murmur of thine on the heart. 
Oh ! fly to the clime, where he pillows the deaths 

As he cradles the birth of the year ; 
Bright are your bowers and balmy their breath, 

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 

1 The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of the West 
Indies. 
3 The Agave. This, I am aware, is an erroneous notion, 



How sweet to behold him, when bome on the gale, 

And brightening the bosom of morn, 
He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil 

O'er the brow of each virginal thorn. 
Yet think not the veil he so chillingly casts 

Is the veil of a vestal severe ; 
No, no, thou wilt see, what a moment it lasts, 

Should the Snow Spirit ever come here 

But fly to his region — lay open thy zone, 

And he'll weep all his brilliancy dim, 
To think that a bosom, as white as his own, 

Should not melt in the daybeam like him. 
Oh ! lovely the print of those delicate feet 

O'er his luminous path will appear — 
Fly, fly, my beloved ! this island is sweet, 

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 



EvravOa Se KaOwpjiKxrai fiixiv. kcu b, ti jjtev ovojia rtj vr><ju>, 
ovk oida' X9 v<jr ) & av npos ye t\>.ov ovoixa^oiro. — Philos- 
trat. Icon. 17, lib. ii. 

I stole along the flowery bank, 
While many a bending seagrape 1 drank 
The sprinkle of the feathery oar 
That wing'd me round this fairy shore. 

'Twas noon ; and every orange bud 
Hung languid o'er the crystal flood, 
Faint as the lids of maiden's eyes 
When love-thoughts in her bosom rise. 
Oh, for a naiad's sparry bower, 
To shade me in that glowing hour ! 

A little dove, of milky hue, 
Before me from a plantain flew, 
And, light along the water's brim, 
I steer'd my gentle bark by him ; 
For fancy told me, Love had sent 
This gentle bird with kind intent 
To lead my steps, where I should meet — 
I knew not what, but something sweet. 

And — bless the little pilot dove ! 
He had indeed been sent by Love, 
To guide me to a scene so dear 
As fate allows but seldom here ; 
One of those rare and brilliant hours, 
That, like the aloe's 2 lingering flowers, 
May blossom to the eye of man 
But once in all his weary span. 

but it is quite true enough for poetry Plato, I think, allows 
a poet to be " three removes from truth;" rpiraros ano rm 
a\rjdetas. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 173 


Just where the margin's op'ning shade 


Nor thought that time's succeeding lapse 


A vista from the waters made, 


Should see it grace a lovelier maid. 


My bird reposed his silver plume 




Upon a rich banana's bloom. 


Look, dearest, what a sweet design ! 


Oh vision bright ! oh spirit fair ! 


The more we gaze, it charms the more ; 


What spell, what magic raised her there? 


Come — closer bring that cheek to mine, 


'Twas Nea ! slumb'ring calm and mild, 


And trace with me its beauties o'er. 


And bloomy as the dimpled child, 




Whose spirit in elysium keeps 


Thou seest, it is a simple youth 


Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps. 


By some enamor'd nymph embraced — 




Look, as she leans, and say in sooth, 


The broad banana's green embrace 


Is not that hand most fondly placed? 


Hung shadowy round each tranquil grace ; 




One little beam alone could win 


Upon his curled head behind 


The leaves to let it wander in, 


It seems in careless play to lie, 1 


And, stealing over all her charms, 


Yet presses gently, half inclined 


From lip to cheek, from neck to amis, 


To bring the truant's lip more nigh 


New lustre to each beauty lent, — 




Its/'f all trembling as it went ! 


Oh happy maid ! too happy boy ! 




The one so fond and little loath, 


i Dark lay her eyelid's jetty fringe 


The other yielding slow to joy — 


Upon that cheek whose roseate tinge 


Oh rare, indeed, but blissful both. 


Mix'd with its shade, like evening's light 




Just touching on the verge of night. 


Imagine, love, that I am he, 


Her eyes, though thus in slumber hid, 


And just as warm as he is chilling ; 


Seem'd glowing through the ivory lid, 


Imagine, too, that thou art she, 


And, as I thought, a lustre threw 


But quite as coy as she is willing : 


Upon her lip's reflecting dew, — 




Such as a night-lamp, left to shine 


So may we try the graceful way 


Alone on some secluded shrine, 


In which their gentle arms are twined, 


May shed upon the votive wreath, 


And thus, like her, my hand I lay 


Which pious hands have hung beneath. 


Upon thy wreathed locks behind : 


Was ever vision half so sweet ! 


And thus I feel thee breathing sweet, 


Think, think how quick my heart -pulse beat, 


As slow to mine thy head I move ; 


As o'er the rustling bank I stole ; — 


And thus our lips together meet, 


Oh ! ye, that know the lover's soul, 


,-lnd thus, — and thus, — I kiss thee, love. 


It is for you alone to guess, 


That moment's trembling happiness 




\i(3avorcj siKaaev, bri anoWvuzvov evippaivet. 




Aristot. Rhetor, lib. iii. cap. 4. 
There's not a look, a word of thine, 






My soul hath e'er forgot ; 


A STUDY FROM THE ANTIQUE. 


Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, 




Nor given thy locks one graceful twine 


Behold, my love, the curious gem 


Which I remember not. 


Within this simple ring of gold ; 




'Tis hallow'd by the touch of them 


There never yet a murmur fell 


Who lived in classic hours of old 


From that beguiling tongue, 




Which did not, with a ling'ring spell, 


Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps, 


Upon my charmed senses dwell, 


Upon her hand this gem display'd, 


Like songs from Eden sung. 


1 Somewhat liKe the symplegma of Cupid and Psyche at 


tlnum, torn. ii. tah. 43, 14. There are few subjects on which 


Florence, in which the position of Psyche's hand is finely and 


poetry could be more interestingly employed than in illus- 


delicately expressive of affection. See the Museum Floren- 


trating some of these ancient statues and gems. 



174 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Ah ! that I could, at once, forget 

All, all that haunts me so — 
And yet, thou witching girl, — and yet, 
To die were sweeter than to let 
The loved remembrance go. 

No ; if this slighted heart must see 

Its faithful pulse decay, 
Oh let it die, rememb'ring thee, 
And, like the burnt aroma, be 

Consumed in sweets away. 



JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. 

FROM BERMUDA. 1 

" The daylight is gone — but, before we depart, 
" One cup shall go round to the friend of my heart, 
" The kindest, the dearest — oh ! -judge by the tear 
" I now shed while I name him, how kind and how 
dear." 



'Twas thus in the shade of the Calabash-Tree, 
With a few, who could feel and remember like me, 
The charm that, to sweeten my goblet, I threw 
Was a sigh to the pas' and a blessing on you. 

• Pinkerton has said that " a good history and description 
of the Bermudas might afford a pleasing addition to the geo- 
graphical library ;" but there certainly are not materials for 
such a work. The island, since the time of its discovery, 
has experienced so very few vicissitudes^he people have 
been so indolent, and their trade so limited, that there is but 
little which the historian could amplify into importance ; and, 
with respect to the natural productions of the country/the 
few which the J nhabitants can be induced to cultivate are so 
common in the West Indies, that they have been described 
by every naturalist who has written any account of those 
islands. 

It is often asserted by the trans- Atlantic politicians that this 
little colony deserves more attention from the mother-country 
than it receives, and it certainly possesses advantages of sit- 
uation, to which we should not be long insensible if it were 
once in the hands of an enemy. I was told by a celebrated 
friend of Washington, at New York, that they had formed a 
plan for its capture towards the conclusion of the American 
War; "with the intention (as he expressed himself) of ma- 
king it a nest of hornets for the annoyance of British trade in 
that part of the world." And there is no doubt it lies so con- 
veniently in the track to the West Indies, that an enemy might 
with ease convert it into a very harassing impediment. 
The plan of Bishop Berkeley for a college at Bermuda, where 
American savages might be converted and educated, though 
concurred in by the government of the day, was a wild and 
useless speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who was governor of the 
island some years since, proposed, if I mistake not, the estab- 



Oh ! say, is it thus, in the mirth-bringing hour, 
When friends are assembled, when wit, in full 

flower, 
Shoots forth from the lip, under Bacchus's dew, 
In blossoms of thought ever springing and new — 
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow the brim 
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him 
Who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair, 
And would pine in elysium, if friends were not 

there ! 

Last night, when we came from the Calabash- 
Tree, 
When my limbs were at rest and my "Dirit was free, 
The glow of the grape and the dreams .f the day 
Set the magical springs of my fancy in play, 
And oh, — such a vision has haunted me then 
I would slumber for ages to witness again. 
The many I like and the few I adore, 
The friends who were dear and beloved before, 
But never till now so beloved and dear, 
At the call of my fancy, surrounded me here ; 
And soon, — oh, at once, did the light of their smiki 
To a paradise brighten this region of isles ; 
More lucid the wave, as they look'd on it, flow'd, 
And brighter the rose, as they gather'd it, glow'd. 
Not the valleys Hersean, (though water'd by rills 
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills, 2 
Where the Song of the Shepherd, primeval and wild, 
Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child,) 
Could boast such a lustre o'er land and o'er wave 
As the magic of love to this paradise gave. 

lishment of a marine academy for the instruction of those 
children of West Indians, who might be intended for any 
nautical employment. This was a more rational idea, and 
for something of this nature the island is admirably calcula- 
ted. But the plan should be much more extensive, and em- 
brace a general system of education ; which would relieve 
the colonists from the alternative to which they are reduced 
at present, of either sending their sons to England for in- 
struction, or intrusting them to colleges in the states of 
America, where ideas, by no means favorable to Great Brit- 
ain, are very sedulously inculcated. 

The women of Bermuda, though not generally handsome, 
have an affectionate languor in their look and manner, which 
is always interesting. What the French imply by their epi- 
thet aimante seems very much the character of the young 
Bermudian girls — that predisposition to loving, which, with- 
out being awakened by any particular object, diffuses itself 
through the general manner in a tone of tenderness that 
never fails to fascinate. The men of the island, I confess, 
are not very civilized : and the old philosopher, who ima- 
gined that, after this life, men would be changed into mules, 
and women into turtle-doves, would find the metamorphosis 
in some degree anticipated at Bermuda. 

2 Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, the first in- 
ventor of bucolic poetry, was nur*erl by the nymphs. Sec the 
lively description of these mountains in Diodorus Siculus, 
lib. iv. 'Upaia yap oprj Kara rt)v HikiXiuj earn, a t>aai ki\- 
\ei, k. t. A. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



173 



Oh magic of love ! unembellish'd by you, 
Hath the garden a blush or the landscape a hue ? 
Or shines there a vista in nature or art, 
Like that which Love opes thro' the eye to the heart ? 

Alas, that a vision so happy should fade ! 
That, when morning around me in brilliancy play'd, 
The rose and the stream I had thought of at night 
Should still be before me, unfadingly bright ; 
While the friends, who had seem'd to hang over the 

stream, 
And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream. 

But look, where, all ready, in sailing array, 
The bark that's to carry these pages away, 1 
Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind, 
And will soon leave these islets of Ariel behind. 
What billows, what gales is she fated to prove, 
Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that I love ! 
Yet pleasant the swell of the billows would be, 
And the roar of those gales would be music to me. 
Not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew, 
Not the sunniest tears of the summer-eve dew, 
Were as sweet as the storm, or as bright as the foam 
Of the surge, that would hurry your wanderer home. 



THE 

STEERSMAN'S SONG, 

WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 28TH APRIL. 2 

When freshly blows the northern gale, 

And under courses snug we fly ; 
Or when light breezes swell the sail, 

And royab y-oudly sweep the sky ; 
'Longside the wneel, unwearied still 

I stand, and, as my watchful eye 
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, 

I think of her I love, and cry, 

Port, my boy ! port. 

When calms delay, or breezes blow 
Right from the point we wish to steer ; 

When by the wind close-haul' d we go, 
And strive in vain the port to near ; 

I think 'tis thus the fates defer 
My bliss with one that's far away, 

i A ship, ready to sail for England. 

2 1 left Bermuda in the Boston about the middle of April, 
in company with the Cambrian and Leander, aboard the lat- 
ter of which was the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who 
divides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the 
very soul of society and good-fellowship to both. We sepa- 
rated in a few days, and the Boston, after a short cruise, 
proceeded to New York. 



And while remembrance springs to her, 
I watch the sails and sighing say, 

Thus, my boy ! thus. 

But see, the wind draws kindly aft. 

All hands are up the yards to square, 
And now the floati-.g stu'n-sails waft 

Our stately ship through waves and air. 
Oh ! then I think that yet for me 

Some breeze of fortune thus may spring, 
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee — 

And in that hope I smiling sing, 

Steady, boy ! so 



THE FIRE-FLY. 3 

At morning, when the earth and sky 
Are glowing wit h the light of spring, 

We see thee not, thou humble fly ! 
Nor think upon thy gleaming wing. 

But when the skies have lost their hue s 
And sunny lights no longer play, 

Oh then we see and bless thee too 
For sparkling o'er the dreary way. 

Thus let me hope, when lost to me 
The lights that now my life illume, 

Some milder joys may come, like thee, 
To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom ! 



TO 



THE LORD VISCOUNT FORBES. 

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 

If former times had never left a trace 
Of human frailty in their onward race, 
Nor o'er their pathway written, as they ran, 
One dark memorial of the crimes of man ; 
If every age, in new unconscious prime, 
Rose like a phenix, from the fires of time, 

3 The lively and varying illumination, with which these 
fire-flies light up the woods at night, gives quite an idea of 
enchantment. "Puis ces mouches se developpant de l'ob- 
scurite de ces arbres et s'approchant de nous, nous les voy- 
ions sur les orangers voisins,- qu'ils mettoient tout en feu, 
nous rendant la vue de leurs beaux fruits dons que la unit 
avoit ravie," &c. &.C.— See UHistoire des Antilles, art. -2, 
chap. 4, liv. i. 



176 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



To wing its way unguided and alone, 
The future smiling and the past unknown ; 
Then ardent man would to himself be new, 
Earth at his foot and heaven within his view : 
Well might the novice hope, the sanguine scheme 
Of full perfection prompt his daring dream, 
Ere cold experience, with her veteran lore, 
Could tell him, fools had dreamt as much before. 
But, tracing as we do, through age and clime, 
The plans of virtue midst the deeds of crime, 
The thinking follies and the reasoning rage 
Of man, at once the idiot and the sage ; 
When still we see, through every varying frame 
Of arts and polity, his course the same, 
And know that ancient fools but died, to make 
A space on earth for modern fools to take ; 
'Tis strange, how quickly we the past forget ; 
That Wisdom's self should not be tutor'd yet, 
Nor tire of watching for the monstrous birth 
Of pure perfection midst the sons of earth ! 

Oh ! nothing but that soul which God has given, 
Could lead us thus to look on earth for heaven ; 
O'er dross without to shed the light within, 
And dream of virtue while we see but sin. 

Even here, beside the proud Potowmac's stream, 
Might sages still pursue the flatt'ring theme 
Of days to come, when man shall conquer fate, 
Rise o'er the level of his mortal state, 
Belie the monuments of frailty past, 
And plant perfectioir in this world at last ! 
" Here," might they say, " shall power's divided 

reign 
" Evince that patriots have not bled in vain. 
" Here godlike liberty's herculean youth, 
" Cradled in peace, and nurtured up by truth 
" To full maturity of nerve and mind, 
" Shall crush the giants that bestride mankind. 1 
" Here shall religion's pure and balmy draught 
" In form no more from cups of state be quafF'd, 
" But flow for all, through nation, rank, and sect 
" Free as that heaven its tranquil waves reflect. 
" Around the columns of the public shrine 
" Shall growing arts their gradual wreath intwine, 
" Nor breathe corruption from the flow'ring braid, 
" Nor mine that fabric which they bloom to shade. 

i Thus Morse. " Here the sciences and the arts of civil- 
ized life are to receive their highest improvements: here 
civil and religious liberty are to flourish, unchecked by the 
cruel hand of civil or ecclesiastical tyranny: here genius, 
aided by all the improvements of former ages, is to be exert- 
ed in humanizing mankind, in expandingand enriching their 
minds with religious and philosophical knowledge," &c.&c. 
—P. 5G9. 

2 " What will be the old age of this government, if it is 
thii3 early decrepit !" Such was the remark of Fauchet, the 



" No longer here shall justice bound her view, 
" Or wrong the many, while she rights the few ; 
" But take her range through all the social frame, 
" Pure and pervading as that vital flame 
" Which warms at once our best and meanest part, 
" And thrills a hah while it expands a heart !" 

Oh golden dream ! what soul that loves to scan 
The bright disk rather than the dark of man, 
That owns the good, while smarting with the ill, 
And loves the world with all its frailty still, — 
What ardent bosom does not spring to meet 
The generous hope, with all that heavenly heat, 
Which makes the soul unwilling to resign 
The thoughts of growing, even on earth, divine ! 
Yes, dearest friend, I see thee glow to think 
The chain of ages yet may boast a link 
Of purer texture than the world has known, 
And fit to bind us to a Godhead's throne. 

But, is it thus ? doth even the glorious dream 
Borrow from truth that dim, uncertain gleam, 
Which tempts us still to give such fancies scope, 
As shock not reason, while they nourish hope ? 
No, no, believe me, 'tis not so — ev'n now, 
While yet upon Columbia's rising brow 
The showy smile of young presumption plays, 
Her bloom is poison'd and her heart decays. 
Even now, in dawn of life, her sickly breath 
Burns with the taint of empires near their death ; 
And, like the nymphs of her own with'ring clime, 
She's old in youth, she's blasted in her prime. 2 

Already has the child of Gallia's school, 
The foul Philosophy that sins by rule, 
With all her train of reasoning, damning arts, 
Begot by brilliant heads on worthless hearts, 
Like things that quicken after Nilus' flood, 
The venom'd birth of sunshine and of mud, — 
Already has she pour'd her poison here 
O'er every charm that makes existence dear ; 
Already blighted, with her black'ning trace, 
The op'ning bloom of every social grace, 
And all those courtesies, that love to shoot 
Round virtue's stem, the flow'rets of her fruit. 

And were these errors but the wanton tide 
Of young luxuriance or unchasten'd pride ; 

French minister at Philadelphia, in that famous dispatch to 
his government, which was intercepted by one of our cruis- 
ers in the year 1794. This curious memorial maybe found 
in Porcupine's Works, vol. i. p. 279. It remains a striking 
monument of republican intrigue on one side, and republican 
profligacy on the other ; and I would recommend the perusal 
of it to every honest politician, who may labor under a mo- 
ment's delusion with respect to the purity of American 
patriotism. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



177 



The fervid follies and the faults of such » 
As wrongly feel, because they feel too much ; 
Then might experience make the fever less, 
Nay, graft a virtue on each warm excess. 
But no ; 'tis heartless, speculative ill, 
All youth's transgression with all age's chili ; 
The apathy of wrong, the bosom's ice, 
A slow and cold stagnation into vice. 

Long has the love of gold, that meanest rage, 
And latest folly of man's sinking age, 
Which, rarely venturing in the van of life, 
While nobler passions wage their heated strife, 
Comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear, 
And dies, collecting lumber in the rear, — » 

Long has it palsied every grasping hand 
And greedy spirit through this bartering land; 
Turn'd life to traffic, set the demon gold 
So loose abroad that virtue's self is sold, 
And conscience, truth, and honesty are made 
To rise and fall, like other wares of trade. 1 

Already in this free, this virtuous state, 
Which, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain'd by fate 
To show the world, what high perfection springs 
From rabble senators, and merchant kings, — 
Even here already patriots learn to steal 
Their private perquisites from public weal, 
And, guardians of the country's sacred fire, 
Like Afric's priests, let out the flame for hire. 
Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly rose 
From England's debtors to be England's foes, 2 
Who could their monarch in their purse forget, 
And break allegiance, but to cancel debt, 3 
Have proved, at length, the mineral's tempting 

hue, 
Which makes a patriot, can unmake him too* 
Oh ! Freedom, Freedom, how I hate thy cant ! 
Not Eastern bombast, not the savage rant 
Of purpled madmen, were they number'd all 
From Roman Nero down to Russian Paul, 



i " Nous voyons que, dans les pays oii Ton n'est affecte 
que de l'esprit de commerce, on trafique de toutesles actions 
humaines et de toutes les vertus morales."— Montesquieu, 
de V Esprit des Lois, liv. xx. chap. 2. 

2 I trust I shall not be suspected of a wish to justify those 
arbitrary steps of the English government which the colonies 
found it so necessary to resist ; my only object here is to ex- 
pose the selfish motive of some of the leading American 
demagogues. 

' 3 The most persevering enemy to the interests of this 
country, amongst the politicians of the western world, has 
been a Virginian merchant, who, finding it easier to settle 
his conscience than his debts, was one of the first to raise the 
standard against Great Britain, and has ever since endeav- 
ored to revenge upon the whole country the obligations 
which he lies under to a few of its merchants. 

* See Porcupine's account of the Pennsylvania Insurrec- 



12 



Could grate upon my ear so mean, so base, 
As the rank jargon of that factious race, 
Who, poor of heart and prodigal of words, 
Form'd to be slaves, yet struggling to be lords, 
Strut forth, as patriots, from their negro-marts, 
And shout for rights, with rapine in their hearts. 

Who can, with patience, for a moment see 
The medley mass of pride and misery, 
Of whips and charters, manacles and rights, 
Of slaving blacks and democratic whites, 5 
And all the piebald polity that reigns 
In free confusion o'er Columbia's plains? 
To think that man, thou just and gentle God ! 
Should stand before thee with a tyrant's rod 
O'er creatures like himself, with souls from thee, 
Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty ; 
Away, away — I'd rather hold my neck 
By doubtful tenure from a sultan's beck, 
In climes where liberty has scarce been named, 
Nor any right, but that of ruling, claim'd, 
Than thus to live, where bastard Freedom waves 
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves ; 
Where — motley laws admitting no degree 
Betwixt the vilely slaved and madly free — 
Alike the bondage and the license suit, 
The brute made ruler and the man made brute. 

But, while I thus, my friend, in flowerless song, 
So feebly paint, what yet I feel so strong, 
The ills, the vices of the land, where first 
Tho% rebel fiends, that rack the world, were nursed, 
Where treason's arm by royalty was nerved, 
And Frenchmen learn'd to crush the throne they 

served — 
Thou, calmly lull'd in dreams of classic thought, 
By bards illumined and by sages taught, 
Pant'st to be all, upon this mortal scene, 
That bard hath fancied or that sage hath been. 
Why should I wake thee ? why severely chase 
The lovely forms of virtue and of grace, 



tion in 1794. In short, see Porcupine's works throughout, 
for ample corroboration of every sentiment which I have 
ventured to express. In saying this, I refer less to the com- 
ments of that writer than to the occurrences which he has 
related and the documents which he has preserved. Opinion 
may be suspected of bias, but facts speak for themselves. 

5 In Virginia the effects of this system begin -to be felt 
rather seriously. While the master raves of liberty, the 
slave cannot but catch the contagion, and accordingly there 
seldom elapses a month without some alarm of insurrection 
amongst the negroes. The accession of Louisiana, it is 
feared, will increase this embarrassment; as the numerous 
emigrations, which are' expected to take place, from the 
southern states to this newly-acquired territory, will consid- 
erably diminish the white population, and thus strengthen 
the proportion of negroes, to a degree which mustultimatel> 
be ruinous. 



178 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



That dwell before thee, like the pictures spread 
By Spartan matrons round the genial bed, 
Moulding thy fancy, and with gradual art 
Bright'ning the young conceptions of thy heart. 

Forgive me, Forbes — and should the song destroy 
One generous hope, one throb of social joy, 
One high pulsation of the zeal for man, 
Which few can feel, and bless that few who can, — 
Oh ! turn to him, beneath whose kindred eyes 
Thy talents open and thy virtues rise, 
Forget where nature has been dark or dim, 
And proudly study all her lights in him. 
Yes, yes, in him the erring world forget, 
And feel that man may reach perfection yet. 



TO 

THOMAS HUME, ESQ., M. D. 

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 

Airiyri70ixai SiriyrjpiaTa tews amaTa. KOtvcova liv imovda 
ovk £%wi\ Xenophont. Ephes. Ephesiac. lib. V. 

'Tis evening now ; beneath the western star 
Soft sighs the lover through his sweet cigar, 
And fills the ears of some consenting she 
With puffs and vows, with smoke and constancy. 
The patriot, fresh from Freedom's councils coml^ 
Now pleased retires to lash his slaves at home ; , 
Or woo, perhaps, some black Aspasia's charms, 
And dream of freedom in his bondsmaid's arms. 1 - 



i The " black Aspasia" of the present ********* f 
the United States,inter Avernales haud ignotissima nymphas 
has given rise to much pleasantry among the anti-democrat 
wits in America. 

2 " On the original location of the ground now allotted for 
the seat of the Federal City, (says Mr. Weld,) the identical 
spot on which the capitol now stands was called Rome. 
This anecdote is related by many as a certain prognostic of 
the future magnificence of this city, which is to be, as it 
were, a second Rome." — Weld's Travels, letter iv. 

3 A little stream runs through the city, which, with in 
tolerable affectation, they have styled the Tiber. It was 
originally called Goose-Creek. 

•* " To be under the necessity of going through a deep wood 
for one or two miles, perhaps, in order to see a next-door 
neighbor, and in the same city, is a curious and, I believe, a 
novel circumstance." — Weld, letter iv. 

The Federal City (if it must be called a city) has not been 
much increased since Mr. Weld visited it. Most of the pub- 
lic buildings, which were then in some degree of forward- 
ness, have been since utterly suspended. The hotel is al- 
ready a ruin ; a great part of its roof has fallen in, and the 
rooms are left to be occupied gratuitously by the miserable 
Scotch and Irish emigrants. The President's house, a very 
noble structure, is by no means suited to the philosophical 



In fancy now, beneath the twilight gloom, 
Come, let me lead thee o'er this " second Rome !"" 
Where tribunes rule, where dusky Davi bow, 
And what was Goose-Creek once is Tiber now : 3 — 
This embryo capital, where Fancy sees 
Squares in morasses, obelisks in trees ; 
Which second-sighted seers, ev'n now, adorn 
With shrines unbuilt and heroes yet unborn, 

Though naught but woods 4 and J n they see, 

Where streets should run and sages ought to be. 

And look, how calmly in yon radiant wave, 
Trie dying sun prepares his golden grave. 
Oh mighty river ! oh ye banks of shade ! 
Ye .matchless scenes, in nature's morning made, 
While still, in all th' exuberance of prime, 
She pour'd her wonders, lavishly sublime, 
Nor yet had learn'd to stoop, with humbler care, 
From grand to soft, from wonderful to fair ; — 
Say, were your towering hills, your boundless floods, 
Your rich savannas and majestic woods, 
Where bards should meditate and heroes rove, 
And woman charm, and man deserve her love,— 
Oh say, was world so bright, but born to grace 
Its own half-organized, half-minded race 6 
Of weak barbarians, swarming o'er its breast, 
Like vermin gender'd on the lion's crest ? 
Were none but brutes to call that soil their home, 
Where none but demigods should dare to roam ? 
Or worse, thou wondrous world ! oh ! doubly worse, 
Did heaven design thy lordly land to nurse 
The motley dregs of every distant clime, 
Each blast of anarchy and taint of crime 
Which Europe shakes from her perturbed sphere, 
In full malignity to rankle here ? 



humility of its present possessor, who inhabits but a corner 
of the mansion himself, and abandons the rest to a state of 
uncleanly desolation, which those who are not philosophers 
cannot look at without regret. This grand edifice is encir- 
cled by a very rude paling, through which a common rustic 
stile introduces the visiters of the first man in America. With 
respect to all that is within the house, I shall imitate the pru- 
dent forbearance of Herodotus, and say, ra Se sv armppriTco. 

The private buildings exhibit the same characteristic dis- 
play of arrogant speculation and premature ruin ; and the 
few ranges of houses which were begun some years ago have 
remained so long waste and unfinished, that they are now 
for the most part dilapidated. 

6 The picture which Buffon and De Pauw have drawn of 
the American Indian, though very humiliating, is, as far as I 
can judge, much more correct than the flattering representa- 
tions which Mr. Jefferson has given us. See the Notes on 
Virginia, where this gentleman endeavors to disprove in gen- 
eral the opinion maintained so strongly by some philosophers, 
that nature (as Mr. Jefferson expresses it) be-littles her pro- 
ductions in the western world. M. de Pauw attributes the 
imperfection of animal life in America to the ravages of a 
very recent deluge, from whose effects upon its soil and at- 
mosphere it has not yet sufficiently recovered. — Recherche* 
sur les Jlmericains, part i. torn. i. p. 102. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



179 



But hold, — observe you little mount of pines, 
Where the breeze murmurs and the fire-fly shines. 
There let thy fancy raise, in bold relief* 
The sculptured image of that veteran chief 1 
Who lost the rebel's in the hero's name, 
And climb'd o'er prostrate loyalty to fame ; 
Beneath whose sword Columbia's patriot train 
Cast off their monarch, that their mob might reign. 

How shall we rank thee upon glory's page? 
Thou more than soldier and just less than sage ! 
Of peace too fond to act the conqueror's part, 
Too long in camps to learn a statesman's art, 
Nature design'd thee for a hero's mould, 
But, ere she cast thee, let the stuff grow cold. 

While loftier souls command, nay, make then- 
fate, 
Thy fate made thee and forced thee to be great. 
Yet Fortune, who so oft, so blindly sheds 
Her brightest halo round the weakest heads, 
Found thee undazzled, tranquil as before, 
Proud to be usefid, scorning to be more ; . 
Less moved by glory's than by duty's claim, 
Renown the meed, but self-applause the aim ! 
All that thou wert reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less, than all thou didst forbear to be. 
Nor yet the patriot of one land alone, — 
For thine's a name all nations claim their own ; 
And every shore, where breathed the good and brave, 
Echo'd the plaudits thy own country gave. 

Now look, my friend, where faint the moonlight 
falls 
On yonder dome, and, in those princely halls, — 
If thou canst hate, as sure that soul must hate, 
Which loves the virtuous and reveres the great, — 
If thou canst loathe and execrate with me 
The poisonous drug of French philosophy, 
That nauseous slaver of these frantic times, 
With which false liberty dilutes her crimes, — 
If thou hast got, within thy free-born breast, 
One pulse that beats more proudly than the rest, 
With honest scorn for that inglorious soul, 
Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's control, 
Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod, 
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its god, 

i On a small hill near the capitol there is to be an eques- 
trian statue of General Washington. 

3 In the ferment which the French revolution excited 
among the democrats of America, and the licentious sympa- 
thy with which they shared in the wildest excesses of jaco- 
binism, we may find one source of that vulgarity of vice, 
that hostility to all the graces of life, which distinguishes 
the present demagogues of the United States, and has be- 
come indeed too generally the characteristic of their coun- 
trymen But there Is another cause of the corruption of 



There, in those walls — but, burning tongue, forbear ! 
Rank must be reverenced, even the rank that's 

there : 
So here I pause — and now, dear Hume, we part : 
But oft again, in frank exchange of heart, 
Thus let us meet, and mingle converse dear 
By Thames at home, or by Potowmac here. 
O'er lake and marsh, through fevers and through 

fogs, 
Midst bears and yankees, democrats and frogs, 
Thy foot shall follow me, thy heart and eyes 
With me shall wonder, and with me despise. 2 
While I, as oft, in fancy's dream shall rove, 
With thee conversing, through that land I love, 
Where, like the air that fans her fields of green, 
Her freedom spreads, unfever'd and serene ; 
And sovereign man can condescend to see 
The throne and laws more sovereign still than he. 



LINES 

WRITTEN ON LEAVING PHILADELPHIA. 

— — Trji/Se ttjv izo\iv <pt\fj)S 
Eutojv ena^ia yap. 

Sophocl. CEdip. Colon, v. 



70S. 



Alone by the Schuylkill a Wanderer roved, 
And bright were its flowery banks to his eye ; 

But far, very far were the friends that he loved, 
And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh. 

Oh Nature, though blessed and bright are thy rays, 
O'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, 

Yet faint are they all to the lustre that plays 

In a smile from the heart that is fondly our own. 

Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain 

Unbless'd by the smile he had languish'd to meet ; 
Though scarce did he hope it would sooth him 



Till the threshold of home had been press'd by his 
feet. 

But the lays of his boyhood had stol'n to their ear, 
And they loved what they knew of so humble* a 
name ; 



private morals, which, encouraged as it is by the government, 
and identified with the interests of the community, seems to 
threaten the decay of all honest principle in America. I al- 
lude to those fraudulent violations of neutrality to which 
they are indebted for the most lucrative part of their com- 
merce, and by which they have so long infringed and coun- 
teracted the maritime rights and advantages of this country. 
This unwarrantable trade is necessarily abetted by such a 
system of collusion, imposture, and perjury, as cannot fail 
to spread rapid contamination around it. 



180 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And they told him, with flattery welcome and dear, 
That they found in his heart something better 
than fame. 

Nor did woman — oh woman ! whose form and 
whose soul 
Are the spell and the light of each path we pur- 
sue ; 
Whether sunn'd in the tropics or chill'd at the 
pole, 
If woman he there, there is happiness too : — 

Nor did she her enamoring magic deny,— 

That magic his heart had relinquish'd so long, — 

Like eyes he had loved was her eloquent eye, 
Like them did it soften and weep at his song. 

Oh, bless'd be the tear, and in memory oft 

May its sparkle be shed o'er the wanderer's dream ; 

Thrice bless'd be that eye, and may passion as soft, 
As free from a pang, ever mellow its beam ! 

The stranger is gone — but he will not forget, 

When at home he shall talk of the toils he has 
known, 

To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met, 
As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone. 



LINES 

WRITTEN AT 

THE COHOS, OR FALLS OF THE MOHAWK RIVEtU 

Gia era in loco ove s' udia I rimbombo 

Dell' acqaa . Danti. 

From rise of morn till set of sun 
I've seen the mighty Mohawk run ; 
And as I mark'd the woods of pine 
Along his mirror darkly shine, 
Like tall and gloomy forms that pass 
Before the wizard's midnight glass ; 
And as I view'd the hurrying pace 
With which he ran his turbid race, 



l There is a dreary and savage character in the country 
immediately about these Falls, which is much more in har- 
mony with the wildness of such a scene than the cultivated 
lands in the neighborhood of Niagara. See the drawing of 
them in Mr. Weld's book. According to him, the perpen- 
dicular height of the Cohos Fall is fifty feet; but the Mar- 
quis de Chastellux makes it seventy-six. 

The fine rainbow, which is continually forming and dis- 



Rushing, alike untired and wild, 

Through shades that frown'd and flowers that 

smiled, 
Flying by every green recess 
That woo'd him to its calm caress, 
Yet, sometimes turning with the wind, 
As if to leave one look behind, — 
Oft have I thought, and thinking sigh'd, 
How like to thee, thou restless tide, 
May be the lot, the life of him 
Who roams along thy water's brim ; 
Through what alternate wastes of wo 
And flowers of joy my path may go ; 
How many a shelter'd, calm retreat 
May woo the while my weary feet, 
While still pursuing, still unbless'd, 
I wander on, nor dare t c rest ; 
But, urgent 83 the doom that calls 
Thy water to its destined falls, 
I feel the world's bewild'ring force 
Hurry my heart's devoted course 
From lapse to lapse, till life be done, 
And the spent current cease to run 

One only prayer I dare to make, 
As onward thus my course I take : — 
Oh, be my falls as bright as thine i 
May heaven's relenting rainbow shine 
Upon the mist that circles me, 
As soft as now it hangs o'er thee ! 



SONG 



THE EVIL SPIRIT OF THE WOODS.* 

Qua via diflicilis, quaque est via nulla. 

Ovid. Metam. lib. iii. v. 227. 

Now the vapor, hot and damp, 
Shed by day's expiring lamp, 
Through the misty ether spreads 
Every ill the white man dreads ; 
Fiery fever's thirsty thrill. 
Fitful ague's shivering chill ! 



solving, as the spray rises into the light of the sun, is per- 
haps the most interesting beauty which these wonderful 
cataracts exhibit. 

a The idea of this poem occurred to me in passing through 
the very dreary wilderness between Batavia, a new settle- 
ment in the midst of the woods, and the little village of Buffalo 
upon Lake Erie. This is the most fatiguing part of the 
route, in travelling through the Genesee country to Niagara. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



J 81 



Hark ! I hear the traveller's song, 
As he winds the woods along ; — 
Christian, 'tis the song of fear ; 
Wolves are round thee, night is near, 
And the wild thou dar'st to roam — 
Think, 'twas once the Indian's home I 1 

Hither, sprites, who love to harm, 
Wheresoe'er you work your charm, 
By the creeks, or by the brakes, 
Where the pale witch feeds her snakes, 
And the cayman 2 loves to creep, 
Torpid, to his wintry sleep: 
Where the bird of carrion flits, 
And the shudd'ring murderer sits, 3 
Lone beneath a roof of blood ; 
While upon his poison'd food, 
From the corpse of him he slew 
Drops the chill and gory dew. 

Hither bend ye, turn ye hither, 
Eyes that blast and wings that wither ! 
Cross the wand'ring Christian's way, 
Lead him, ere the glimpse of day, 
Many a mile of madd'ning error, 
Through the maze of night and terror, 
Till the morn behold him lying 
On the damp earth, pale and dying. 
Mock him, when his eager sight 
Seeks the cordial cottage-light ; 
Gleam then, like the lightning-bug, 
Tempt him to the den that's dug 
For the foul and famish'd brood 
Of the she-wolf, gaunt for blood ; 
Or, unto the dangerous pass 
O'er the deep and dark morass, 
Where the trembling Indian brings 
Belts of porcelain, pipes, and rings, 
Tributes, to be hung in air, 
To the Fiend presiding there ! 4 

Then, when night's long labor past, 
Wilder'd, faint, he falls at last, 



i " The Five Confederated Nations (of Indians) were set 
tied along the banks of the Susquehannah and the adjacent 
country, until the year 1779, when General Sullivan, with an 
army of 4000 men, drove them from their country to Niagara, 
where, being obliged to live on salted provisions, to which 
they were unaccustomed, great numbers of them died. Two 
hundred of them, it is said, were buried in one grave, where 
they had encamped." — Morse's American Geography. 

a The alligator, who is supposed to lie in a torpid state all 
the winter, in the bank of some creek or pond, having pre- 
viously swallowed a large number of pine-knots, which are 
his only sustenance during the time. 

3 This was the mode of punishment for murder (as Charle- 
voix tells us) among the Hurons. " They laid the dead body 



Sinking where the causeway's edge 
Moulders in the slimy seage, 
There let every noxieus thing 
Trail its filth and fix its sting ; 
Let the bull-toad taint him over, 
Round him let moschetoes hover, 
In his ears and eyeballs tingling, 
With his blood their poison mingling, 
Till, beneath the solar fires, 
Rankling all, the wretch expires ! 



TO 

THE HONORABLE W. R. SPENCER 

FROM BUFFALO, UPON LAKE ERIE. 

Nec venit ad duros musa vocata Getas. 

Ovid, ex Ponto, lib. i. ep. 5 

Thou oft hast told ms ©f the happy hours 

Enjoy'd by thee in fair Italia's bowers, 

Where, ling'ring yet, the ghost of ancient wit 

Midst modern monks profanely dares to flit, 

And pagan spirits, by the pope unlaid, 

Haunt every stream and sing through every shade. 

There still the bard who (if his numbers be ■ 

His tongue's light echo) must have talk'dlike thee, — 

The courtly bard, from whom thy mind has caught 

Those playful, sunshine holidays of thought, 

In which the spirit baskingly reclines, 

Bright without effort, resting while it shines, — 

There still he roves, and laughing loves to see 

How modem priests with ancient rakes agree ; 

How, 'neath the cowl, the festal garland shines, 

And Love still finds a niche in Christian shrines 

There still, too, roam those other souls of song, 
With whom thy spirit hath communed so long, 
That, quick as light, their rarest gems of thought, 
By Memory's magic to thy lip are brought. 



upon poles at the top of a cabin, and the murderer was obliged 
to remain several days together, and to receive all that drop- 
ped from the carcass, not only on himself but on his food." 

4 "We find also collars of porcelain, tobacco, ears of maize, 
skins, &c, by the side of difficult and dangerous ways, on 
rocks, or by the side of the falls ; and these are so many of- 
ferings made to the spirits which preside in these places/ 1 — 
See Charlevoix's Letter on the Traditions and the Religion of 
the Savages of Canada. 

Father Hennepin too mentions this ceremony: he also 
says, "We took notice of one barbarian, who made a kind 
of sacrifice upon an oak at the Cascade of St. Antony of Pa- 
dua, upon the river Mississippi. '—See Hennepin's Voyage 
into JVortA America. 



182 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But here, alas ! by Erie's stormy lake, 
As, far from such bright haunts my course I take, 
No proud remembrance o'er the fancy plays, 
No classic dream, no star of other days 
Hath left that visionary light behind, 
That ling'ring radiance of immortal mind, 
Which gilds and hallows even the rudest scene, 
The humblest shed, where genius once has been ! 

All that creation's varying mass assumes 
Of grand or lovely, here aspires and blooms ; 
Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens glow, 
Bright lakes expand, and conquering 1 rivers flow ; 
But mind, immortal mind, without whose ray, 
This world's a wilderness and man but clay, 
Mind, mind alone, in barren, still repose, 
Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows. 
Take Christians, Mohawks, democrats, and all 
From the rude wigwam to the congress-hall, 
From man the savage, whether slaved or free, 
To man the civilized, less tame than he, — 
'Tis one dull chaos, one unfertile strife 
Betwixt half-polish'd and half-barbarous life ; 
Where every ill the ancient world could brew 
Is mix'd with every grossness of the new ; 
Where all corrupts, though little can entice, 
And naught is known of luxury, but its vice ! • 

Is this the region then, is this the ciime 
For soaring fancies ? for those dreams sublime, 
Which all their miracles of light reveal 
To heads that meditate and hearts that feel? 
Alas ! not so — the Muse of Nature lights 
Her glories round ; she scales the mountain heights, 
And roams the forests ; every wondrous spot 
Burns with her step, yet man regards it not. 
She whispers round, her words are in the air, 
But lost, unheard, they linger freezing there, a 
Without one breath of soul, divinely strong, 
One ray of mind to thaw them into song. 

Yet, yet forgive me, oh ye sacred few, 
Whom late by Delaware's green banks I knew ; 
Whom, known and loved through many a social eve, 
'Twas bliss to live with, and 'twas pain to leave. 3 

i This epithet was suggested by Charlevoix's striking de- 
scription of the confluence of the Missouri with the Missis- 
sippi. "I believe this is the finest confluence in the world. 
The two rivers are much of the same breadth, each about 
half a league; but the Missouri is by far the most rapid, and 
seems to enter the Mississippi like a conqueror, through 
which it carries its white waves to the opposite shore, with- 
out mixing them : afterwards it gives its color to the Missis- 
sippi, which it never loses again, but carries quite down to 
the sea." — Letter xxvii. 

a Alluding to the fanciful notion of " words congealed in 
northern air." 

3 In the society of Mr. Dennie and his friends, at Phila- 



Not with more joy the lonely exile scann'd 
The writing traced upon the desert's sand, 
Where his lone heart but little hoped to find 
One trace of life, one stamp of human kind, 
Than did I hail the pure, th' enlighten'd zeal, 
The strength to reason and the warmth to fetl, 
The manly polish and the illumined taste, 
Which, — 'mid the melancholy, heartless waste 
My foot has traversed, — oh you sacred few ! 
I found by Delaware's green banks with you. 

Long may you loathe the Gallic dross that runs 
Through your fair country and corrupts its sons ; 
Long love the arts, the glories which adorn 
Those fields of freedom, where your sires were born 
Oh ! if America can yet be great, 
If neither chain'd by choice, nor doom'd by fate 
To the mob-mania which imbrutes her now, 
She yet can raise the crown'd, yet civic brow 
Of single majesty, — can add the grace 
Of Rank's rich capital to Freedom's base, 
Nor fear the mighty shaft will feebler prove 
For the fair ornament that flowers above ; — 
If yet released from all that pedant throng, 
So vain of error and so pledged to wrong, 
Who hourly teach her, like themselves, to hide 
Weakness in vaunt, and barrenness in pride, 
She yet can rise, can wreath the Attic charms 
Of soft refinement round the pomp of arms, 
And see her poets flash the fires of song, 
To light her warriors' thunderbolts along ; — 
It is to you, to souls that favoring heaven 
Has made like yours, the glorious task is given : — 
Oh ! but for such, Columbia's days were done ; 
Rank without ripeness, quicken'd without sun, 
Crude at the surface, rotten at the core, 
Her fruits would fall, before her spring were o'er. 

Believe me, Spencer, while I wing'd the hours 
Where Schuylkill winds his way through banks of 

flowers, 
Though few the days, the happy evenings few, 
So warm with heart, so rich with mind they flew, 
That my charm'd soul forgot its wish to roam, 
And rested there, as in a dream of home. 

delphia, I passed the few agreeable moments which my tour 
through the States afforded me. Mr. Dennie has succeeded 
in diffusing through this cultivated little circle that love for 
good literature and sound politics, which he feels so zeal- 
ously himself, and which is so very rarely the characteristic 
of his countrymen. They will not, I trust, accuse me of il- 
liberally for the picture which I have given of the ignorance 
and corruption that surround them. If I did not hate, as I 
ought, the rabble to which they are opposed, I could not 
value, as I do, the spirit with which they defy it ; and in 
learning from them what Americans can be, I but see with 
the more indignation what Americans tire. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



183 



And looks I met, like looks I'd loted before, 
And voices too, which, as they trembled o'er 
The chord of memory, found full many a tone 
Of kindness there in concord with their own 
Yes, — we had nights of that communion free, 
That flow of heart, which I have known with thee 
So oft, so warmly ; nights of mirth and mind, 
Of whims that taught, and follies that refined. 
When shall we both renew them ? when, restored 
To the gay feast and intellectual board, 
Shall I once more enjoy with thee and thine 
Those whims that teach, those follies that refine ? 
Even now, as wand'ring upon Erie's shore, 
I hear Niagara's distant cataract roar, 
I sigh for home, — alas ! these weary feet 
Have many a mile to journey, ere we meet. 

a IIATPIZ, 'AS SOY KAPTA NYN MNEIAN EXS2. 

Euripides. 



BALLAD STANZAS. 

I knew by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd 
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, 

And I said, " If there's peace to be found in the 
world, 
" A heart that was humble might hope for it here !" 

It was noon, and on flowers that languish'd around 
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee ; 

Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound 
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech- 
tree. 

And, " Here in this lone little wood," I exclaim'd, 
" With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, 

1 1 wrote these words to ar air which our boatmen sung to 
us frequently. The wind was •« i unfavorable that they were 
obliged to row all the way, and we were five days in descend- 
ing the river from Kingston to Montreal, exposed to an in- 
tense sun during the day, and at night forced to take shelter 
from the dews in any miserable hut upon the banks that 
would receive us. But the magnificent scenery of the St. 
Lawrence repays all such difficulties. 

Our voyageurs had good voices, and sung perfectly in tune 
together. The original words of the air, to which J. adapted 
these stanzas, appeared to be a long, incoherent story, of 
whteh I could understand but little, from the barbarous pro- 
nunciation of the Canadians. It begins 

Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontre 
Deux cavaliers tres-bien montes ; 

And the refrain to every verse was, 

A l'ombre d'un bois je ui'en vais jouer, 
A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais danser. 

I ventured to harmonize this air, and have published it. 
Without that charm which association gives to every little 



" Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if 
I blamed,- 
" How blest could I live, and how calm could I 
die! 

" By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips 
" In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to re- 
cline, 
" And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, 
" Which had never been sigh'd on by any but 
mine !" 



A CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 

WRITTEN ON 

THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE.* 
Et remigem cantus hortatur. 

Q.UINTILIA.S 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime 
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. 
Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. 2 
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. 

Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? 
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl ; 
But, when the wind blows off the shore, 
Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. 

Utawas' tide ! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 

memorial of scenes or feelings that are past, the melody may, 
perhaps, be thought common and trifling; but I remember 
when we have entered, at sunset, upon one of those beautiful 
lakes into which the St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpect- 
edly opens, I have heard this simple air with a pleasure which 
the finest compositions of the finest masters have never given 
me ; and now there is not a note of it which does not recall 
to my memory the dip of our oars in the St. Lawrence, the 
flight of our boat down the Rapids, and all those new and 
fanciful impressions to which my heart was alive during the 
whole of this very interesting voyage. 

The above stanzas are supposed to be sung by those voya- 
geurs who go to the Grand Portage by the Utawas River. 
For an account of this wonderful undertaking, see Sir Alex- 
ander Mackenzie's General History of the Fur Trade, pre- 
fixed to his Journal. 

2 "At the Rapid of St. Ann they are obliged to take out 
part, if not the whole, of their lading. It is from this spot 
the Canadians consider they take their departure, as it pos- 
sesses the last church on the island, which is dedicated to 
the tutelar saint of voyagers."— Mackenzie, General History 
of the Fur Trade. 



184 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers, 
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past 



TO THE ' 

LADY CHARLOTTE RAWDON. 

FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 

Not many months have now been dream'd away 
Since yonder sun, beneath whose evening ray 
Our boat glides swiftly past these wooded shores, 
Saw me where Trent his mazy current pours, 
And Donington's old oaks, to every breeze, 
Whisper the tale of bygone centuries ; — 
Those oaks, to me as sacred as the groves, 
Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves, 
And hears the spirit-voice of sire, or chief, 
Or loved mistress, sigh in eveiy leaf. 1 
There, oft, dear Lady, while thy lip hath sung 
My own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've hung 
On every tuneful accent ! proud to feel 
That notes like mine should have the fate to steal 
As o'er thy hallowing lip they sigh'd along, 
Such breath of passion and such soul of song. 
Yes, — I have wonder' d, like some peasant boy 
Who sings, on Sabbath-eve, his strains of joy, 
And when he hears the wild, untutor'd note 
Back to his ear on softening echoes float, 
Believes it still some answering spirit's tone, 
And thinks it all too sweet to be his own ! 

I dreamt not then that, ere the rolling year 
Had fill'd its circle, I should wander here 
In musing awe ; should tread this wondrous world, 
See all its store of inland waters hurl'd 
In one vast volume down Niagara's steep, 
Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, 

1 " Avendo essi per costume di avere in venerazione gli 
alberi grandi et antichi, quasi che siano spesso ricettaccoli 
di anime beate." — Pietro della Valle, part, second., lettera 
16 da i giardini di Sciraz. 

2 Anburey, in his Travels, has noticed this shooting illu- 
mination which porpoises diffuse at night through the river 
St. Lawrence.— Vol. i. p. 29. 

3 The glass-snake is brittle and transparent. 

4 "The departed spirit goes into the Country of Souls, 
where, according to some, it is transformed into a dove." — 
Charlevoix, upon the Traditions and the Religion of the Sava- 
ges of Canada. See the curious fable of the American Or- 
pheus in Lafitau, torn. i. p. 402. 

* " The mountains appeared to be sprinkled with white 



Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed 
Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed ; 
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide 
Down the white rapids of his lordly tide 
Through massy woods, mid islets flowering fair 
And blooming glades, where the first sinful pair 
For consolation might have weeping trod, 
When banish'd from the garden of their God. 
Oh, Lady ! these are miracles, which man, 
Caged in the bounds of Europe's pigmy span, 
Can scarcely dream of, — which his eye must see 
To know how wonderful this world can be ! 

But lo, — the last tints of the west decline, 
And night falls dewy o'er these banks of pine. 
Among the reeds, in which our idle boat 
Is rock'd to rest, the wind's complaining note 
Dies like a half-breathed whispering of flutes ; 
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots, 
And I can trace him, like a watery star, 2 
Down the steep current, till he fades afar 
Amid the foaming breakers' silvery light, 
Where yon rough rapids sparkle through the night, 
Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray, 
And the smooth glass-snake, 3 gliding o'er my way, 
Shows the dim moonlight through his scaly form, 
Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm, 
Hears in the murmur of the nightly breeze 
Some Indian Spirit warble words like these : — 

From the land beyond the sea, 
Whither happy spirits flee ; 
Where, transform'd to sacred doves, 4 
Many a blessed Indian roves 
Through the air on wing, as white 
As those wondrous stones of light, 5 
Which the eye of morning counts 
On the Apallachian mounts, — 
Hither oft my flight I take 
Over Huron's lucid lake, 
Where the wave, as clear as dew, 
Sleeps beneath the light canoe, 
Which, reflected, floating there, 
Looks as if it hung in air. 6 

stones, which glistened in the sun, and were called by the 
Indians manetoe aseniah, or spirit-stones."— Mackenzie's 
Journal. 

6 These lines were suggested by Carver's description of one 
of the American lakes. " When it was calm," he says, " and 
the sun shone bright, I could sit in my canoe, where the depth 
was upwards of six fathoms,and plainly see huge piles of stone 
at the bottom, of different shapes, some of which appeared as 
if they had been hewn ; the water was at this time as pure and 
transparent as air, and my canoe seemed as if it hung suspend- 
ed in that element. It was impossible to look attentively 
through this limpid medium, at the rocks below, without find- 
ing, before many minutes were elapsed, your head swim 
and your eyes no longer able to behold the dazzling scene." 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



185 



Then, when I have stray'd awhile 
Through the Manataulin isle, 1 
Breathing all its holy bloom, 
Swift I mount me on the plume 
Of my Wakon-Bird, 2 and fly 
Where, beneath a burning sky, 
O'er the bed of Erie's lake 
Slumbers many a water-snake, 
Wrapt within the web of leaves, 
Which the water-lily weaves. 3 
Next I chase the fiow'ret-king 
Through his rosy realm of spring ; 
See him now, while diamond hues 
Soft his neck and wings suffuse, 
In the leafy chalice sink, 
Thirsting for his balmy drink ; 
Now behold him all on fire, 
Lovely in his looks of ire, 
Breaking eveiy infant stem, 
Scatt'ring every velvet gem, 
Where his little tyrant lip 
Had not found enough to sip. 

Then my playful hand I steep 
Where the gold-thread 4 loves to creep, 
Cull from thence a tangled wreath, 
Words of magic round it breathe, 
And the sunny chaplet spread 
O'er the sleeping fly-bird's head, 6 
Till, with dreams of honey blest, 
Haunted, in his downy nest, 
By the garden's fairest spells, 
Dewy buds and fragrant bells, 
Fancy all his soul embowers 
In the fly-bird's heaven of flowers. 

Oft, when hoar and silvery flakes 
Melt along the ruffled lakes, 
When the gray moose sheds his horns, 
When the track, at evening, warns 

i Apres avoir traverse plusieurs isles peu considerables, 
nous en trouvames le quatrieme jour une fameuse nominee 
l'Isle de Manitoualin. — Voyages du Baron de Lukontan, torn. 
i. let. 15. Manataulin signifies a Place of Spirits, and this 
island in Lake Huron is held sacred by the Indians. 

2 "The Wakon-Bird, which probably is of the same spe- 
cies with the Bird of Paradise, receives its name from the 
ideas the Indians have of its superior excellence ; the Wa- 
kon-Bird being, in their language, the Bird of the Great 
Spirit." — Morse. 

3 The islands of Lake Erie are surrounded to a considera- 
ble distance by the large pond-lily, whose leaves spread 
thickly over the surface of the lake, and form a kind of bed 
for the water-snakes in summer. 

4 "The gold thread is of the vine kind, and grows in 
swamps. The roots spread themselves just under the sur- 
face of the morasses, and are easily drawn out by handfuls. 
They resemble a large entangled skein of silk, and are of a 
bright. it?low."— Morse. 



Weary hunters of the way 
To the wigwam's cheering ray, 
Then, aloft through freezing air, 
With the snow-bird 6 soft and fair 
As the fleece that heaven flings 
O'er his little pearly wings, 
Light above the rocks I play, 
Where Niagara's starry spray, 
Frozen on the cliff, appears 
Like a giant's starting tears. 
There, amid the island-sedge, 
Just upon the cataract's edge, 
Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began, 
Lone I sit, at close of day, 
While, beneath the golden ray, 
Icy columns gleam below, 
Feather'd round with falling snow, 
And an arch of glory springs, 
Sparkling as the chain of rings • 
Round the neck of virgins hung, — 
Virgins, 7 who have wander'd young 
O'er the waters of the west 
To the land where spirits rest ! 

Thus have I charm'd, with visionary lay, 
The lonely moments of the night away ; 
And now, fresh daylight o'er the water beams ! 
Once more embark'd upon the glitt'ring streams, 
Our boat flies light along the leafy shore, 
Shooting the falls, without a dip*of oar 
Or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark 
The poet saw, in dreams divinely dark, 
Borne, without sails, along the dusky flood, 8 
While on its deck a pilot angel stood, 
And, with his wings of living light unfurl'd, 
Coasted the dim shores of another world ! 

Yet, oh ! believe me, mid this mingled maze 
Of nature's beauties, where the fancy strays 

5 "L'oiseaa mouche, gros comme un hanneton, est de 
toutes couleurs, vives et changeantes : il tire sa subsistence 
des fleurs comme les abeilles : son nid est fait d'un cotton 
tres-fin suspendu a une branche d'arbre." — Voyages aux 
lades Occidentales, par M. Bossu, seconde part, lett. xx. 

6 Emberiza hyemalis. — See Imlay's Kentucky, p. 280. 

7 Lafitau supposes that there was an order of vestals es- 
tablished among the Iroquois Indians. — Mozurs dcs Sauvages 
Jlmericains, 8rc, torn. i. p. 173. 

8 Vedi che sdegna gli argomenti umani ; 
Si che remo non vuol, ne altro velo, 
Che 1' ale sue tra liti si lontani. 

Vedi come 1' ha dritte verso '1 cielo 
Trattando 1' aere con 1' eterne penne; 
Che non si mutan, come mortal pelo. 

Dante, Pur gator., cant. ii. 



186 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



From charm to charm, where every flow'ret's hue 
Hath something strange, and every leaf is new, — 
I never feel a joy so pure and still, 
So inly felt, as when some brook or hill, 
Or veteran oak, like those remember'd well, 
Some mountain echo, or some wild-flowers smell, 
(For, who can say by what small fairy ties, 
The mem'ry clings to pleasure as it flies ?) 
Reminds my heart of many a silvan dream 
I once indulged by Trent's inspiring stream ; 
Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights 
On Donnington's green lawns and breezy heights. 



Whether I trace the tranquil moments o'er 
When I have seen thee cull the fruits of lore, 
With him, the polish'd warrior, by thy side, 
A sister's idol and a nation's pride ! 
When thou hast read of heroes, trophied high 
In ancient fame, and I have seen thine eye 
Turn to the living hero, while it read, 
For pure and bright'ning comments on the dead ; — 
Or whether memory to my mind recalls 
The festal grandeur of those lordly halls, 
When guests have met around the sparkling board, 
And welcome warm'd the cup that luxury pour'd ; 
When the bright future star of England's throne, 
With magic smile, hath o'er the banquet shone, 
Winning respect, nor claiming what he won, 
But tempering greatness, like an evening sun 
Whose light the eye can tranquilly admire, 
Radiant, but miW, all softness, yet all fire ; — 
Whatever hue my recollections take, 
Even the regret, the very pain they wake 
Is mix'd with happiness ; — but, ah ! no more — 
Lady ! adieu — my heart has linger'd o'er 
Those vanish'd times, till all that round me lies, 
Streams, banks, and bowers have faded on my eyes ! 



IMPROMPTU, 

AFTER A VISIT TO MRS , OF MONTREAL. 

'Twas but for a moment — and yet in that time 
She crowded th' impressions of many an hour : 

Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her clime, 
Which waked every feeling at once into flower. 



i This is one of the Magdalen Islands, and, singularly 
enough, is the property of Sir Isaac Coffin. The above lines 
were suggested by a superstition very common among sailors, 
who call this ghost-ship, I think, "the flying Dutchman." 

We were thirteen days on our passage from Quebec to 
Halifax, and I had been so spoiled by the truly splendid hos- 



Oh ! could we have borrow'd from Time but a day, 
To renew such impressions again and again, 

The things we should look and imagine and say 
Would be worth all the life we had wasted tU> 
then. 

What we had not the leisure or language to speak, 
We should find some more spiritual mode of re 
vealing, 
And, between us, should feel just as much in 9 
week 
As others would take a millennium in feeling. 



WRITTEN 

ON PASSING DEADMAN'S ISLAND, 

IN THE 

GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE, 
LATE IN THE EVENING, SEPTEMBER, 1804. 

See you, beneath yon cloud so dark, 
Fast gliding along a gloomy bark ? 
Her sails are full, — though the wind is still, 
And there blows not a breath her sails to fill ! 

Say what doth that vessel of darkness bear ? 
The silent calm of the grave is there, 
Save now and again a death-knell rung, 
And the flap of the sails with night-fog hung. 

There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore 
Of cold and pitiless Labrador ; 
Where, under the moon, upon mounts of frost, 
Full many a mariner's bones are toss'd. 

Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck, 
And the dim blue fire, that lights her deck, 
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew 
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew. 

To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the blast, 
To Deadman's Isle, she speeds her fast ; 
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl'd, 
And the hand that steers is not of this world ! 



pitality of my friends of the Phaeton and Boston, that I was 
but ill prepared for the miseries of a Canadian vessel. The 
weather, however, was pleasant, and the scenery along the 
river delightful. Our passage through the Gut of Canso, 
with a bright sky and a fair wind, was particularly striking 
and romantic. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA, 



187 



Oh ! hurry thee on — oh ! hurry thee on, 
Thou terrible bark, ere the night be gone, 
Nor let morning look on so foul a sight 
As would blanch forever her rosy light I 



at 



THE BOSTOX FRIGATE, 1 

ox 

LEAYIXG HALIFAX FOR EXGLAXD 

OCTOBER, 1804. 

Noffroi' TrpCKpaoig yXvicepov. 

Pindar. Pyth. 4. 

With trimnph this morning, oh Boston ! I hail 
The stir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail, 
For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, in thee, 
To the flourishing isle of the brave and the free, 
And that chill Xova-Scotia's unpromising strand 3 
Is the last I shall tread of American land. 
Well — peace to the land ! may her sons know. 

length, 
That in high-minded honor lies liberty's strength, 
That though man be as free as the fetterless wind, 
As the wantonest air that the north can unbind, 
Yet, if health do not temper and sweeten the blast. 
If no harvest of mind ever sprung where it pass'd, 
Then unblest is such freedom, and baleful its 

might, — 
Free onlv to ruin, and strong: but to bligrht ! 



Farewell to the few I have left with regret ; 
May they sometimes recall, what I cannot forget. 

The delight of those evenings. — too brief a delight ! 
When in converse and song we have stolen on the 

night : 
When they've ask'd me the manners, the mind, or 

the mien 
Of some bard I had known or some chief I had seen, 
Whose glory, though distant, they long had adored, 
Whose name had oft hallow'd the wine-cup they 

pour'd : 

i Commanded by Captain J. E. Douglas, with whom I re- 
turned to England, and to whom I am indebted lor many, 
many kindnesses. In truth, I should but offend the delicacy 
of my friend Douglas, and. at the same time, do injustice to 
my own feelings of gratitude, did I attempt to say how much 
I owe to him. 

* Sir John Wentworth. the Governor of Xova Scotia, very 
kindly allowed me to accompany him on his visit to the Col- 
lege, which they have lately established at Windsor, about 



And still as, with sympathy humble but true, 

I have told of each bright son of fame all I knew, 

They have listen'd, and sigh'd that the powerful 

stream 
Of America's empire should pass, like a dream, 
W ithout leaving one relic of senilis, to sav 
How sublime was the tide which had vanish'd away ! 
Farewell to the few — though we never may meet 
On this planet again, it is soothing and sweet 
To think that, whenever mv soup; or mv name 
Shall recur to their ear, they'll recall me the same 
I have been to them now, young, unthoughtful, and 

blest, 
Ere hope had deceived me or sorrow deoress'd. 

But, Douglas ! while thus I recall to mv mind 
The elect of the land we shall soon leave behind, 
I can read in the weather-wise glance of thine eye, 
As it follows the rack flitting over the sky. 
That the faint coming breeze will be fair for our 

flight, 
And shall steal us away, ere the falling of night 
Dear Douglas ! thou knowest, with thee by my side, 
With thy friendship to sooth me, thy courage to 

guide, 
There is not a bleak isle in those summerless seas, 
Where the day comes in darkness, or shines but to 

freeze, 
Xot a tract of the line, not a barbarous shore, 
That I could not with patience, with pleasure ex- 
plore ! 
Oh think then how gladly I follow thee now, 
When Hope smooths the billowy path of our prow, 
And each prosperous sigh of the west-springing 

wind 
Takes me nearer the home where my heart is in- 
shrined ; 
Where the smile of a father shall meet me again, 
And the tears of a mother turn bliss into pain ; 
Where the kind voice of sisters shall steal to my 

heart, 
And ask it, in sighs, how we ever could part I — 

But see ! — the bent top-sails are ready to swell — 
To the boat — I am with thee — Columbia, fare- 
well ! 

forty miles from Halifax, and I was indeed most pleasantly 
surprised by the beauty and fertility of the country which 
opened upou us after the bleak and rocky wilderness by 
which Halifax is surrounded. — I was told that, in travelling 
onwards, we should find the soil and the scenery improve. 
and it gave me much pleasure to know that the worthy 
Governor has by no means such an "in -.inabile regnum'' as 
I was, at first sight, inclined to believe. 



188 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE: 



TWO POEMS: 



ADDRESSED TO AN ENGLISHMAN BY AN IRISHMAN. 



PREFACE. * 

The practice which has been lately introduced 
into literature, of writing very long notes upon very 
indifferent verses, appears to me rather a happy in- 
vention ; as it supplies us with a mode of turning 
dull poetry to account ; and as horses too heavy for 
the saddle may yet serve well enough to draw lum- 
ber, so Poems of this kind make excellent beasts of 
burden, and will bear notes, though they may not 
bear reading. Besides, the comments in such cases 
are so little under the necessity of paying any servile 
deference to the text, that they may even adopt 
that Socratic dogma, " Quod supra nos nihil ad 
nos." 

In the first of the two following Poems, I have 
ventured to speak of the Revolution of 1688 in lan- 
guage which has sometimes been employed by Tory 
writers, and which is therefore neither very new nor 
popular. But however an Englishman might be re- 
proached with ingratitude, for depreciating the merits 
and results of a measure which he is taught to re- 
gard as the source of his liberties — however ungrate- 
ful it might appear in Alderman B — rch to question 
for a moment the purity of that glorious era to 
which he is indebted for the seasoning of so many 
orations — yet an Irishman, who has none of these 
obligations to acknowledge ; to whose country the 
Revolution brought nothing but injury and insult, 
and who recollects that the book of Molyneux was 
burned, by order of William's Whig Parliament, for 
daring to extend to unfortunate Ireland those princi- 
ples on which the Revolution was professedly founded 
— an Irishman may be allowed to criticise freely the 
measures of that period, without exposing himself 
either to the imputation of ingratitude, or to the sus- 
picion of being influenced by any Popish remains of 
Jacobitism. No nation, it is true, was ever blessed 
with a more golden opportunity of establishing and 



securing its liberties forever than the conjuncture of 
Eighty-eight presented to the people of Great 
Britain. But the disgraceful reigns of Charles and 
James had weakened and degraded the national 
character. The bold notions of popular right, which 
had arisen out of the struggles between Charles the 
First and his Parliament, were gradually sup- 
planted by those slavish doctrines for which Lord 
H — kesb — ry eulogizes the churchmen of that period ; 
and as the Reformation had happened too soon for the 
purity of religion, so the Revolution came too late 
for the spirit of liberty. Its advantages, accordingly, 
were for the most part specious and transitory, while 
the evils which it entailed are still felt and still in- 
creasing. By rendering unnecessary the frequent 
exercise of Prerogative, — that unwieldy power 
which cannot move a step without alarm, — it di- 
minished the only interference of the Crown, which 
is singly and independently exposed before the peo- 
ple, and whose abuses therefore are obvious to their 
senses and capacities. Like the myrtle over a cele- 
brated statue in Minerva's temple at Athens, it skil- 
fully veiled from the public eye the only obtrusive 
feature of royally. At the same time, however, that 
the Revolution abridged this unpopular attribute, it 
amply compensated by the substitution of a new 
power, as much more potent in its effect as it is more 
secret in its operations. In the disposal of an im- 
mense revenue and the extensive patronage annexed 
to it, the first foundations of this power of the Crown 
were laid ; the innovation of a standing army at 
once increased and strengthened it, and the few slight 
barriers which the Act of Settlement opposed to its 
progress have all been gradually removed during the 
whiggish reigns that succeeded; till at length this 
spirit of influence has become the vital principle of 
the state, — an agency, subtle and unseen, which 
pervades every part of the Constitution, lurks under 
all its forms and regulates all its movement's, and, 



CORRUPTION, A POETIC EPISTLE. 



189 



like the invisible sylph or grace which presides over 
the motions of beauty, 

" Illam, quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit, 
Componit furtim subsequiturque." 

The cause of Liberty and the Revolution are so 
habitually associated in the minds of Englishmen, 
that probably in objecting to the lal ter I may be 
thought hostile or indifferent to the former. But 
assuredly nothing could be more unjust than such 
a suspicion. The very object, indeed, which my 
humble animadversions would attain is, that in the 
crisis to which I think England is now hastening, 
and between which and foreign subjugation she 
may soon be compelled to choose, the errors and 
omissions of 1688 should be remedied ; and, as it 
was then her fate to experience a Revolution with- 
out Reform, so she may now endeavor to accomplish 
a Reform without Revolution. 

In speaking of the parties which have so long 
agitated England, it will be observed that I lean as 
little to the Whigs as to their adversaries. Both fac- 
tions have been equally cruel to Ireland, and per- 
haps equally insincere in their efforts for the liber- 
ties of England. There is one name, indeed, con- 
nected with whiggism of which I can never think 
but with veneration and tenderness. As justly, how- 
ever, might the light of the sun be claimed by any 
particular nation, as the sanction of that name be 
monopolized by any party whatsoever. Mr. Fox be- 
longed to mankind, and they have lost in him their 
ablest friend. 

With respect to the few lines upon Intolerance, 
w r hich I have subjoined, they are but the imperfect 
beginning of a long series of Essays, with which I 
here menace my readers, upon the same important 
subject. I shall look to no higher merit in the task, 
than that of giving a new form to claims and re- 
monstrances, which have often been much more 
eloquently urged, and which would long ere now 
have produced their effect, but that the minds of 
some of our statesmen, like the pupil of the human 
eye, contract themselves the more, the stronger 
light there is shed upon them. 

1 Angli suos ac sua omnia impense mirantur ; cameras na- 
tiones despectui habent— Barclay, (as quoted in one of Dry- 
den's prefaces.) 

a England began very early to feel the effects of cruelty 
towards her dependencies. " The severity of her government 
(says Macpherson) contributed more to deprive her of the 
continental dominions of the family of Plantagenet than the 
arms of France." — See his History, vol. i. 

3 " By the total reduction of the kingdom of Ireland in 1691, 
(says Burke,) the ruin of the native Irish, and in a great 
measure, too, of the first races of the English, was completely 
accomplished. The new English interest was settled with 
as solid a stability as any thing in human affairs can look for. 
All the penal laws of that unparalleled code of oppression, 



CORRUPTION, 



AN EPISTLE. 

Nt>f <5' &Trav6' woirzp z% ayopag ZKirzirparai ravra- avrziunx- 
rat Sz avn tovtcov, v^ L)v arroXwXz kcii vzvovtjkzv f] 'EXXag. 
TavTO. J' zarri ri ; fyXog, zi rig ziXrj<pz rr yzXwg av b/jtoXoyrf 
uvyyvwprj roig zXzyxo/xzvoir uiaog, av rnvroig rig ZTnTip.0,' 
raXXa iravra, baa zk tov dupoc:KZiv T)prr\Tai. 

Demosth. Philipp. iii. 

Boast on, my friend — though stripp'd of all beside, 
Thy struggling nation still retains her pride •} 
That pride, which once in genuine glory woke 
When Marlborough fought, and brilliant St. John 

spoke ; 
That pride which still, by time and shame unstunnr, 
Outlives even Wh-tel-cke's sword and H-wk-s- 

b'ry's tongue ! 
Boast on, my friend, while in this humbled isle 2 
Where Honor mourns and Freedom fears to smile, 
Where the bright light of England's fame is known 
But by the shadow o'er our fortunes thrown ; 
Where, doom'd ourselves to naught but wrongs and 

slights, 9 
We hear you boast of Britain's glorious rights, 
As wretched slaves, that under hatches Yu>. } 
Hear those on deck extol the sun and $&./ ! 
Boast on, while wandering through my native 

haunts, 
I coldly listen to thy patriot vaunts ; 
And feel, though close our wedded countries twine, 
More sorrow for my own than pride from thine. 

Yet pause a moment — and if truths severe 
Can find an inlet to that courtly ear, 
Which hears no news but W — rd's gazetted lies, 
And loves no politics in rhyme but Pye's, — 
If aught can please thee but the good old saws 
Of " Church and State," and " William's matchless 

laws," 
And : Acts and Rights of glorious Eighty-eight," — 
Things, which though now a century out of date, 
Still serve to ballast, with convenient words, 
A few crank arguments for speeching lords, 4 — 

which were made after the last event, were manifestly the 
effects of national hatred and scorn towards a conquered 
people, whom the victors delighted to trample upon, and 
were not at all afraid to provoke." Yet this is the era to 
which the wise Common Council of Dublin refer us for " in- 
valuable blessings," &c. 

4 It never seems to occur to those orators and addressers 
who round off so many sentences and paragraphs with the 
Bill of Rights, the Act of Settlement, &c, that most of the 
provisions which these Acts contained for the preservation 
of parliamentary independence have been long laid aside as 
romantic and troublesome. I never meet, I confess, with a pol* 
itician who quotes seriously the Declaration of Rights, &c, 
to prove the actual existence of English liberty, that I do not 



190 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Turn, while I tell how England's freedom found, 
Where most she look'd for life, her deadliest 

wound ; 
How brave she struggled, while her foe was seen, 
How faint since Influence lent that foe a screen ; 
How strong o'er James and Popery she prevail'd, 
How weakly fell, when Whigs and gold assail'd. 1 

While kings were poor, and all those schemes 

unknown 
Which drain the people, to enrich the throne ; 
Ere yet a yielding Commons had supplied 
Those chains of gold by which themselves are 

tied ; 
Then proud Prerogative, untaught to creep 
With bribery's silent foot on Freedom's sleep, 
Frankly avow'd his bold enslaving plan, 
And claim'd a right from God to trample man ! 
But Luther's schism had too much rdused mankind 
For Hampden's truths to linger long behind ; 
Nor then, when king-like popes had fallen so low, 
Could pope-like kings 2 escape the levelling blow. 
That ponderous sceptre, (in whose place we bow 
To the light talisman of influence now,) 
Too gross, too visible to work the spell 
Which modern power performs, in fragments fell : 

think of that marquis whom Montesquieu mentions, a who 
set about looking for mines in the Pyrenees, on the strength 
of authorities which he had read in some ancient authors. 
The poor marquis toiled and searched in vain. He quoted 
his authorities to the last, but found no mines after all. 

1 The chief, perhaps the only advantage which has result- 
ed from the system of influence, is that tranquil course of un- 
interrupted action which it has given to the administration 
of government. If kings must be paramount in the state, 
(and their ministers for the time being always think so,) the 
country is indebted to the Revolution for enabling them to 
v «come so quietly, and for removing skilfully the danger of 
those shocks and collisions which the alarming efforts of 
prerogative never failed to produce. 

Instead of vain and disturbing efforts to establish that spec- 
ulative balance of the constitution, which, perhaps, has 
never existed but in the pages of Montesquieu and De Lolme, 
a preponderance is now silently yielded to one of the three 
estates, which carries the other two almost insensibly, but 
still effectually, along with it; and even though the path 
may lead eventually to destruction, yet its specious and 
gilded smoothness almost atones for the danger; and, like 
Milton's bridge over Chaos, it may be said to lead, 

" Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to ." 

a The drivelling correspondence between James Land his 
"dog Steenie," (the Duke of Buckingham,) which we find 
among the Hardwicke Papers, sufficiently shows, if we 
wanted any such illustration, into what doting, idiotic brains 
the plan of arbitrary power may enter. 

3 Tacitus has expressed his opinion, in a passage very fre- 
quently quoted, that such a distribution of power as the 
theory of the British constitution exhibits is merely a subject 
of bright speculation, "a system more easily praised than 
practised, and which, even could it happen to exist, would 
certainly not prove permanent;" and, in truth, a review of 

a Liv. xxi. chap. 2. 



In fragments lay, till, patch'd and painted o'er 
With fleur-de-lys, it shone and scourged once more. 

'Twas then, my friend, thy kneeling nation quafFd 
Long, long and deep, the churchman's opiate draught 
Of passive, prone obedience — then took flight 
All sense of man's true dignity and right ; 
And Britons slept so sluggish in their chain, 
That Freedom's watch-voice call'd almost in vain. 
Oh England ! England ! what a chance was thine, 
When the last tyrant of that ill-starr'd line 
Fled from his sullied crown, and left thee free 
To found thy own eternal liberty ! 
How nobly high, in that propitious hour, 
Might patriot hands have raised the triple tower 3 
Of British freedom, on a rock divine 
Which neither force could storm noi eachery 

mine ! 
But, no — the luminous, the lofty plan, 
Like mighty Babel, seem'd too bold for man ; 
The curse of jarring tongues again was given 
To thwart a work which raised men nearer heaven. 
While Tories marr'd what Whigs had scarce be- 
gun, 
While Whigs undid what Whigs themselves had 
doi^,* 

England's annals would dispose us to agree with the great 
historian's remark. For we find that at no period whatever 
has this balance of the three estates existed ; that the nobles 
predominated till the policy of Henry VII. and his successor 
reduced their weight by breaking up the feudal system of 
property ; that the power of the Crown became then supreme 
and absolute, till the bold encroachments of the Commons 
subverted the fabric altogether; that the alternate ascenden- 
cy of prerogative and privilege distracted the period which 
followed the Restoration ; and that, lastly, the Acts of 1G88, 
by laying the foundation of an unbounded court-influence, 
have secured a preponderance to the Throne, which every 
succeeding year increases. So that the vaunted British con- 
stitution has never perhaps existed but in mere theory. 

4 The monarchs of Great Britain can never be sufficiently 
grateful for that accommodating spirit which led the Revo- 
lutionary Whigs to give away the crown, without imposing 
any of those restraints or stipulations which other men might 
have taken advantage of so favorable a moment to enforce, 
and in the framing of which they had so good a model to 
follow as the limitations proposed by the Lords Essex and 
Halifax, in the debate upon the Exclusion Bill. They not 
only condescended, however, to accept of places, but took care 
that these dignities should be no impediment to their " voice 
potential" in affairs of legislation ; and although an Act was 
after many years suffered to pass, which by one of its articles 
disqualified placemen from serving as members of the House 
of Commons, it was yet not allowed to interfere with the in- 
fluence of the reigning monarch, nor with that of his successor 
Anne. The purifying clause, indeed, was not to take effect 
till after the decease of the latter sovereign, and she very con- 
siderately repealed it altogether. So that, as representation 
has continued ever since, if the king were simple enough to 
send to foreign courts ambassadors who were most of them in 
the pay of those courts, he would be just as honestly and faith- 
fully represented as are his people. It would be endless to 
enumerate all the favors which were conferred upon William 



CORRUPTION, A POETIC EPISTLE. 



191 



The hour was lost, and "William, with a smile, 
Saw Freedom weeping o'er the unfinish'd pile ! 

Hence all the ills you suffer, — hence remain 
Such galling fragments of that feudal chain, 1 
Whose links, around you by the Norman flung. 
Though loosed and broke so often, still have 

clung. 
Hence sly Prerogative, like Jove of old, 
Has turn'd his thunder into showers of gold, 

by those " apostate Whigs." They complimented him with 
the first suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act which had 
been hazarded since the confirmation of that privilege; and 
this example of oar Deliverer's reign has not been lost upon 
any of his successors. They promoted the establishment of 
a standing army, and circulated in its defence the celebrated 
"Balancing Letter," in which it is insinuated that England, 
even then, in her boasted hour of regeneration, was arrived 
at such a pitch of faction and corruption, that nothing could 
keep her in order but a Whig ministry and a standing army. 
They refused, as long as they could, to shorten the duration 
of parliaments ; and though, in the Declaration of Rights, the 
necessity of such a reform was acknowledged, they were 
able, by arts not unknown to modern ministers, to brand 
those as traitors and republicans who urged it. a .But the 
grand and distinguishing trait of their measures was the 
power they bestowed on the Crown of almost annihilating 
the freedom of elections, — of turning from its course, and for- 
ever defiling that great stream of Representation, which had, 
even in the most agitated periods, reflected some features of 
the people, but which, from thenceforth, became the Pacto- 
lus, the " aurifer amnis," of the court, and served as a mir- 
ror of the national will and popular feeling no longer. We 
need but consult the writings of that time, to understand the 
astonishment then excited by measures, which the practice 
of a century has rendered not only familiar but necessary. 
See a pamphlet called "The Danger of mercenary Parlia- 
ments," 1698; State Tracts, Will. Hi. vol. ii.; see also 
"Some Paradoxes presented as a Xew Year's Gift." (State 
Poems, vol. iii.) 

1 The last great wound given to the feudal system was 
the Act of the 12th of Charles II., which abolished the ten- 
ure of knight's service in ctipite, and which Blackstone com- 
pares, for its salutary influence upon property, to the boast- 
ed provisions of Magna Charta itself. Yet even in this Act 
we see the effects of that counteracting spirit which has 
contrived to weaken every effort of the English nation to- 
wards liberty. The exclusion of copyholders from their share 
of elective rights was permitted to remain as a brand of feu- 
dal servitude, and as an obstacle to the rise of that strong 
counterbalance which an equal representation of property 
would oppose to the weight of the Crown. If the managers 
of the Revolution had been sincere in their wishes for re- 
form, they would not only have taken this fetter off the 
rights of election, but would have renewed the mode adopt- 
ed in Cromwell's time, of increasing the number of knights 
of the shire, to the exclusion of those rotten insignificant bor- 
oughs, which have tainted the whole mass of the constitu- 
tion. Lord Clarendon calls this measure of Cromwell's " an 
alteration fit to be more warrantable made, and in a better 
time." It formed part of Mr. Pitt's plan in 1783 ; but Pitt's 
plan of reform was a kind of announced dramatic piece, about 
as likely to be ever acted as Mr. Sheridan's "Foresters." 

a See a pamphlet published in 1693, upon the King's refusing to sign the 
Triennial Bill, called "A Discourse between a Yeoman of Kent and a 
Kcight of a Shire."— "Hereupun (says the Yeoman) the gentleman grew 
■ngry, and said that 1 talked like a base commons-wealth man." 



Whose silent courtship wins securer joys, 2 
Taints by degrees, and ruins without noise. 
While parliaments, no more those sacred things 
Which make and rule the destiny of kings, 
Like loaded dice by ministers are thrown, 
And each new set of sharpers cog their own. 
Hence the rich oil, that from the Treasury steals, 
Drips smooth o'er all ijhn Constitution's wheels, • 
Giving the old machine such pliant play, 3 
That Court and Commons jog one joltless way, 

3 fore enim tutum iter et patens 

Converso in pretium Deo. 
Aurum per medios ire satellites, k.c. 

HORAT. 

It would be a task not uninstructive to trace the history 
of Prerogative from the date of its strength under the Tudor 
princes, when Henry VII. and his successors " taught the 
people (as Nathaniel Bacon sayst) to dance to the tune of 
Allegiance," to the period of the Revolution, when the 
Throne, in its attacks upon liberty, began to exchange the 
noisy explosions of Prerogative for the silent and effec- 
tual air-gun of Influence. In following its course, too, since 
that memorable era, we shall find that, while the royal 
power has been abridged in branches where it might be 
made conducive to the interests of the people, it has been 
left in full and unshackled vigor against almost every point 
where the integrity of the constitution is vulnerable. For 
instance, the power of chartering boroughs, to whose capri- 
cious abuse in the hands of the Stuarts we are indebted for 
most of the present anomalies of representation, might, if 
suffered to remain, have in some degree atoned for its mis- 
chief, by restoring the old unchartered boroughs to their 
rights, and widening more equally the basis of the legis- 
lature. But, by the Act of Union with Scotland, this part 
of the prerogative was removed, lest Freedom should have 
a chance of being healed, even by the rust of the spear which 
had formerly wounded her. The dangerous power, how- 
ever, of creating peers, which has been so often exercised for 
the government against the constitution, is still left in free 
and unqualified activity; notwithstanding the example of 
that celebrated Bill for the limitation of this ever-budding 
branch of prerogative, which was proposed in the reign of 
George L, underthe peculiar sanction a'nd recommendation 
of the Crown, but which the Whigs thought right to reject 
with all that characteristic delicacy, which, in general, pre 
vents them, when enjoying the sweets of office themselves 
from taking any uncourtly advantage of the Throne. It will 
be recollected, however, that the creation of the twelve 
peers by the Tories in Anne's reign (a measure which Swift, 
like a true party man, defends) gave these upright Whigs 
all possible alarm for their liberties. 

With regard to the generous fit about his prerogative 
which seized so unroyally the good king George I., histori 
ans lr>ve hinted that the paroxysm originated far more in 
hatred to his son than in love to the constitution.^ This, of 
course, however, is a calumny: no loyal person, acquainted 
with the annals of the three Georges, could possibly suspect 
any one of those gracious monarchs either of ill-will to his 
heir, or indifference for the constitution. 

3 "They drove so fast, (says Wei wood of the ministers o( 
Charles I..; that it was no wonder that the wheels and char- 
iot broke." (.Memoirs, p. 35.)— But this fatal accident, if 
we mayjudge from experience, is to be imputed far less to the 
folly and impetuosity of the drivers, than to the want of that 

b Historic, and Politic. Discourse, tc, part ii. p. 114. 
c Coxe says that this B..11 was projected by Sunderland. 



192 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



While Wisdom trembles for the crazy car, 

So gilt, so rotten, carrying fools so far ; 

And the duped people, hourly doom'd to pay 

The sums that bribe their liberties away, 1 — 

Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume 

To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom, 

See their own feathers pluck'd, to wing the dart 

Which rank corruption destines for their heart ! 

But soft ! methinks I hear thee proudly say 

" What! shall I listen to the impious lay, 

" That dares, with Tory license, to profane 

" The bright bequests of William's glorious reign ? 

" Shall the great wisdom of our patriot sires, 

" Whom H — wks — b — y quotes and savory B — rch 

admires, 
" Be slander' d thus? Shall honest St — le agree 
" With virtuous R — se to call us pure and free, 
" Yet fail to prove it? Shall our patent pair 
" Of wise state-poets waste their words in air, 
" And P — e unheeded breathe his prosperous 

strain, 
" And C — nn — ng take the people's sense in vain?" 2 

supplying oil from the Treasury which has been found so 
necessary to make a government like that of England run 
smoothly. Had Charles been as well provided with this 
article as his successors have been since the happy Revolu- 
tion, his Commons would never have merited from him the 
harsh appellation of" seditious vipers," but would have been 
(as they now are, and I trust always wii! be) " dutiful Com- 
mons," " loyal Commons," &c, &c, and would have given 
him ship-money, or any other sort of money he might have 
fancied. 

i Among those auxiliaries which the Revolution of 1C88 
marshalled on the side of the Throne, the bugbear of Popery 
has not been the least convenient and serviceable. Those 
unskilful tyrants, Charles and James, instead of profiting by 
that useful subserviency which has always distinguished the 
ministers of our religious establishment, were so infatuated 
as to plan the ruin of this best bulwark of their power, and, 
moreover, connected their designs upon the Church soundis- 
guisedly with their attacks upon the Constitution, that they 
identified in the minds of the people the interests of their 
religion and their liberties. During those times, therefore, 
" No Popery" was the watchword of freedom, and served to 
keep the public spirit awake against the invasions of bigotry 
and prerogative. The Revolution, however, by removing 
this object of jealousy, has produced arelianceon the ortho- 
doxy of the Throne, of which the Throne has not failed to 
take advantage ; and the cry of "No Popery" having thus 
lost its power of alarming the people against the inroads of 
the Crown, has served ever since the very different purpose 
of strengthening the Crown, against the pretensions and 
struggles of the people. The danger of the Church from 
Papists and Pretenders was the chief pretext for the repeal of 
the Triennial Bill, for the adoption of a standing army, for 
the numerous suspensions of the Habeas Corpus Act, and, in 
short, for all those spirited infractions of the constitution by 
which the reigns of the last century were so eminently dis- 
tinguished. We have seen very lately, too, how the Throne 
has been enabled, by the same scarecrow sort of alarm, to 
select its ministers from among men whose servility is their 
only claim to elevation, and who are pledged (if such an 
alternative could arise) to take part with the scruples of the 
Xing against the salvation of the empire. 



The people ! — ah, that Freedom's form should 
stay 
Where Freedom's spirit long hath pass'd away ! 
That a false smile should play around the dead, 
And flush the features when the soul hath fled ! 3 
When Rome had lost her virtue with her rights, 
When her foul tyrant sat on Capreae's heights 4 
Amid his ruffian spies, and doom'd to death 
Each noble name they blasted with their breath, — 
Even then, (in mockery of that golden time, 
When the Republic rose revered, sublime, 
And her proud sons, diffused from zone to zone, 
Gave kings to every nation but their own,) 
Even then the senate and the tribunes stood, 
Insulting marks, to show how high the flood 
Of Freedom flow'd, in glory's bygone day, 
And how it ebb'd, — forever ebb'd away ! 6 

Look but around — though yet a tyrant's sword 
Nor haunts our sleep nor glitters o'er our board, 
Though blood be better drawn, by modern quacks, 
With Treasury leeches than with sword or axe ; 

a Somebody has said, "Quand tous les poe'tes seraient 
noyes, ce ne serait pas grand dommage ," but I am aware 
that this is not fit language to be held at a time when our 
birth-day odes and state-papers are written by such pretty 
poets as Mr. P — e and Mr. C — nn — ng. All I wish is, that the 
latter gentleman would change places with his brother P — e, 
by which means we should have somewhat less prose in our 
odes, and certainly less poetry in our politics. 

3 "It is a scandal (said Sir Charles Sedley in William's 
reign) that a government so sick at heart as ours is should 
look so well in the face ;" and Edmund Burke has said, in 
the present reign, " When the people conceive that laws and 
tribunals, and even popular assemblies, are perverted from 
the ends of their institution, they find in these names of de- 
generated establishments only new motives to discontent. 
Those bodies which, when full of life and beauty, lay in their 
arms and were their joy and comfort, when dead and putrid 
become more loathsome from remembrance of former en- 
dearments." — Thoughts on the present Discontents, 1*770. 

4 Tutor haberi 

Principis, Augusta Caprearum in rupe sedentis 
Cum grege Chaldseo. 

Juvenal. Sat. x. v. 92. 

The senate still continued, during the reign of Tiberius, to 
manage all the business of the public; the money was then 
and long after coined by their authority, and every other 
public affair received their sanction. 

We are told by Tacitus of a certain race of men, who made 
themselves particularly useful to the Roman emperors, and 
were therefore called " instrumenta regni," or "court tools." 

From this it appears, that my Lords M , C , &c. &c, 

are by no means things of modern invention. 

6 There is something very touching in what Tacitus tells 
us of the hopes that revived in a few patriot bosoms, when 
the death of Augustus was near approaching, and the fond 
expectation with which they already began "bona libertatis 
incassum disserere." 

According to Ferguson, Caesar's interference with the 
rights of election " made the subversion of the republic more 
felt than any of the former acts of his power." — Roman 
Republic, book v. chap. i. 



CORRUPTION, A POETIC EPISTLE. 



193 



Yet say, could even a prostrate tribune's power, 
Or a mock senate, in Rome's servile hour, 
Insult so much the claims, the rights of man, 
As doth that fetter' d mob, that free divan, 
Of noble tools and honorable knaves, 
Of pension' d patriots and privileged slaves ; — 
That party-color'd mass, which naught can warm 
But rank corruption's heat — whose quicken'd 

swarm 
Spread their light wings in Bribery's golden sky, 
Buzz for a period, lay their eggs, and die ; — 
That greedy vampire, which from freedom's tomb 
Comes forth, with all the mimicry of bloom 
Upon its lifeless cheek, and sucks and drains 
A people's blood to feed its putrid veins ! 

Thou start'st, my friend, at picture drawn so 

dark — 
" Is there no light ?" thou ask'st— " no ling'ring 

spark 
" Of ancient fire to warm us ? Lives there none, 
" To act a Marvell's part V n — alas ! not one. 
To place and power all public spirit tends, 
In place and power all public spirit ends f 
Like hardy plants, that love the air and sky, 
When out, 'twill thrive — but taken in, 'twill die ! 

Not bolder truths of sacred Freedom hung 
From Sidney's pen or burn'd on Fox's tongue, 
Than upstart Whigs produce each market night, 
While yet their conscience, as their purse, is light ; 
While debts at home excite their care for those 
Which, dire to tell, their much-loved country owes, 



i Andrew Marvell, the honest opposer of the court during 
the reign of Charles the Second, and the last member of par- 
liament who, according to the ancient mode, took wages from 
his constituents. The Commons have, since then, much 
changed their pay-masters. — See the State Poems for some 
rude but spirited effusions of Andrew Marvell. 

2 The following artless speech of Sir Francis Winnington, 
in the reign of Charles the Second, will amuse those who are 
fully aware of the perfection we have since attained in that 
system of government whose humble beginnings so much 
astonished the worthy baronet. " I did observe (says he) 
that all those who had pensions, and most of those who had 
offices, voted all of a side, as they were directed by some 
great officer, exactly as if their business in this House had 
been to preserve their pensions and offices, and not to make 
laws for the good of them who sent them here." — He alludes 
to that parliament which was called, par excellence,ihe Pen- 
sionary Parliament. 

3 According to Xenophon, the chief circumstance which 
recommended these creatures to the service of Eastern 
princes was the ignominious station they held in society, and 
the probability of their being, upon this account, more de- 
voted to the will and caprice of a master, from whose notice 
alone they derived consideration, and in whose favor they 
might seek refuge from the general contempt of mankind. — 
Ado^otovres oi evvovxot napa roi? aWoig avQponois koll Sia 
tqvto ieoizorov emKovpov TrpocSsovrai. — But I doubt whether 



13 



And loud and upright, till their prize be known, 

They thwart the King's supplies to raise their own. 

But bees, on flowers alighting, cease their hum — 

So, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. 

And, though most base is he who, 'neath the shade 

Of Freedom's ensign plies corruption's trade, 

And makes the sacred flag he dares to show 

His passport to the market of her foe, - 

Yet, yet, I own, so venerably dear 

Are Freedom's grave old anthems to my ear, 

That I enjoy them, though by traitors sung, 

And reverence Scripture even from Satan's tongue. 

Nay, when the constitution has expired, 

I'll have such men, like Irish wakers, hired 

To chant old " Habeas Corpus" by its side, 

And ask, in purchased ditties, why it died ? 

See yon smooth lord, whom nature's plastic pains 
Would seem to've fashion'd for those Eastern reigns 
When eunuchs fiourish'd, and such nerveless things 
As men rejected were the chosen of Kings ; 3 — 
Even he, forsooth, (oh fraud, of all the worst !) 
Dared to assume the patriot's name at first — 
Thus Pitt began, and thus begin his apes ; 
Thus devils, when first raised, take pleasing shapes. 
But oh, poor Ireland ! if revenge be sweet 
For centuries of wrong, for dark deceit 
And with'ring insult — for the Union thrown 
Into thy bitter cup, 4 when that alone 
Of slavery's draught was wanting 5 — if for this 
Revenge be sweet, thou hast that daemon's bliss ; 
For, sure, 'tis more than hell's revenge to see 
That England trusts the men who've ruin'd thee ; — 



even an Eastern prince would have chosen an entire ad- 
ministration upon this principle. 

4 " And in the cup an Union shall be thrown." 

Hamlet. 

6 Among the many measures, which, since the Eevolution, 
have contributed to increase the influence of the throne, and 
to feed ixp this "Aaron's serpent" of the constitution to its 
present health and respectable magnitude, there have been 
few more nutritive than the Scotch and Irish Unions. Sir 
John Packer said, in a debate upon the former question, that 
" He would submit it to the House, whether men who had 
basely betrayed their trust, by giving up their independent 
constitution, were fit to be admitted into the English House 
of Commons." But Sir John would have known, if he had 
not been out of place at the time, that the pliancy of such 
materials was not among the least of their recommendations. 
Indeed, the promoters of the Scotch Union were by no means 
disappointed in the leading object of their measure, for the 
triumphant majorities of the court-party in parliament may 
be dated from the admission of the 45 and the 16. Once or 
twice, upon the alteration of their law of treason and the im- 
position of the malt-tax, (measures which were in direct vio- 
lation of the Act of Union,) these worthy North Britons 
arrayed themselves in opposition to the court; but rinding 
this effort for their country unavailing, they prudently deter- 
mined to think thenceforward of themselves, and few men 



194 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



That, in these awful days, when every hour 
Creates some new or blasts some ancient power, 
When proud Napoleon, like th' enchanted shield 1 
Whose light compell'd each wond'ring foe to yield, 
With baleful lustre blinds the brave and free, 
And dazzles Europe into slavery, — 
That, in this hour, when patriot zeal should guide, 
When Mind should rule, and — Fox should not have 

died, 
All that devoted England can oppose 
To enemies made fiends and friends made foes, 
Is the rank refuse, the despised remains 
Of that unpitying power, whose whips and chains 
Drove Ireland first to turn, with harlot glance, 
Tow'rds other shores, and woo th' embrace of 

France ; — 
Those hack'd and tainted tools, so foully fit 
For the grand artisan of mischief, P — tt, 
So useless ever but in vile employ, 
So weak to save, so vigorous to destroy — 

have ever kept to a laudable resolution more firmly. The 
effect of Irish representation on the liberties of England will 
be no less perceptible and permanent. 

OuJ' bye Tavpov 

AsnrcTai avreWovTog. 
The infusion of such cheap and useful ingredients as my 
Lord L., Mr. D. B., &c, &c, into the legislature, cannot but 
act as a powerful alterative on the constitution, and clear it 
by degrees of all troublesome humors of honesty. 

1 The magician's shield in Ariosto : 

E tolto per vertu dello splendore 
La libertate a loro. Cant. 2. 

We are told that Cmsar's code of morality was contained in 
the following lines of Euripides, which that greai, man fre- 
quently repeated : — 

~Enrsp yap afiiKCiv XP>? rvpai/viSos nl^i 
Ka\\iaTov aduceiv rdXXa 6' evaefleiv xpewv. 
This is also, as it appears, the moral code of Napoleon. 

2 The following prophetic remarks occur in a letter written 
by Sir Robert Talbot, who attended the ( Duke of Bedford to 
Paris in 1762. Talking of states which have grown powerful 
in commerce, he says, " According to the nature and common 
course of things, there is a confederacy against them, and con- 
sequently in the same proportion as they increase in riches, 
they approach to destruction. The address of our King 
William, in making all Europe take the alarm at France, has 
brought that country before us near that inevitable period. 
We must necessarily have our turn, and Great Britain will 
attain it as soon as France shall have a declaimer with organs 
as proper for that political purpose as were those of our 

William the Third Without doubt, my Lord, 

Great Britain must lower her flight. Europe will remind us 
of the balance of commerce, as she has reminded France of 
the balance of power. The address of our statesmen will im- 
mortalize them by contriving for us a descent which shall not 
be a fall, by making us rather resemble Holland than Car- 
thage and Venice." — Letters on the French Nation. 

3 The king-deposing doctrine, notwithstanding its many 
mischievous absurdities, was of no little service to the cause 
of political liberty, by inculcating the right of resistance to 

a From Aratus, (v. 715,) a poet who wrote upon astronomy, though, as 
Cicero assures us, he knew nothing whatever about the subject : just as 
the great Harvey wrote " De Generatione," though he had as little to do 
with the matter as my Lord Viscount C. 



Such are the men that guard thy threaten'd shore, 
Oh England ! sinking England ! 2 boast no more 



INTOLERANCE, 

A SATIRE. 

"This clamor, which pretends to be raised for the safety 
of religion, has almost worn out the very appearance of it, 
and rendered us not only the most divided but the most im- 
moral people upon the face of the earth." 

Addison, tiur.older, No. 37. 

Start not, my friend, nor think the muse will stain 
Her classic fingers with the dust profane 
Of Bulls, Decrees, and all those thund'ring scrolls, 
Which took such freedom once with royal souls, 3 

tyrants, and asserting the will of the people to be the only 
true fountain of power. Bellarmine, the most violent of the 
advocates for papal authority, was one of the first to maintain 
{De Pontiff, lib. i. cap. 7) " that kings have not their author- 
ity or office immediately from God nor his law ; but only 
from the law of nations ;" and in King James's "Defence 
of the Rights of Kings against Cardinal Perron," we find his 
Majesty expressing strong indignation against the Cardinal 
for having asserted " that to the deposing of a king the con- 
sent of the people must be obtained" — " for by these words 
(says James) the people are exalted above the king, and made 
the judges of the king's deposing," p. 424.— Even in Mariana's 
celebrated book, where the nonsense of bigotry does not 
interfere, there may be found many liberal and enlightened 
views of the principles of government, of the restraints which 
should be imposed upon royal power, of the subordination of 
the Throne to the interests of the people, &c. &c. (De Rege 
et Regis Institutione. See particularly lib. i. cap. 6, 8, and 
9.) — It is rather remarkable, too, that England should be 
indebted to another Jesuit for the earliest defence of that 
principle upon which the Revolution was founded, namely, 
the right of the people to change the succession. — (See 
Doleman's "Conferences," written in support of the title of 
the Infanta of Spain against that of James I.)— When 
Englishmen, therefore, say that Popery is the religion of 
slavery, they should not only recollect that their own boasted 
constitution is the work and bequest of popish ancestors ; 
they should not only remember the laws of Edward III., 
" under whom (says Bolingbroke) the constitution of our 
parliaments, and the whole form of our government, became 
reduced into better form ;" but they should know that even the 
errors charged on Popery have leaned to the cause of liberty, 
and that Papists were the first promulgators of the doctrines 
which led to the Revolution. — In general, however, the 
political principles of the Roman Catholics have been de- 
scribed as happened to suit the temporary convenience of 
their oppressors, and have been represented alternately as 
slavish or refractory, according as a pretext for tormenting 
them was wanting. The same inconsistency has marked 
every other imputation against them. They are charged 
with laxity in the observance of oaths, though an oath has 
been found sufficient to shut them out from all worldly ad- 
vantages. If they reject certain decisions of their church, 
they are said to be skeptics and bad Christians ; if they admit 
those very decisions, they are branded as bigots and bad sub- 



INTOLERANCE, A SATIRE. 



195 



When heaven was yet the pope's exclusive trade, 

And kings were damn'd as fast as now they're made. 

No, no — let D — gen — n search the papal chair 1 

For fragrant treasures long forgotten there ; 

And, as the witch of sunless Lapland thinks 

That little swarthy gnomes delight in stinks, 

Let sallow P — re — v — 1 snuff up the gale 

Which wizard D — gen — n's gather'd sweets exhale. 

Enough for me, whose heart has learn'd to scorn 

Bigots alike in Rome or England bom, 

Who loathe the venom, whencesoe'er it springs, 

From popes or lawyers, 2 pastry-cooks or kings, — ■ 

Enough for me to laugh and weep by turns, 

As mirth provokes, or indignation burns, 

As C— nn — ng vapors, or as France succeeds, 

As H — wk — sb'ry proses, or as Ireland bleeds ! 

And thou, my friend, if, in these headlong days, 
When bigot Zeal her drunken antics plays 
So near a precipice, that men the while 
Look breathless on and shudder while they smile — 
If, in such fearful days, thou'lt dare to look 
To hapless Ireland, to this rankling nook 
Which Heaven hath freed from poisonous things in 

vain, 
While G— -ff— id's tongue and M — sgr—ve's pen 

remain — 
If thou hast yet no golden blinkers got 
To shade thine eyes from this devoted spot, 
Whose wrongs, though blazon'd o'er the world they 

be, 
Placemen alone are privileged not to 



jects. We are told that confidence and kindness will make 
them enemies to the government, though we know that 
exclusion and injuries have hardly prevented them from 
being its friends. In short, nothing can better illustrate the 
misery of those shifts and evasions by which a long course 
of cowardly injustice must be supported, than the whole 
history of Great Britain's conduct towards the Catholic part 
of her empire. 

i The " Sella Stercoraria''' of the popes.— The Right Hon- 
orable and learned Doctor will find an engraving of this 
chair in Spanheim's " Disquisitio Historica de Papa Foemina," 
(p. 118 ;) and I recommend it as a model for the fashion of 
that seat which the Doctor is about to take in the privy- 
council of Ireland. 

8 When Innocent X. was entreated to decide the contro- 
versy between the Jesuits and the Jansenists, he answered, 
that " he had been bred a lawyer, and had therefore nothing 
to do with divinity." — It were to be wished that some of our 
English pettifoggers knew their own fit element as well as 
Pope Innocent X. 

3 Not the C— md— n who speaks thus of Ireland: — 

" To wind up all, whether we regard the fruitfulness of the 
soil, the advantage of the sea, with so many commodious 
havens, or the natives themselves, who are warlike, inge- 
nious, handsome, and well-complexioned, soft-skinned and 
very nimble, by reason of the pliantness of their muscles, 
this Island is in many respects so happy, that Giraldus might 
very well say, 'Nature had regarded with more favorable 
eyes than ordinary this Kingdom of Zephyr.' " 



Oh! turn awhile, and, though the shamrock 

wreaths 
My homely harp, yet shall the song it breathes 
Of Ireland's slavery, and of Ireland's woes, 
Live, when the memory of her tyrant foes 
Shall but exist, all future knaves to warn, 
Embalm'd in hate and canonized by scorn. 
When C — stl — r — gh, in sleep still more profound 
Than his own opiate tengue now deals around, 
Shall wait th' impeachment of that awful day 
Which even his practised hand can't bribe away. 

Yes, my dear friend, wert thou but near me now, 
To see how Spring lights up on Erin's brow 
Smiles that shine out, unconquerably fair, 
Even through the blood-marks left by C — md — n 3 

there, — 
Couldst thou but see what verdure paints the sod, 
Which none but tyrants and their slaves have trod, 
And didst thou know the spirit, kind ££ d brave, 
That warms the soul of each insulted slave, 
Who, tired with struggling, sinks beneath his lot, 
And seems by all but watchful France forgot 4 — 
Thy heart would burn — yes, even thy Pittite heart 
Would burn, to think that such a blooming part 
Of the world's garden, rich in nature's charms, 
And fill'd with social souls and vigorous arms, 
Should be the victim of that canting crew, 
So smooth, so godly, — yet so devilish too ; 
Who, arm'd at onc8 with prayer-books and with 

whips, 5 
Blood on their hands, and Scripture on their lips, 

4 The example of toleration, which Bonaparte has held 
forth, will, I fear, produce no other effect than that of deter- 
mining the British government to persist, from the very 
spirit of opposition, in their own old system of intolerance 
and injustice ; just as the Siamese blacken their teeth, 
" because," as they say, " the devil has white ones." a 

6 One of the unhappy results of the controversy between 
Protestants and Catholics, is the mutual exposure which 
their criminations and recriminations have produced. In vain 
do the Protestants charge the Papists with closing the door 
of salvation upon others, while many of their own writings 
and articles breathe the same uncharitable spirit. No canon 
of Constance or Lateran ever damned heretics more effectu- 
ally than the eighth of the Thirty-nine Articles consigns to 
perdition every single member of the Greek church ; and I 
doubt whether a more sweeping clause oi'tlamnation was ever 
proposed in the most bigoted council, than that which the 
Calvinistic theory of predestination in the seventeenth of 
these Articles exhibits. It is true that no liberal Protestant 
avows such exclusive opinions ; that every honest clergyman 
must feel a pang while he subscribes to them ; that some 
even assert the Athanasian Creed to be the forgery of one 
VigiliusTapsensis, in the beginning of the sixth century, and 
that eminent divines, like Jortin, have not hesitated to say, 
"There are propositions contained in our Liturgy and Arti- 
cles which no man of common sense amongst us believes." b 
But while all this is freely conceded to Protestants ; while 

See l'Histoire Naturelle et Polit. du Royaume de Siam, &c. 
b Strictures on the Articles, Subscriptions, &c. 



196 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Tyrants by creed, and torturers by text, 

Make this life hell, in honor of the next I 

Your R — desd — les, P — re — v — Is, — great, glorious 

Heaven, 
If I'm presumptuous, be my tongue forgiven, 
When here I swear, by my soul's hope of rest, 
I'd rather have been born, ere man was blest 
With the pure dawn of Revelation's light, 
Yes, — rather plunge me back in Pagan night, 
And take my chance with Socrates for bliss, 1 
Than be the Christian of a faith like this, 

nobody doubts their sincerity, when they declare that their 
articles are not essentials of faith, but a collection of opinions 
which have been promulgated by fallible men, and from 
many of which they feel themselves justified in dissenting, — 
while so much liberty of retractation is allowed to Protestants 
upon their own declared and subscribed Articles of religion, 
is it not strange that a similar indulgence should be so obsti- 
nately refused to the Catholics upon tenets which their 
church has uniformly resisted and condemned, in every coun- 
try where it has independently nourished 1 When the Cath- 
olics say, " The Decree of the Council of Lateran, which you 
object to us, has no claim whatever upon either our faith or 
our reason ; it did not even profess to contain any doctrinal 
decision, but was merely a judicial proceeding of that assem- 
bly; and it would be as fair for us to impute a wife-killing 
doctrine to the Protestants, because their first pope, Henry 
VIII., was sanctioned in an indulgence of that propensity, as 
for you to conclude that we have inherited a king-deposing 
taste from the acts of the Council of Lateran, or tne secular 
pretensions of our popes. With respect, too, to the Decree of 
the Council of Constance, upon the strength of which you ac- 
cuse us of breaking faith with heretics, we do not hesitate to 
pronounce that Decree a calumnious forgery, a forgery, too, 
so obvious and ill-fabricated, that none but our enemies have 
ever ventured to give it the slightest credit for authenticity." 
When the Catholics make these declarations, (and they are 
almost weary with making them,) when they show, too, by 
their conduct, that these declarations are sincere, and that 
their faith and morals are no more regulated by the absurd 
decrees of old councils and popes, than their science is influ- 
enced by the papal anathema against that Irishman 8 who 
first found out the Antipodes, — is it not strange that so many 
still wilfully distrust v hat every good man is so much inter- 
ested in believing? That so many should prefer the dark- 
lantern of the 13th century to the sunshine of intellect which 
has since overspread the world 1 and that every dabbler in 
theology, from Mr. Le Mesurier down to the Chancellor of 
the Exchequer, should dare to oppose the rubbish of Con- 
stance and Lateran to the bright and triumphant progress of 
justice, generosity, and truth 1 

i In a singular work, written by one Franciscus Collius, 
" upon the Souls of the Pagans," the author discusses, with 
much coolness and erudition, all the probable chances of sal- 
vation upon which a heathen philosopher might calculate. 
Consigning to perdition, without much difficulty, Plato, So- 
crates, &c, the only sage at whose fate he seems to hesitate 
is Pythagoras, in consideration of his golden thigh, and the 
many miracles which he performed. But, having balanced 
a little his claims, and finding reason to father all these mira- 
cles on the devil, he at length, in the twenty-fifth chapter, 
decides upon damning him also. (Dcrfnimabus Paganorum, 
lib. iv. cap. 20 and 25.) — The px;t Dante compromises the 

a Virgilius, surnamed Solivag-ns, a native of Ireland, who maintained, 
in the 8ih century, the doctrine of the Antipodes, and was anathematized 
accordingly by the Poj e. John Scotua Erigena, another Irishman, was 
t,a first that ever wrote against transuDstantiatiou. 



Which builds on heavenly cant its earthly sway, 
And in a convert mourns to lose a prey ; 
Which grasping human hearts with double hold, — 
Like Danae's lover mixing god and gold, 2 — 
Corrupts both state and church, and makes an 

oath 
The knave and atheist's passport into both ; 
Which, while it dooms dissenting souls to know 
Nor bliss above nor liberty below, 
Adds the slave's suffering to the sinner's fear, 
And, lest he 'scape hereafter, racks him here ! 3 

matter with the Pagans, and gives them a neutral territory 
or limbo of their own, where their employment, it must be 
owned, is not very enviable — "Senza speme vivemo in desio." 
— Cant. iv. — Among the numerous errors imputed to Origen, 
he is accused of having denied the eternity of future punish- 
ment; and, if he never advanced a more irrational doctrine, 
we may venture, I think, to forgive him. Et went so far, 
however, as to include the devil himself in the general hell- 
delivery which he supposed would one day or other take 
place, and in this St. Augustin thinks him rather too merci- 
ful — '' Miserecordior profecto fuit Origenes, qui et ipsum di- 
abolnm," &c. (De Civitat. Dei, lib. xxi. cap. 17.)— Accord- 
ing to St. Jerom, it was Origen's opinion that " the devil 
himself, after a certain time, will be as well off as the angel 
Gabriel"— "Id ipsum fore Gabrielem quod diabolum." (See 
his Epistle to Pammachius.) But Halloix, in his Defence of 
Origen, denies strongly that his learned father had any such 
misplaced tenderness for the devil. 

2 Mr. Fox, in his Speech on the Repeal of the Test Act, 
(1790,) thus condemns the intermixture of religion with the 
political constitution of a state : — " What purpose (he asks) 
can it serve, except the baleful purpose of communicating and 
receiving contamination 1 Under such an alliance corruption 
must alight upon the one, and slavery overwhelm the other." 

Locke, too, says of the connection between church and 
state, "The boundaries on both sides are fixed and immove- 
able. He jumbles heaven and earth together, the things 
most remote and opposite, who mixes these two societies, 
which are in their original, end, business, and in every thing, 
perfectly distinct and infinitely different from each other." — 
First Letter on Toleration. 

The corruptions introduced into Christianity maybe dated 
from the period of its establishment under Constantine, nor 
could all the splendor which it then acquired atone for the 
peace and purity which it lost. 

s There has been, after all, quite as much intolerance 
among Protestants as among Papists. According to the 
hackneyed quotation— 

Uiacos intra muros peccatur et extra. 

Even the great champion of the Reformation, Melanchthon, 
whom Jortin calls " a divine of much mildness and good- 
nature," thus expresses his approbation of the burning of 
Servetus : " Legi (he says to Bullinger) quae de Serveti blas- 
phemiis respondistis, et pietatem ac judicia vestra probo. 
Judico etiam senatum Genevensem recte fecisse, quod homi- 
nem pertinacem et non omissurum blasphemias sustulit; ac 
miratus sum esse qui severitatem illam improbent." I have 
great pleasure in contrasting with these " mild and good-na- 
turea" sentiments the following words of the Papist Baluze,in 
addressing his friend Conringius : ' Interim amemus, mi Con- 
ringi, et tametsi diversas opiniones tuemur in causa religionis, 
moribus tamen diversi non simus, qui eadem literarum stud:a 
sectamur." — Herman. Conring. Epistol. par. secund. p. 56. 

Hume tells us that the Commons, in the beginning of 
Charles the First's reign, "attacked Montague, one cf the 



INTOLERANCE, A SATIRE. 



197 



But no — far other faith, far milder beams 

Of heavenly justice warm the Christian's dreams ; 

His creed is writ on Mercy's page above, 

By the pure hands of all-atoning Love ; 

He weeps to see abused Religion twine 

Round Tyranny's coarse brow her wreath divine ; 

And he, while round him sects and nations raise 

To the one God their varying notes of praise, 

Blesses each voice, whate'er its tone may be, 

That serves to swell the general harmony. 1 

Such was the spirit, gently, grandly bright, 
That fill'd, oh Fox ! thy peaceful soul with light ; 
While free and spacious as that ambient air 
Which folds our planet in its circling care, 
The mighty sphere of thy transparent mind 
Embraced the world, and breathed for all mankind. 
Last of the great, farewell ! — yet not the last — 
Though Britain's sunshine hour with thee be past, 
lerne still one ray of glory gives, 
And feels but half thy loss while Grattan lives. 



APPENDIX. 

To the foregoing Poem, as first published, were 
subjoined, in the shape of a Note, or Appendix, the 
following remarks on the History and Music of Ire- 
land. This fragment was originally intended to form 
part of a Preface to the Irish Melodies ; but after- 

KiRg s chaplains, on account of a moderate book which he 
had lately composed, and which, to their great disgust, saved 
virtuous Catholics, as well as other Christians, from eternal 
torments." — In the same manner a complaint was lodged 
before the Lords of the Council against that excellent writer 
Hooker, for having, in a Sermon against Popery, attempted 
to save many of his Popish ancestors from ignorance —To 
these examples of Protestant toleration I shall beg leave to 
oppose the following extract from a letter of old Roger 
Ascham, (the tutor of Queen Elizah»*:h,) which is preserved 
among the Harrington Papers, and was, written in 15G6, to the 
Earl of Leicester, complaining of the Archbishop Young, 
who had taken away his prebend in the church of York : 
'• Master Bournea did never grieve me half so moche in offer- 
ing me wrong, as Mr. Dudley and the Byshopp of York doe, 
in taking away my right. No byshopp in Q.. M.ry's time 
would have so dealt with me : nor Mr. Bourne hymself, when 
Winchester lived, durst have so dealt with me. For suche 
good estimation in those dayes even the learnedst and wysest 
men, as Gardener and Cardinal Poole, made of my poore 
service, that although they knewe perfectly that in religion, 
both by open wry tinge and pryvie talke, I was contrarye unto 
them ; yea, when Sir Francis Englefield by name did note me 
speciailye at the councill-board, Gardener would not suffer 
me to be called thither, nor touched ellswheare, saiinge suche 
words of me in a lettre, as, though lettres cannot, I blushe 
to write them to your lordshipp. Winchester's good-will 
stoode not in speaking faire and wishing well, but he did in 
deede that for me*> whereby my wife and children shall live 



wards, for some reason which I do not now recol- 
lect, was thrown aside. 

****** 
Our history, for many centuries past, is credit- 
able neither to our neighbors nor ourselves, and 
ought not to be read by any Irishman who wishes 
either to love England or to feel proud of Ireland. 
The loss of independence very early debased our 
character ; and our feuds and rebellions, though 
frequent and ferocious, but seldom displayed that 
generous spirit of enterprise with which the pride 
of an independent monarchy so long dignified the 
struggles of Scotland. It is true this dand has 
given birth to heroes who, under more favorable 
circumstances, might have left in the hearts of 
their countrymen recollections as dear as those of 
a Bruce or a Wallace ; but success was wanting to 
consecrate resistance, their cause was branded with 
the disheartening name ^treason, and tnoir oppressed 
country was such a bk ;tk among nations, that, like 
the adventures of those woods which Rinaldo wished 
to explore, the fame of their actions was lost in the 
obscurity of the place where they achieved them. 

Errando in qoelli boschi 

Trovar potria strane avventure e molte, 
Ma come i luoghi i fatti ancor son foschi, 
Che non se if ha notizia le piu volte. 2 

Hence is it that the annals of Ireland, through 
a lapse of six hundred years, exhibit not one of 
those shining names, not one of those themes of 
national pride, from which poetry borrows her 
noblest inspiration ; and that history, which ought 

the better when I am gone." (See Nugtz Jlntiqua, vol. i. 
pp. 98, 99.)— If men who acted thus were bigots, what shall 
we call Mr. P — re — v — 1 ? 

In Sutcliffe's "Survey of Popery" there occurs the follow- 
ing assertion : — "Papists, that positively hold the heretical 
and false doctrines of the modern church of Rome, cannot 
possibly be saved." — As a contrast to this and other speci- 
mens of Protestant liberality, which it would he much more 
easy than pleasant to collect, I refer my reader to the Decla- 
ration of Le Pere Courayer; — doubting not that, while he 
reads the sentiments of this pious man upon toleration, he 
will feel inclined to exclaim with Belsham, " Blush, ye Prot- 
estant bigots ! and be confounded at the comparison of your 
own wretched and malignant prejudices with the generous 
and enlarged ideas, the noble and animated languagb of this 
Popish priest."— Essays, xxvii. p. 86. 

1 " La tolerance est la chose du monde la plus propre a 
ramener le sitcle d'or, et a faire un concert et une harmonie 
de plusieurs voix et instruments de differents tons et notes, 
aassi agreable pour Se moins que 1'imiformite d'une seule 
voix." Bayle, Commeutaire Philosophique, &c, part ii. chap, 
vi.— Both Bayle and Locke would have treated the subject 
of Toleration in a manner much more worthy of themselves 
and of the cause, if they had written in an age less distract- 
ed by religious prejudices. 

* Ariosto, canto iv. 

a Sir John Bourne, Principal Secretary of Slate to Queen Mary 
b By Gardener's favor Ascham long helJ his fellowship, though not 
resident. 



198 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



to be the richest garden of the Muse, yields no 
growth to her in this hapless island but cypress and 
weeds. In truth, the poet who would embellish his 
song with allusions to Irish names and events, must 
be contented to seek them .in those early periods 
when our character was yet unalloyed and original, 
before the impolitic craft of our conquerors had di- 
vided, weakened, and disgraced us. The sole traits 
of heroism, indeed, which he can venture at this day 
to commemorate, either with safety to himself, or 
honor to his country, are to be looked for in those 
ancient times when the native monarchs of Ireland 
displayed and fostered virtues worthy of a better 
age ; when our Malachies wore around their necks 
collars of gold which they had won in single combat 
from the invader, 1 and our Briens deserved and won 
the warm affections of a people by exhibiting all 
the most estimable qualities of a king. It may be 
said that the magic of tradition has shed a charm 
over this remote period, to which it is in reality but 
little entitled, and that most of the pictures, which 
we dwell on so fondly, of days when this island was 
distinguished amidst the gloom of Europe, by the 
sanctity of her morals, the spirit of her knighthood, 
and the polish of her schools, are little more than 
the inventions of national partiality, — that bright but 
spurious offspring which vanity engenders upon ig- 
norance, and with which the first records of every 
people abound. But the skeptic is scarcely to be en- 
vied who would pause for stronger proofs than we 
already possess of the early glories of Ireland ; and 
were even the veracity of all these proofs surrender- 
ed, yet who would not fly to such flattering fictions 
from the sad degrading truths which the history of 
later times presents to us ? 

The language of sorrow, however, is, in general, 
best suited to our Music, and with themes of this 
nature the poet may be amply supplied. There is 
scarcely a page of our annals that will not furnish 
him a subject, and while the national Muse of other 
countries adorns her temple proudly with trophies 

1 Sec Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i. book ix. 

2 Statius, Thebaid. lib. xii. 

3 " A sort of civil excommunication, (says Gibbon,) which 
separated them from their fellow-citizens by a peculiar brand 
of infamy: and this declaration of the supreme magistrate 
tended to justify, or at least to excuse, the insults of a fanatic 
populace. The sectaries were gradually disqualified for the 
possession of honorable or lucrative employments, and Theo- 
dosins was satisfied with his own justice when he decreed, 
that, as the Eunomians distinguished the nature of the Son 
from that of the Father, they should be incapable of making 
their wills, or of receiving any advantage from testamentary 
donations " 



of the., past, in Ireland her melancholy altar, like 
the shrine of Pity at Athens, is to be known only 
by the tears that are shed upon it ; " lawymis al- 
taria sudant." 2 

There is a well-known story, related of the An- 
tiochians under the reign of Theodosius, which is 
not only honorable to the powers of music in gener- 
al, but which applies so peculiarly to the mournful 
melodies of Ireland, that I cannot resist the temp- 
tation of introducing it here. — The piety of Theodo- 
sius would have been admirable, had it not been 
stained with intolerance ; but under his reign was, I 
believe, first set the example of a disqualifying 
penal code enacted by Christians against Christians. 3 
Whether his interference with the religion of the 
Antiochians had any share in the alienation of their 
loyalty is not expressly ascertained by historians ; 
but several edicts, heavy taxation, and the rapacity 
and insolence of the men whom he sent to govern 
them, sufficiently account for the discontents of a 
warm and susceptible people. Repentance soon fol- 
lowed the crimes into which their impatience had 
hurried them ; but the vengeance of the Emperor 
was implacable, and punishments of the most dread- 
ful nature hung over the city of Antioch, whose 
devoted inhabitants, totally resigned to despond- 
ence, wandered through the streets and public as- 
semblies, giving utterance to their grief in dirges of 
the most touching lamentation. 4 At length, Flavi- 
anus, their bishop, whom they had sent to intercede 
with Theodosius, finding all his entreaties coldly 
rejected, adopted the expedient of teaching these 
songs of sorrow which he had heard from the lips of 
his unfortunate countrymen to the minstrels who 
performed for the Emperor at table. The heart of 
Theodosius could not resist this appeal ; tears fell 
fast into his cup while 1 e listened, and the Antio- 
chians were forgiven. — Surely, if music ever spoke 
the misfortunes of a people, or could ever conciliate 
forgiveness of their errors, the music of Ireland 
ought to possess those powers. 

4 MeAt? tivol o\o(j>vpnov ir'kripr) kcii avfjnraBcias cvvOefitvoi, raij 
^eXwStais ctttiSov. — Nicephor. lib. xii. cap. 43. This story is 
told also in Sozomen, lib. vii. cap. 23; but unfortunately 
Chrysostom says nothing whatever about it, and he not only 
had the best opportunities of information, but was too fond 
of music, as appears by his praises of psalmody, (Exposit. in 
Psalm xii.,) to omit such a flattering illustration of its pow- 
ers. He imputes their reconciliation to the interference of 
the Antiochian solitaries, while Zpzimus attributes it to 
the remonstrances of the sophist Libanius. — Gibbon, I think, 
does not even allude to this story of the musicians. 



THE SKEPTIC, A SATIRE. 



199 



THE SKEPTIC, 



A PHILOSOPHICAL SATIRE 



Noftov navruv fiacnXsa. 

Pindar, ap. Hetrdot. lib. iii. 



PREFACE. 

The Skeptical Philosophy of the Ancients has 
been no less misrepresented than the Epicurean. 
Pyrrho may perhaps have carried it to rather an 
irrational excess ; — bat we must not believe, with 
Beattie, all the absurdities imputed to this philos- 
opher ; and it appears to me that the doctrines of 
the school, as explained by Sextus Empiricus, 1 are 
far more suited to the wants and infirmities of human 
reason, as well as more conducive to the mild virtues 
of humility and patience, than any of those systems 
of philosophy which preceded the introduction of 
Christianity. The Skeptics may be said to have 
held a middle path between the Dogmatists and 
Academicians ; the former of whom boasted that 
they had attained the truth, while the latter denied 
that any attainable truth existed. The Skeptics, 
however, without either asserting or denying its ex- 
istence, professed to be modestly and anxiously in 
search of it ; or, as St. Augustine expresses it, in 
his liberal tract against the Manichasans, " nemo 
nostrum dicat jam se invenisse veritatem ; sic earn 
quaeramus quasi ab utrisque nesciatur." 2 From this 
habit of impartial investigation, and the necessity 
which it imposed upon them, of studying not only 
every system of p .'losophy, but eveiy art and 
science which professed to lay its basis in truth, 
they necessarily took a wider range of erudition, 
and were far more travelled in the regions of phi- 
losophy than those whom conviction or bigotry had 
domesticated in any particular system. It required 
all the learning of dogmatism to overthrow the 
dogmatism of learning ; and the Skeptics may be 

i Pyrrh. Hypoth.— The reader may find a tolerably clear 
abstract of this work of Sextus Empiricus in La Verite des 
Sciences, by Mersenne, liv. i., chap, ii., &c. 

a Lib. contra Epist. Manichaei quam vocant Fundamenti, 
Op. Paris, torn. vi. 

3 See Martin. Schoockius de Scepticismo, who endeavors, 
— weakly, I think,— to refute this opinion of Lipsius. 



said to resemble, sx this respect, hat ancient incen- 
diary who stole from the altar the fire with which 
he destroyed the temple. This advantage over all 
the other sects is allowed to them even by Lipsius, 
whose treatise on the miracles of the Virgo Hal- 
lensis will sufficiently save him jrom all suspicion 
of skepticism. " Lahore, ingenio, memoria," he 
says, " supra omnes pene philosophos fuisse. — Quid 
nonne omnia aliorum secta tenere debuerunt et inqui- 
rere, sipoteruntrefellere? res die it. Nonne orationes 
varias, raras, subtiles inveniri ad tam receptas, claras, 
certas (ut videbatur) sententias evertendas ?" &c. 
&c. 3 — Manuduct. ad Philosoph. Stoic. Dissert. 4. 

Between the skepticism of the ancients and the 
moderns the great difference is, that the former 
doubted for the purpose of investigating, as may be 
exemplified by the third book of Aristotle's Meta- 
physics, 4 while the latter investigate for the purpose 
of doubting, as may be seen through most of the 
philosophical works of Hume. 6 Indeed, the Pyr- 
rhonism of latter days is not only more subtle than 
that of antiquity, but, it must be confessed, more 
dangerous in its tendency. The happiness of a 
Christian depends so essentially upon his belief, that 
it is but natural he should feel alarm at the progress 
of doubt, lest it should steal by degrees into that 
region from which he is most interested in ex- 
cluding it, and poison at last the very spring of his 
consolation and hope. Still, however, the abuses 
of doubting ought not to deter a philosophical mind 
from indulging mildly and rationally in its use ; 
and there is nothing, surely, more consistent with 
the meek spirit of Christianity, than that humble 
skepticism which professes not to extend its distrust 

4 Eotj Se rots eviroprjarai (3ov\opevois irpovpyov to Siarropt)crai 
K<x\(og. — Metaphys. lib. iii., cap. 1. 

6 Neither Hume, however, nor Berkeley, are to be judged 
by the misrepresentations of Beattie, whose book, however 
amiably intended, puts forth a most unphilosophical appeal 
to popular feelings and prejudices, and is a continued petiti* 
principii throughout. 



200 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



beyond the circle of human pursuits, and the pre- 
tensions of human knowledge. A follower of this 
school may be among the readiest to admit the 
claims of a superintending Intelligence upon his 
faith and adoration : it is only to the wisdom of this 
weak world that he refuses, or at least delays, his 
assent ; — it is only in passing through the shadow of 
earth that his mind undergoes the eclipse of skepti- 
cism. No follower of Pyrrho has ever spoken more 
strongly against the dogmatists than St. Paul him- 
self, in the First Epistle to the Corinthians ; and there 
are passages in Ecclesiastes and other parts of Scrip- 
ture, which justify our utmost diffidence in all that 
human reason originates. Even the Skeptics of an- 
tiquity refrained carefully from the mysteries of 
theology, and, in entering the temples of religion, 
laid aside their philosophy at the porch. Sextus 
Empiricus thus declares the acquiescence of his sect 
in the general belief of a divine and fore-knowing 
Power : Tco fiev fit to KaraKo\ov9ovvre$ a6o^aarwg (pajiev 
eivai Sews, Kai aeSofitv $zovs Kai irpovosiv avrovg (pa/xev. 1 
In short, it appears to me, that this rational and well 
regulated skepticism is the only daughter of the 
Schools that can safely be selected as a handmaid 
for Piety. He who distrusts the light of reason, will 
be the first to follow a more luminous guide ; and if, 
with an ardent love for truth, he has sought her in 
vain through the ways of this life, he will but turn 
with the more hope to that better world, where all 
is simple, true, and everlasting: for, there is no 
parallax at the zenith ; — it is only near our troubled 
horizon that objects deceive us into vague and erro- 
neous calculations. 



i Lib. iii. cap. 1. 

2 "The particular bulk, number, figure, and motion of the 
parts of fire or snow are really in them, whether any one per- 
ceive them or not, and therefore they may be called real qual- 
ities, because they really exist in those bodies ; but light, 
heat, whiteness, or coldness, are no more really in them than 
sickness or pain is in manna. Take away thf sensation of 
them ; let not the eye see light or colors, nor tfi2 ears hear 
sounds ; let the palate not taste, nor the nose smell, and all 
colors, tastes, odors, and sounds, as they are such particular 
ideas, vanish and cease." — I.ockc, book ii., chap. 8. 

Bishop Berkeley, it is well known, extended this doctrine 
even to primary qualities, and supposed that matter itself 
has but an ideal existence. But, how are we to apply his 
theory to that period which preceded the formation of man, 
when our system of sensible things was produced, and the 
sun shone, and the waters flowed, without any sentient 
being to witness them 1 The spectator, whom Whiston sup- 
plies, will scarcely solve the difficulty : " To speak my mind 
freely," says he, " I believe that the Messias was there 
actually present." — See Whiston, of the Mosaic Creation. 

8 Boetius employs this argument of the Skeptics among his 
consolatory reflections upon the emptiness of fame. " Quid 
quod diversarum gentium mores inter se atque instituta dis- 
cordant, ut quod apud alios laude, apud alios supplicio dignum 
judicetur ?"— Lib. ii. prosa7. Many amusing instances of di- 
versity, in the tastes, manners, and morals of different nations, 



THE SKEPTIC. 

As the gay tint, that decks the vernal rose, 3 

Not in the flower, but in our vision glows ; 

As the ripe flavor of Falernian tides 

Not in the wine, but in our taste resides ; 

So when, with heartfelt tribute, we declare 

That Marco's honest and that Susan's fair, 

'Tis in our minds, and not in Susan's eyes 

Or Marco's life, the worth or beauty lies : 

For she, in flat-nosed China, would appear 

As plain a thing as Lady Anne is here ; 

And one light joke at rich Loretto's dome 

Would rank good Marco with the damn'd at Rome. 

There's no deformity so vile, so base, 
That 'tis not somewhere thought a charm, a grace ; 
No foul reproach, that may not steal a beam 
From other suns, to bleach it to esteem. 3 
Ask, who is wise ? — you'll find the self-same man 
A sage in France, a madman in Japan ; 
And here some head beneath a mitre swells, 
Which there had tingled to a cap and bells : 
Nay, there may yet some monstrous region be, 
Unknown to Cook, and from Napoleon free, 
Where C — stl — r — gh would for a patriot pass, 
And mouthing M ve scarce be deem'd an ass ! 

" List not to reason, (Epicurus cries,) 
" But trust the senses, there conviction lies :"* — 
Alas ! they judge not by a purer light, 
Nor keep their fountains more untinged and bright : 



may be found throughout the works of that amusing Sekptic, 
Le Mothe le Vayer.— See his Opuscule Sceptique, his Treatise 
" De la Secte Sceptique," and, above all, those Dialogues, not 
to be found in his works, which he published under the name 
of Horatius Tubero.— The chief objection to these writings 
of Le Vayer, (and it is a blemish which may be felt also in 
the Esprit des Loix,) is the suspicious obscurity of the sour- 
ces from whence he frequently draws his instances, and the 
indiscriminate use made by him of the lowest populace of 
the library,— those lying travellers and wonder-mongers of 
whom Shaftesbury, in his Advice to an Author, complains, 
as having tended in his own time to the diffusion of a very 
shallow and vicious sort of skepticism.— Vol. i. p. 352. The 
Pyrrhonism of Le Vayer, however, is of the most innocent 
and playful kind; and Villemandy, the author of Scepti- 
cismus Debellatus, exempts him specially in the declaration 
of war which he denounces against the other armed nen 
trals of the sect, in consideration of the orthodox limits 
within which he confines his incredulity. . 

4 This was the creed also of those modern Epicureans,whom 
Ninon de l'Enclos collected around her in the Rue desTour- 
nelles, and whose object seems to have been to decry the fac- 
ulty of reason, as tending only to embarrass our wholesome 
use of pleasures, without enabling us, in any degree, to avoid 
their abuse. Madame des Houlieres, the fair pupil of Des 
Barreaux in the arts of poetry and gallantry, has devoted most 
of her verses to this laudable purpose, and is even such a de- 



THE SKEPTIC, A SATIRE. 



201 



Habit so mars them, that the Russian swain 
Will sigh for train-oil, while he sips champagne ; 
Aud health so rules them, that a fever's heat 
Would make even Sh — r — d — n think water sweet. 

Just as the mind the erring sense 1 believes, 
The erring mind, in turn, the sense deceives ; 
And cold disgust can find but wrinkles there, 
Where passion fancies all that's smooth and fair 
P * * * *, who sees, upon his pillow laid, 
A face for which ten thousand pounds were paid, 
Can tell, how quick before a jury flies 
The spell that mock'd the warm seducer's eyes. 

Self is the medium through which Judgment's 
ray 
Can seldom pass without being turn'd astray. 
The smith of Ephesus 2 thought Dian's shrine, 
By which his craft most throve, the most divine ; 
And ev'n the true faith seems not half so true, 
When link'd with one good living as with two. 
Had W — lc — t first been pension'd by the throne, 
Kings would have sufferd by his praise alone ; 
And P — ine perhaps, for something snug per aim., 
Had laugh'd, like W— 11— sley, at all Rights of Man. 

But 'tis not only individual minds, — 
Whole nations, too, the same delusion blinds. 
Thus England, hot from Denmark's smoking meads, 
Turns up her eyes at Gallia's guilty deeds ; 

termined foe to reason, that, in one of her pastorals, she con- 
gratulates her sheep on the want of it. St. Evremont speaks 
thus upon the subject :— 

" Un melange incertain d'esprit et de matiere 
Nous fait vivre avec trop ou trop peu de lumiere. 

Naur??, eleve-nous a la clarte des anges, 
Ou noui abaisse au sens des simples animaux." 
Which may be thus paraphrased :— 

Had man been made, at nature's birth, 

Of only flame or only earth, 

Had he been form'd a perfect whole 

Of purely that, or grossly this, 
Then sense would ne'er have clouded soul, 

Nor soul restrain'd the sense's bliss. 
Oh happy, had his light been strong, 

Or had he never shared a light, 
Which shines enough to show he's wrong, 
But not enough to lead him right. 
i See, among the fragments of Petronius, those verses be- 
ginning " Fallunt nos oculi," &.C. The most skeptical of the 
ancient poets was Euripides ; and it would, I think, puzzle 
the whole school of Pyrrho to produce a doubt more start- 
ling than the following : — 

Tt$ <5' mSsv ei fyv tovB' b KSKXrjrat Saveiv, 

To ^T\V 6e §VTi<JK£lV £GTl. 

See Laert. in Pyrrh. 

Socrates and Plato were the grand sources of ancient skep 
ticism. According to Cicero, (de Orator, lib. iii.,) they sup- 
plied Arcesilas with the doctrines of the Middle Academy; 
and how closely these resembled the tenets of the Skeptics, 



Thus, self-pleased still, the same dishonoring chain 
She binds in Ireland, she would break in Spain ; 
While praised at distance, but at home forbid, 
Rebels in Cork are patriots at Madrid. 

If Grotius be thy guide, shut, shut the book, — 
In force alone for Laws of Nations look. 
Let shipless Danes and whining Yankees dwell 
On naval rights, with Grotius and Vattel, 
While C — bb — t's pirate code alone appears 
Sound moral sense to England and Algiers. 

Wo to the Skeptic, in these party days, 
Who wafts to neither shrine his puffs of praise ! 
For him no pension pours 'jts annual fruits, 
No fertile sinecure spontaneous shoots ; 
Not his the meed that crown'd Don H — kh — m's 

rhyme, 
Nor sees he e'er, in dreams of future time, 
Those shadowy forms oi sleek reversions rise, 
So dear to Scotchmen's second-sighted eyes. 
Yet who, that looks to History's damning leaf, 
Where Whig and Tory, thief opposed to thief, 
On either side in lofty shame are seen, 8 
While Freedom's form hangs crucified between — 
Who, B — rd — tt, who such rival rogues can see, 
But flies from both to Honesty and thee ? 

If, weary of the world's bewild'ring maze, 4 
Hopeless of finding, through its weedy ways, 

may be seen even in Sextus Empiricus, (lib. i. cap. 33,) who, 
with all his distinctions, can scarcely prove any difference. 
It appears strange that Epicurus should have been a dogma- 
tist ; and his natural temper would most probably have led 
him to the repose of skepticism, had not the Stoics, by their 
violent opposition to his doctrines, compelled hiin to be as 
obstinate as themselves. Plutarch, indeed, in reporting some 
of his opinions, represents him as having delivered them with 
considerable hesitation. — ~EiriKovpog ov6cv a-joyivco<TK£t rov- 
tuv, £xof.i£vos tov £v h%o n£v ov . — De Placit. Philosopk. lib. ii. 
cap. 13. See also the 21st and 22d chapters. But that the 
leading characteristics of the sect were self-sufficiency and 
dogmatism, appears from what Cicero says of Yelleius, De 
Natur. Deor. — ''Turn Velleius, fidenter sane, ut solent isti, 
nihil tarn verensquam ne dubitare aliqua de re videretur.*' 

3 Acts, chap. xix. " For a certain man named Demetrius, 
a silversmith, which made silver shrines for Diana, brought 
no small gain unto the craftsmen." 

3 "Those two thieves," says Ralph, "between whom the 
nation is crucified."— Use and Abuse of Parliaments. 

* The agitation of the ship is one of the chief difficulties 
which impede the discovery of the longitude at sea : and 
the tumult and hurry of life are equally unfavorable to thr.t 
calm level of mind which is necessary to an inquirer after 
truth. 

In the mean time, our modest Skeptic, in the absence of 
truth, contents himself with probabilities, resembling in this 
respect those suitors of Penelope, who, on finding that they 
could not possess the mistress herself, very wisely resolved 
to put up with her maids ; rrj Hnv£\mtti irAija-ta(M» p*) dvva- 
usvoi, rat? Tavrrjs Epnyvvvro v£pa;7U(fajj. — Plutarch, IIcpi 
HaiSwv AycoyrjS. 



202 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



One flower of truth, the busy crowd we shun, 
And to the shades of tranquil learning run, 
How many a doubt pursues I 1 how oft we sigh, 
When histories charm, to think that histories lie ! 
That all are grave romances, at the best, 
And M — sgr — ve's 2 but more clumsy than the rest. 
By Tory Hume's seductive page beguiled, 
We fancy Charles was just and Strafford mild ; 3 
And Fox himself, with party pencil, draws 
Monmouth a hero, " for the good old cause !" 4 
Then, rights are wrongs, and victories are defeats, 
As French or English pride the tale repeats ; 
And, when they tell Corunna's story o'er, 
They'll disagree in all, but honoring Moore : 
Nay, future pens, to flatter future courts, 
May cite perhaps the Park-guns' gay reports, 
To prove that England triumph'd on the morn 
Which found her Junot's jest and Europe's scorn. 

In Science, too — how many a sj^stem, raised 
Like Neva's icy domes, awhile hath blazed 
With lights of fancy and with forms of pride, 
Then, melting, mingled with the oblivious tide ! 
Now Earth usurps the centre of the sky, 
Now Newton puts the paltry planet by ; 
Now whims revive beneath Descartes's 6 pen, 
Which now, assail'd by Locke's, expire again. 

i See a curious work, entitled " Reflections upon Learn- 
ing," written on the plan of Agrippa's "De Vanitate Scien- 
tiarum," but much more honestly and skilfully executed. 

2 This historian of the Irish rebellions has outrun even his 
predecessor in the same task, Sir John Temple, for whose 
character with respect to veracity the reader may consult 
Carte's " Collection of Ormond's Original Papers," p. 207. 
See also Dr. Nalson's account of him, in the introduction to 
the second volume of his " Historic. Collect." 

3 He defends Strafford's conduct as " innocent and even 
laudable." In the same spirit, speaking of the arbitrary sen- 
tence*? of the Star Chamber, he says,— "The severity of the 
Star Chamber, which was generally ascribed to Laud's pas- 
sionate disposition, was perhaps, in itself, somewhat blame- 
able." 

* That flexibility of temper and opinion, which the habits 
of skepticism are so calculated to produce, are thus pleaded 
for by Mr. Fox, in the very sketch of Monmouth to which I 
allude ; and this part of the picture the historian may be 
thought to have drawn from himself. "One of the most 
conspicuous features in his character seems to have been a 
remarkable, and, as some think, a culpable degree of flexi- 
bility. That such a disposition is preferable to its opposite 
extreme, will be admitted by all who think that modesty, 
even in excess, is more nearly allied to wisdom than conceit 
and self-sufficiency. He who has attentively considered the 
political, or indeed the general concerns of life, may possibly 
go still further, and may rank a willingness to be convinced, 
or, in some cases, even without conviction, to concede our 
own opinion to that of other men, among the principal ingre- 
dients in the composition of practical wisdom."— -It is right 
to observe, however, that the Skeptic's readiness of conces- 
sion arises rather from uncertainty than conviction, more 
from a suspicion that his own opinion may be wrong, than 
from any persuasion that the opinion of his adversary is 



And when, perhaps, in pride of chemic powers, 
We think the keys of Nature's kingdom ours, 
Some Davy's magic touch the dream unsettles, 
And turns at once our alkalis to metals. 
Or, should we roam, in metaphysic maze, 
Through fair-built theories of former days, 
Some Dr — mm — d 6 from the north, more ably 

skill'd, 
Like other Goths, to ruin than to build, 
Tramples triumphant through our fanes o'erthrown, 
Nor leaves one grace, one glory of his own. 

">h Learning, whatsoe'er thy pomp and boast, 
frftletter'd minds have taught and charm'd men 

most. 
The rude, unr.ead Columbus was our guide 
To worlds, which learn'd Lactantius had denied ; 
And one wild Shakspeare, following Nature's lights, 
Is worth whole planets, fill'd with Stagyrites. 

See grave Theology, when once she strays 
From Revelation's path, what tricks she plays ; 
What various heav'ns, — all fit for bards to sing, — 
Have churchmen dream'd, from Papias 7 down to 

King! 8 
While hell itself, in India naught but smoke, 9 
In Spain's a furnace, and in France — a joke. 



right. " It may be so," was the courteous and skeptical for- 
mula with which the Dutch were accustomed to reply to 
the statements of ambassadors. See Lloyd's State Worthies, 
art. Sir Thomas Wyat. 

o Descartes, who is considered as the parent of modern 
skepticism, says, that there is nothing in the whole range of 
philosophy which does not admit of two opposite opinions, 
and which is not involved in doubt and uncertainty. " In 
Philosophia nihil adhuc reperiri, de quo non in utramque 
partem disputatur, hoc est, quod non sit incertum et dubium." 
Gassendi is likewise to be added to the list of modern Skep- 
tics, and Wedderkopff, in his Dissertation " De Scepticismo 
profanoetsacro,"(Argentorat. 1666,) has denounced Erasmus 
also as a follower of Pyrrho, for his opinions upon the Trinity, 
and some other subjects. To these, if we add the names of 
Bayle, Mallebranche, Dryden, Locke, &c. &c, I think there is 
no one who need be ashamed of doubting in such company. 

6 See this gentleman's Academic Questions. 

7 Papias lived about the time of the apostles, and is sup- 
posed to have given birth to the heresy of the Chilliastse, 
whose heaven was by no means of a spiritual nature, but 
rather an anticipation of the Prophet of Hera's elysium. See 
Eusebius, Hist. Ecclesiast. lib. iii. cap. 33, and Hieronym. de 
Scriptor. Ecclesiast. — From all I can find in these au- 
thors concerning Papias, it seems hardly fair to impute to 
him those gross imaginations in which the believers of the 
sensual millennium indulged. 

8 King, in his Morsels of Criticism, vol. i., supposes the 
sun to be the receptacle of blessed spirits. 

9 The Indians call hell " the House of Smoke." See Picart 
upon the Religion of the Banians. The reader who is curi- 
ous about infernal matters, may be edified by consulting 
Rusca de Inferno, particularly lib. ii. cap. 7, 8, where he will 
find the precise sort of fire ascertained in which wicked 
spirits are to be burned hereafter. 



THE SKEPTIC, A SATIRE. 



203 



Hail, modest Ignorance, thou goal and prize, 
Thou last, best knowledge of the simply wise ! 
Hail, humble Doubt, when error's waves are past, 
How sweet to reach thy shelter'd port 1 at last, 
And, there, by changing skies nor lured n 

awed, 
Smile at the battling winds that roar abroad. 
There gentle Charity, who knows how frail 
The bark of Virtue, even in summer's gale, 
Sits by the nightly fire, whose beacon glows 
For all who wander, whether friends or foes 



There Faith retires, and keeps her white sail 

furl'd, 
Till call'd to spread it for a better world ; 
While Patience, watching on the weedy shoie, 
And mutely waiting till the storm be o'er, 
Oft turns to Hope, who still directs her eye 
To some blue spot, just breaking in the sky ! 

Such are the mild, the bless'd associates given 
To him who doubts, — and trusts in naught but 
Heaven ! 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 



BY THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER. 



Elapsae manibus cecidere tabellae. Ovid. 



STEPHEN WOOLRICHE, ESQ. 

My DEA.R WOOLRICHE, 

It is now about seven years since I promised 
(and I grieve to think it is almost as long since we 
met) to dedicate to you the very first Book, of what- 
ever size or kind, I should publish. Who could have 
thought that so many years would elapse, without 
my giving the least signs of life upon the subject 
of this important promise? Who could have im- 
agined that a volume of doggerel, after all, would 
be the first offering that Gratitude would lay upon 
the shrine of Friendship ? 

If you continue, however, to be as much inter- 
ested about me and my pursuits as formerly, you 
will be happy to hear that doggerel is not my only 
occupation ; but that I am preparing to throw my 
name to the Swans of the Temple of Immortality, 2 
leaving it, of course, to the said Swans to determine, 
whether they ever will take the trouble of picking 
it from the stream. 

In the mean time, my dear Woohiche, like an 
orthodox Lutheran, you must judge of me rather by 
my faith than my works; and however trifling 



the tribute which I here offer, never doubt the fidel- 
ity with which I am, and always shall be, 
Your sincere and 

attached Friend, 

THE AUTHOR 
March 4, 1813. 



PREFACE. 



The Bag, from which the following Letters are 
selected, was dropped by a Twopenny 'Postman 
about two months since, and picked up by an 
emissary of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, 
who, supposing it might materially assist the pri- 
vate researc\>s of that Institution, immediately 
took it to his employers, and was rewarded hand- 
somely for his trouble. Such a treasury of secrets 
was worth a whole host of informers ; and ac- 
cordingly, like the Cupids of the poet (if I may 
use so profane a simile) who " fell at odds about 
the sweet-bag of a bee," 3 thoso venerable Sup- 
pressors almost fought with each other for the 



i "Chere Sceptique, douce parure de mon ame, et l'unique 
p->rt de salut a une esprit qui aime \s repos \"—La Mothele , 
layer. 

I 



Ariosto, canto 35. 
Herriek. 



204 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



honor and delight of first ransacking the Post- 
Bag. Unluckily, however, it turned out, upon 
examination, that the discoveries of profligacy 
which it enabled them to make, lay chiefly in those 
upper regions of society, which their well-bred 
regulations forbid them to molest or meddle with. 
— In consequence, they gained but very few vic- 
tims by their prize, and, after lying for a week or 
two under Mr. Hatchard's counter, the Bag, with 
its violated contents, was sold for a trifle to a friend 
of mine. 

It happened that I had been just then seized with 
an ambition (having never tried the strength of my 
wing but in a Newspaper) to publish something or 
other in the shape of a Book ; and it occurred to me 
that, the present being such a letter- writing era, a 
few of these Twopenny-Post Epistles, turned into 
easy verse, would be as light and popular a task as 
I could possibly select for a commencement. I did 
not, however, think it prudent to give too many 
Letters at first, and, accordingly, have been obliged 
(in order to eke out a sufficient number of pages) to 
reprint some of those trifles which had already 
appeared in the public journals. As in the battles 
of ancient times, the shades of the departed were 
sometimes seen among the combatants, so I thought 
I might manage to remedy the thinness of my ranks 
by conjuring up a few dead and forgotten epheme- 
rons to fill them. 

Such are the motives and accidents that led to 
the present publication ; and as this is the first 
time my Muse has ever ventured out of the go-cart 
of a Newspaper, though I feel all a parent's delight 
at seeing little Miss go alone, I am also not without 
a parent's anxiety, lest an unlucky fall should be 
the consequence of the experiment ; and I need 
not point out how many living instances might be 
found, of Muses that have suffered very severely 
in their heads, from taking rather too early and 
rashly to their feet. Besides, a Book is so very 
different a thing from a Newspaper ! — in the former, 
your doggerel, without either company or shelter, 
must stand shivering in the middle of a bleak 
page by itself ; whereas, in the latter, it is comfort- 
ably backed by advertisements, and has sometimes 
even a speech of Mr. St — ph — n's, or something 
equally warm, for a chauffe-pie — so that, in gene- 
ral, the very reverse cf " laudatur et alget" is its 
destiny. 

Ambition, however, must run some risks, and I 
shall be very well satisfied if the reception of these 
few Letters should have the effect of sending me 
to the Post-Bag for more 



i Pindar, Pyth. 2.— My friend certainly cannot add ovt 1 ev 
ai'dpaoi Xepaa<popov. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FOURTEENTH EDITION. 
BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 

In the absence of Mr. Brown, who is at present 

on a tour through , I feel myself called 

upon, as his friend, to notice certain misconceptions 
and misrepresentations, to which this little volume 
of Trifles has given rise. 

In the first place, it is not true that Mr. Brown 
has had any accomplices in the work. A note, 
indeed, which has hitherto accompanied his Pre- 
face, may very naturally have been the origin of 
such a supposition ; but that note, which was 
merely the coquetry of an author, I have, in the 
present edition, taken upon myself to remove, and 
Mr. Brown must therefore be considered (like the 
mother of that unique production, the Centaur, 
[iova Kai [iovqv 1 ) as alone responsible for the whole 
contents of the volume. 

In the next place it has been said, that in 
consequence of this graceless little book, a certain 
distinguished Personage prevailed upon another 
distinguished Personage to withdraw from the 
author that notice and kindness with which he 
had so long and so liberally honored him. In this 
story there is not one syllable of truth. For 
the magnanimity of the former of these persons I 
would, indeed, in no case answer too rashly : but 
of the conduct of the latter towards my friend, I 
have a proud gratification in declaring, that it has 
never ceased to be such as he must remember with 
indelible gratitude ; — a gratitude the more cheer- 
fully and warmly paid, from its not bd>.\g % debt 
incurred solely on his own account, but for kind- 
ness shared with those nearest and dearest to him. 

To the charge of being an Irishman, poor 
Mr. Brown pleads guilty ; and I believe it must 
also be acknowledged that he comes of a Roman 
Catholic family : an avowal which I am aware is 
decisive of his utter reprobation, in the eyes of 
those exclusive patentees of Christianity, so worthy 
to have been the followers of a certain enlightened 
Bishop, Donatus, 2 who held " that God is m Africa 
and not elsewhere." But from all this it does not 
necessarily follow that Mr. Brown is a Papist ; and, 
indeed, I have the strongest reasons for suspecting 
that they, who say so, are somewhat mistaken. 
Not that I presume to have ascertained his opinions 
upon such subjects. All I profess to know of his 
orthodoxy is, that he has a Protestant wife and 

8 Bishop of Caste Nigra?, in the fourth century. 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 



205 



two or three little Protestant children, and that he 
has been seen at church every Sunday, for a whole 
year together, listening to the sermons of his truly 

reverend and amiable friend, Dr. , and 

behaving there as well and as orderly as most 
people. 

There are yet a few other mistakes and false- 
hoods about Mr. Brown, to which I had intended, 
with all becoming gravity, to advert ; but I begin 
to think the task is quite as useless as it is tiresome. 
Misrepresentations and calumnies of this sort are, 
like the arguments and statements of Dr. Duigenan, 
— not at all the less vivacious or less serviceable to 
their fabricators, for having been refuted and dis- 
proved a thousand times over. They are brought 
forward again, as good as new, whenever malice or 
stupidity may be in want of them ; and are quite as 
useful as the old broken lantern, in Fielding's Amelia, 
which the watchman always keeps ready by him, 
to produce, in proof of riotous conduct, against his 
victims. I shall therefore give up the fruitless toil 
of vindication, and would even draw my pen over 
what I have already written, had I not promised to 
furnish my publisher with a Preface, and know not 
how else I could contrive to eke it out. 

I have added two or three more trifles to this 
edition, which I found in the Morning Chronicle, and 
knew to be from the pen of my friend. The rest of 
the volume remains 1 in its original state. 

April 20, 1814. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS, 

&c. 



LETTER I. 

FROM THE PR NC SS CH RL E OF VJfr- L S 

TO THE LADY B RB A ASHL Y? 

My dear Lady Bab, you'll be shock'd, I'm afraid, 
When you hear the sad rumpus your Ponies have 
made ; 



1 A new reading has been suggested in the original of the 
Ode of Horace, freely translated by Lord Eld— n, page 166. 
In the line " Sive per Syrteis iter aestuosas," it is proposed, by 
a very trifling alteration, to read " Surtees" instead of " Syr- 
teis," which brings the Ode, it is said, more home to the noble 
translator, and gives a peculiar force and aptness to the epi- 



Since the time of horse- consuls, (now long out of 

date,) 
No nags ever made such a stir in the state. 
Lord Eld — n first heard — and as instantly pray'd he 
To " God and his King" — that a Popish young Lady 
(For though you've bright eyes and twelve thousand 

a year, 
It is still but too true you're a Papist, my dear,) 
Had insidiously sent, by a tall Irish groom, 
Two priest-ridden Ponies, just landed from Rome, 
And so full, little rogues, of pontifical tricks, 
That the dome of St. Paul's was scarce safe from 

their kicks. 

Off at once to Papa, in a flurry he flies — 
For Papa always does what these statesmen advise. 
On condition that they'll be, in turn, so polite 
As in no case whate'er to advise him too right — 
" Pretty doings are here, Sir, (he angrily cries, 
While by dint of dark eyebrows he strives to look 

wise) — 
" 'Tis a scheme of the Romanists, so help me God ! 
" To ride over your most Royal Highness rough- 
shod — 
" Excuse, Sir, my tears — they're from loyalty's 

source — 
" Bad enough 'twas for Troy to be sack'd by a 

Horse, 
" But for us to be ruin'd by Ponies still worse !" 
Quick a Council is call'd — the whole Cabinet sits — 
The Archbishops declare, frighten'd out of their 

wits, 
That if once Popish Ponies should eat at my manger, 
From that awful moment the Church is in danger ! 
As, give them but stabling, and shortly no stalls 
Will suit their proud stomachs but those at St. Paul's. 

The Doctor, 3 and he, the devout man of Leather, 4 
V — ns — tt — t, now laying their Saint-heads to- 
gether, 
Declare that these skittish young a-bominations 
Are clearly foretold in Chap. vi. Revelations — 
Nay, they verily think they could point out the one 
Which the Doctor's friend Death was to canter upon. 

Lord H — rr — by, hoping that no one imputes 
To the Court any fancy to persecute brutes, 
Protests, on the word of himself and his cronies, 
That had these said creatures been Asses, not Ponies, 
The Court would have started no sort of objection, 
As Asses were, there, always sure of protection. 



thet " aestuosas." I merely throw out this emendation for 
the earned, being unable myself to decide upon it? mrrits. 

» This young Lady, who is a Roman Catholic, had lately 
made a present of some beautiful Ponies to the Pr — nc — ss. 

3 Mr. Addington, so nicknamed. 

4 Alluding to a tax lately laid upon leather. 



206 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" If the Pr — nc — ss will keep them, (says Lord 
C— stl— r— gh,) 
" To make them quite harmless, the only true way 
" Is (as certain Chief Justices do with their wives) 
" To flog them within half an inch of their lives. 
" If they've any bad Irish blood lurking about, 
" This (he knew by experience) would soon draw 

it out." 
Should this be thought cruel, his Lordship proposes 
" The new Veto snaffle 1 to bind down their noses — 
" A pretty contrivance, made out of old chains, 
" Which appears to indulge, while it doubly re- 
strains ; 
" Which, however high-mettled, their gamesomeness 

checks * 
" (Adds his Lordship humanely,) or else breaks their 
necks !" 

This proposal received pretty general applause 
From the statesmen around — and the neck-breaking 

clause 
Had a vigor about it, which soon reconciled 
Even Eld — n himself to a measure so mild. 
So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to, nem. con., 
And my Lord C — stl — r — gh, having so often shone 
In the fettering line, is to buckle them on. 

I shall drive to your door in these Vetos some day, 
But, at present, adieu ! — I must hurry away 
To go see my Mamma, as I'm suft'er'd to meet her 
F ;r just half an hour by the Qu — n's best repeater. 

ClI — RL — TTE. 



LETTER II. 

FROM COLONEL M*M — II — N TO G LD FR — ] 

L — CKIE, ESQ. 

Dear Sir, I've just had time to look 
Into your very learned Book, 2 
Wherein — as plain as man can speak, 
Whose English is half modern Greek — 
You prove that we can ne'er intrench 
Our happy isles against the French, 
Till Royalty in England's made 
A much more independent trade ; — 



i The question whether a Veto was to be allowed to the 
Crown in the appointment of Irish Catholic Bishops was, at 
this time, very generally and actively agitated. 

2 For an account of this extraordinary work of Mr. Leckie, 
see the " Edinburgh Review," vol. xx. 



In short, until the House of Guelph 
Lays Lords and Commons on the shelf, 
And boldly sets up for itself 

All, that can well be understood 
In this said Book, is vastly good : 
And, as to what's incomprehensible, 
I dare be sworn 'tis full as sensible. 

But, to your work's immortal credit, 
The Pr — n — e, good Sir, the Pr — n — e has read it 
(The only Book, himself remarks, 
Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke's.) 
Last levee-morn he look'd it through, 
During that awful hour or two 
Of grave tonsorial preparation, 
Which, to a fond, admiring nation, 
Sends forth, announced by trump and drum, 
The best-wigg'd Pr — n — e in Christendom. 

He thinks with you, th' imagination 
Of partnership in legislation 
Could only enter in the noddles 
Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles, 
Whose heads on firms are running so, 
They eVn must have a King and Co., 
And hence, most eloquently show forth 
On checks and balances, and so forth. 

But now, he trusts, we're coming near a 
Far more royal, loyal era ; 
When England's monarch need but say, 
" Whip me those scoundrels, C — stl — r — gh !" 
Or, " Hang me up those Papists, Eld — n," 
And 'twill be done — ay faith, and well done. 

With view to which, I've his command 
To beg, Sir, from your travell'd hand, 
(Round which the foreign graces swarm 3 ) 
A Plan of radical Reform ; 
Compiled and chosen as best you can, 
In Turkey or at Ispahan, 
And quite upturning, branch and root, 
Lords, Commons, and Burde"tt to boot. 

But, psay, whate'er you may impart, write 
Somewhat more brief than Major C — rtwr — ght : 

Else, though the Pr e be long in rigging, 

'Twould take, at least, a fortnight's wigging, — 
Two wigs to every paragraph — 
Before he well could get through half. 



* " The truth indeed seems to Iip, that having lived so 
long abroad as evidently to have lost, in a great degree, the 
use of his native language, Mr. Leckie has gradually come 
not only to speak, but to feel, like a foreigner." Edinburgh 
Review. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



207 



You'll send it also speedily — 
As, truth to say, 'twixt you and me, 
His Highness, heated by your work, 
Already thinks himself Grand Turk ! 
And you'd have laugh'd, had you seen how 
He scared the Ch — nc — 11 — r just now, 
When (on his Lordship's entering puff'd) he 
Slapp'd his back and call'd him " Mufti !" 

The tailors too have got commands, 
To put directly into hands 
All sorts of Dulimans and Pouches, 
With Sashes, Turbans, and Paboutches, 
(While Y — rm — th's sketching out a plan 
Of new Moustaches a VOttomane,) 
And all things fitting and expedient 
To turkify our gracious R — g — nt ! 

You, therefore, have no time to waste — 
So, send your System. — 

Yours, in haste. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Before I send this scrawl away, 

I seize a moment, just to say, 

There's some parts of the Turkish system 

So vulgar, 'twere as well you miss'd 'em. 

For instance — in Seraglio matters — 

Your Turk, whom girlish fondness flatters, 

Would fill his Haram (tasteless fool !) 

With tittering, red-cheek'd things from school. 

But here (as in that fairy land, 

Where Love and Age went hand in hand j 1 

Where lips, till sixty, shed no honey, 

And Grandams were worth any money,) 

Our Sultan has much riper notions — 

So, let your list of sh ? -promotions 

Include those only, plump and sage, 

Who've reach'd the regulation-age ; 

That is, (as near as one can fix 

From Peerage dates,) full fifty -six. 

This rule's for fav'rites — nothing more — 
For, as to wives, a Grand Signor, 
Though not decidedly without them, 
Need never care one curse about them. 



i The learned Colonel must allude here to a description 
of the Mysterious Isle, in the History of Abdalla, son of 
Hanif, where such inversions of the order of nature are said 
to have taken place. — " A score of old women and the same 
number of old men played here and there in the court, some 
at chuck-farthing, others at tip-cat or at cockles."— And 



LETTER III. 



FROM G GE PR CE 

E OF Y— 



We miss'd you last night at the "hoary old sinner's," 
Who gave us, as usual, the cream of good dinners ; 
His soups scientific — his fishes quite prime — 
His pates superb — and his cutlets sublime ! 
In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a 
Stomachic orgasm in my Lord El — b — gb, 
Who set to, to be sure, with miraculous force, 
And exclaim'd, between mouthfuls, " a He-Cook of 

course !— 
" While you live — (wnat's there unaer that cover? 

pray, look) — 
"While you live — (I'll just taste it) ne'er keep a 

She-Cook. 
" 'Tis a sound Salic Law — (a small bit of that 

toast) — 
" Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the 

roast ; 
"For Cookery's a secret — (this turtle's uncom- 
mon^ — 
" Like Masonry, never found out by a woman !" 

The dinner, you know, was in gay celebration 

Of my brilliant triumph and H — nt's condemna- 
tion ; 

A compliment, too, to his Lordship the Judge 

For his Speech to the Jury — and zounds ! who 
would grudge 

Turtle soup, though it came to five guineas a 
bowl, 

To reward such a loyal and complaisant soul ? 

We were all in high gig — Roman Punch and To- 
kay 

Travell'd round, till our heads travell'd just the 
same way ; 

And we cared not for Juries or Libels — no — 
damme ! nor 

Ev'n for the threats of last Sunday's Examiner ! 

More good things were eaten than said — but 
Tom T— rrh— t 
In quotiug Joe Miller, you know, has some merit ; 
And, hearing the sturdy Justiciary Chief 
Say — sated with turtle — " I'll now try the beef" — 



again, "There is nothing, believe me, more engaging than 
those lovely wrinkles," &c. &c. — See Tales of the East, vol. 
iii. pp. 607, 608. 

2 This letter, as the reader will perceive, was 
day after a dinner given by the M — rq — s of H — d — t 



208 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Tommy whisper'd him (giving his Lordship a sly- 
hit) 

" I fear 'twill be hung-heef, my Lord, if you try 
it!" 

And C — md — n wals there, who, that morning, 
had gone 

To fit his new Marquis's coronet on ; 

And the dish set before him — oh dish well-de- 
vised ! — ■ 

Was, what old Mother Glasse calls, " a calf 's head 
surprised !" 

The brains were near Sh — ry, and once had been 
fine, 

But, of late, they had lain so long soaking in wine, 

That though we, from courtesy, still chose to call 

These brains very fine, they were no brains at all. 

When the dinner was over, we drank every one 
In a bumper, " the venial delights of Crim. Con. ;" 
At which H — df — t with warm reminiscences 

gloated, 
And E — b'r — h chuckled to hear himself quoted. 

Our next round of toasts was a fancy quite new, 
For we drank — and you'll own 'twas benevolent 

too — 
To those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons, or 

peers, 
Whom we've, any time, honor'd by courting their 

dears : 
This museum of wittols was comical rather ; 
Old H — df — t gave M — ss — y, and I gave your 

f_ th— r. 

In short, not a soul till this morning would 
budge — 

We were all fan and frolic, — and even the J e 

Laid aside, for the time, his juridical fashion, 
And through the whole night wasn't once in a pas- 
sion ! 

I write this in bed, while my whiskers are air- 
ing. 
And M — c 1 has a sly dose of jalap preparing 
For poor T — mmy T — rr — t at breakfast to quaff— 
As I feel I want something to give me a laugh, 
And there's nothing so good as old T — mmy, kept 

close 
To his Cornwall accounts, after taking a dose. 



i Colonel M'Mahon. 

2 This letter, which contained some very heavy enclosures, 
seems to have been sent to London by a private hand, and 
then put into the Twopenny Post-Oflice, to save trouble. See 
the Appendix. 

s In sending this sheet to the Press, however, I learn that 



LETTER IV. 

FROM THE RIGHT HON. P TR CK D GEN N TO 

THE RIGHT HON. SIR J — HN N — CH — L. 

Dublin.* 
Last week, dear N — ch — 1, making merry 
At dinner with our Secretary, 
When all were drunk, or pretty near, 
(The time for doing business here,) 
Says he to me, " Sweet Bully Bottom ! 
" These Papist dogs — hiccup — 'od rot 'em ! — 
" Deserve to be bespatter' d — hiccup — 
" With all the dirt ev'n you can pick up. 
" But, as the Pr — ce (here's to him — fill — 
" Hip, hip, hurra !) — is trying still 
" To humbug them with kind professions, 
" And, as you deal in strong expressions — 
" ' Rogue' — ' traitor' — hiccup — and all that — 
" You must be muzzled, Doctor Pat ! — 
" You must indeed — hiccup — that's flat." 

Yes — " muzzled" was the word, Sir John — 
These fools have clapp'd a muzzle on 
The boldest mouth that e'er ran o'er 
With slaver of the times of yore ! 3 — 
Was it for this that back I went 
As far as Lateran and Trent, 
To prove that they, who damn'd us then, 
Ought now, in turn, be damn'd again? — 
The silent victim still to sit 
Of Gr — tt — n's fire and C — nn — g's wit, 
To hear ev'n noisy M — th — w gabble on, 
Nor mention once the W — e of Babylon ! 
Oh ! 'tis too much — who now will be 
The Nightman of No-Popery? 
What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop, 
Such learned filth will ever fish up? 
If there among our ranks be one 
To take my place, 'tis thou, Sir John ; 
Thou, who, like me, art dubb'd Right Hon 
Like me, too, art a Lawyer Civil 
That wishes Papists at the devil. 

To whom then but to thee, my friend, 
Should Patrick 4 his Port-folio send? 
Take it — 'tis thine — his learn'd Port-folio, 
With all its theologic olio 
Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman — 
Of Doctrines, now believed by no man — 

the " muzzle" has been taken off, and the Right Hon. Doctor 
again let loose ! 

4 A bad name for poetry ; but D — gen — n is still worse. — 
As Prudentius says upon a very different subject — 
Tcrquetur Apollo 
Nomine percussus. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



209 



Of Councils, held for men's salvation, 

Yet always ending in damnation — 

(Which shows that, since the world's creation, 

Your Priests, whate'er their gentle shamming, 

Have always had a taste for damning,) 

And many more such pious scraps, 

To prove (what we've long proved, perhaps,) 

That, mad as Christians used to be 

About the Thirteenth Century, 

There still are Christians to be had 

In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad ! 

Farewell — I send with this, dear N — ch — 1, 
A rod or two I've had hi pickle 
Wherewith to trim old Gr — tt — n's jacket. — 
The rest shall go by Monday's packet. 

P. D. 

Among the Enclosures in the foregoing Letter was 
the following " Unanswerable Argument against 
the Papists." 

# * * * 

We're told the ancient Roman nation 
Made use of spittle in lustration ; l 
(Vide Lactantium ap. Gallseum 3 — 
i. e. you need not read but see 'em ;) 
Now, Irish Papists, fact surprising, 
Make use of spittle hi baptizing ; 
Which proves them all, O'Finns, O'Fagans, 
Connors, and Tooles, all downright Pagans. 
This fact's enough ; — let no one tell us 
To free such sad, salivous fellows. — 
No, no — the man, baptized with spittle, 
Hath no truth hi him — not a tittle ! 



LETTER V. 

FROM 'HE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF C — RK 
TO LADY . 



My dear Lady 



I've been just sending out 



About five hundred cards for a snug little Rout — 
(By the by, you've seen Rokeby? — this moment 

got mine — 
The Mail-Coach Edition 3 — prodigiously fine ;) 



Lustralibus ante salivis 

Pers. sat. 2. 



Expiat. 

3 I have taken the trouble of examining the Doctor's ref- 
erence here, and find him, for once, correct. The following 
are the words of his indignant referee, Gallseus : — " Asserere 



But I can't conceive how, in this very cold weather, 
I'm ever to bring my five hundred together ; 
As, unless the thermometer's near boiling heat, 
One can never get half of one's hundreds to meet. 
(Apropos — you'd have laugh'd to see Townsend 

last night, 
Escort to their chairs, with his staff, so polite, 
The " three maiden Miseries," all in a fright ; 
Poor Townsend, like Mercury, filling two posts, 
Supervisor of thieves, and chief-usher of ghosts !) 



But, my dear Lady 
some notion, 



can't you hit on 



At least for one night to set London in motion ? — 
As to having the R — g — nt, that show is gone by — 
Besides, I've remark'd that (between you and I) 
The Marchesa and he, inconvenient in more ways, 
Have taken much lately to whispering in doorways ; 
Which — consid'ring, you know, dear, the size of 

the two — 
Makes a block that one's company cannot get 

through ; 
And a house such as mine is, with doorways so 

small, 
Has no room for such cumbersome love-work at 

all.— 
(Apropos, though, of love-work — you've heard it, 

I hope, 
That Napoleon's old mother's to marry the Pope, — 
What a comical pair !) — but, to stick to my Rout, 
'Twill be hard if some novelty can't be struck out. 
Is there no Algerine, no Kamchatkan arrived ? 
No Plenipo Pacha, three -tail'd and ten- wived ? 
No Russian, whose dissonant consonant name 
Almost rattles to fragments the trumpet of fame ? 

I remember the time, three or four winters back, 
When — provided their wigs were but decently 

black — 
A few Patriot monsters, from Spain, were a sight 
That would people one's house for one, night after 

night. 
But — whether the Ministers paw'd them too 

much — 
(And you know how they spoil whatsoever they 

touch) 
Or, whether Lord G — rge (the young man about 

town) 
Has, by dint of bad poetry, written them down, 
One has certainly lost one's peninsular rage ; 
And the only stray Patriot seen for an age 

non veremur sacrum baptismum a Papistis profanari, et sputi 
usum in peccatorum expiatione a Paganis non a Christians 
manasse." 

8 See Mr. Murray's Advertisement about the Mail-Coach 
copies of Rokeby. 



210 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Has been at such places (think, how the fit cools !) 
As old Mrs. V — gh — n's or Lord L — v — rp — Vs. 

But, in short, my dear, names like Wintztschit- 
stopschinzoudhoff 
Are the only things now make an ev'ning go 

smooth off: 
So, get me a Russian — till death I'm your debtor — 
If he brings the whole Alphabet, so much the bet- 
ter. 
And — Lord ! if he would but, in character, sup 
Off his fish-oil and candles, he'd quite set me up ! 

Au revoir, my sweet girl — I must leave you in 
haste — 
Little Gunter has brought me the Liqueurs to taste. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

By the by, have you found any friend that can 

construe 
That Latin account, t'other day, of a Monster? 1 
If we can't get a Russian, and that thing in Latin 
Be »:t too improper, I think I'll bring that in. 



LETTER VI. 

FROM ABDALLAH, 2 IN LONDON, TO MOHASSAN, 
IN ISPAHAN. 

Whilst thou, Mohassan, (happy thou !) 
Dost daily bend thy loyal brow 
Before our King — our Asia's treasure ! 
Nutmeg of Comfort ; Rose of Pleasure ! — 
And bear'st as many kicks and bruises 
As the said Rose and Nutmeg chooses ; 



» Alluding, I suppose, lo the Latin Advertisement of a 
Lnsus Naturae in the Newspapers lately. 

2 I have made many inquiries about this Persian gentle- 
man, but cannot satisfactorily ascertain who he is. From 
his notions of Religious Liberty, however, I conclude that he 
is an importation of Ministers ; and he has arrived just in 

time to assist the P e and Mr. L— ck — e in their new 

Oriental Plan of Reform. — See the second of these Letters. 
How Abdallah's epistle to Ispahan found its way into the 
Twopenny Post-Bag is more than I can pretend to account 
tor. 

9 " (Test an honnete homme," said a Turkish governor of 
De Ruyter ; " c'est grand dommage qu'il soit Chretien." 

* Sv/Miites and Shiites are the two leading sects into which 
the Mahometan world is divided ; and they have gone on 
cursing and persecuting each other, without any intermission, 
for about eleven hundred years. The Sunni is the established 
sect in Turkey, and the Shia in Persia ; and the differences 



Thy head still near the bowstring's borders, 

And but left on till further orders — 

Through London streets with turban fair, 

And caftan, floating to the air, 

I saunter on, the admiration 

Of this short-coated population — 

This sew'd up race — this button'd nation — 

Who, while they boast their laws so free, 

Leave not one limb at liberty, 

But live, with all their lordly speeches, 

The slaves of buttons and tight breeches. 

Yet, though they thus their knee-pans fetter 
(They're Christians, and they know no better 3 ) 
In some things they're a thinking nation ; 
And, on Religious Toleration, 
I own I like their notions quite, 
They are so Persian and so right ! 
You know our Sunnites, 4 — hateful dogs . 
Whom every pious Shiite flogs 
Or longs to flog 6 — 'tis true, they pray 
To God, but in an ill-bred way ; 
With neither arms, nor legs, nor faces 
Stuck in their right, canonic places. 6 
'Tis true, they worship Ali's name 7 — 
Their Heav'n and ours are just the same — 
(A Persian's Heav'n is easily made, 
'Tis but black eyes and lemonade.) 
Yet, though we've tried for centuries back — 
We can't persuade this stubborn pack, 
By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers, 
To wear th' establish'd pea-green slippers. 8 
Then, only think, the libertines ! 
They wash their toes — they comb their chins, 9 
With many more such deadly sins ; 
And what's the worst, (though last I rank it,) 
Believe the Chapter of the Blanket ! 

Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious, 
(Which must, at bottom, be seditious ; 



between them turn chiefly upon those important points, 
which our pious friend Abdallah, in the true spirit of Shiite 
Ascendency, reprobates in this Letter. 

5 " Les Sunnites, qui etoient comme les Catholiques de 
Musulmanisme." — Z>' Herbelot. 

6 " In contradistinction to the Sounis, who in their prayers 
cross their hands on the lower part of their breast, the Schi- 
ahs drop their arms in straight lines ; and as the Sounis, at 
certain periods of the prayer, press their foreheads on the 
ground or carpet, the Schiahs," &c, &c— Forster's Voyage. 

7 "Les Turcs ne detestent pas Ali reciproquement; au 
contraire, ils le reconnoissent," &c, &c. — Chard-tn. 

8 "The Shiites wear green slippers, which the Sunnites 
consider as a great abomination." — Mariti. 

8 For these points of difference, as well as for the Chapter 
of the Flanker, I must refer the reader (not having the book 
by me) to Picart's Account of the Mahometan Sects. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



211 



Since no man living would refuse 

Green slippers, but from treasonous views ; 

Nor wash his toes, but with intent 

To overturn the government,) — 

Such is our mild and tolerant way, 

We only curse them twice a day 

(According to a Form that's set,) 

And, far from torturing, only let 

All orthodox believers beat 'em, 

And twitch their beards, where'er they meet 'em. 

As to the rest, they're free to do 
Whate'er their fancy prompts them to, 
Provided they make nothing of it 
Tow'rds rank or honor, power or profit ; 
Which things, we nat'rally expect, 
Belongs to us, the Establish'd sect, 
Who disbelieve (the Lord be thanked !) 
Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket. 
The same mild views of Toleration 
Inspire, I find, this button'd nation, 
Whose Papists (full as given to rogue, 
And only Sunnites with a brogue) 
Fare just as well, with all their fuss, 
As rascal Sumiites do with us. 

The tender Gazel I enclose 
Is for my love, my Syrian Rose — 
Take it when night begins to fall, 
And throw it o'er her mother's wall. 

GAZEL. 

Rememberest thou the hour we pass'd, — 
That hour the happiest and the last? 
Oh ! not so sweet the Siha thorn 
To summer bees, at break of morn, 
Not half so sweet, through dale and dell, 
To Camels' ears the tinkling bell, 
As is the soothing memory 
Of that one precious hour to me. 

How can we live, so far apart? 
Oh ! why not rather, heart to heart, 

United live and die — 
Like those sweet birds, that fly together, 
With feather always touching feather, 

Link'd by a hook and eye I 1 



* This will appear strange to an English reader, but it is 
literally translated from Abdallah's Persian, and the curious 
bird to which he alludes is the Juftak, of which I fiad the 
following account in Richardson :— " A sort of bird, that is 
said to have but one wing ; on the opposite side to which 
the male has a hook and the female a ring, so that, when 
they fly, they are fastened together." 

» from motives of delicacy, and, indeed, of fellow-feeling, 



LETTER VII. 



FROM MESSRS. 



-CK GT N AND CO. TO 

, ESQ. 3 



Per Post, Sir, we send your MS. — look'd it thro' — 
Very sorry — but can't undertake — 'twouldn't do. 
Clever work, Sir ! — would get up prodigiously 

well — 
Its only defect is — it never would sell. 
And though Statesmen may glory in being un- 



In an Author 'tis not so desirable thought. 

Hard times, Sir, — most books are too dear to be 
read — 

Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's small- 
change, are fled, 

Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead, 

Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think 
it) 

Not even such names as F — tzg — r — d's can sink 
it! 

However, Sir — if you're for trying again, 
And at somewhat that's vendible — we are your 
men. 

Since the Chevalier C — rr 3 took to marrying 

lately, 
The Trade is in want of a Traveller greatly — 
No job, Sir, more easy — your Country once 

plann'd, 
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land 
Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of hand. 

An East-India pamphlet's a thing that would 

tell — 
And a lick at the Papists is sure to sell well. 
Or — supposing you've nothing original in you — 
Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win you, 
You'll get to the Blue-stocking Routs of Albinia !* 
(Mind — not to her dinners — a second-hand Muse 
Mustn't think of aspiring to mess with the Blues.) 
Or — in case nothing else in this world you can 

do— 
The deuce is in't, Sir, if you cannot review ! 



I suppress the name of the Author whose rejected manu- 
script was enclosed in this letter. — See the Appendix. 

3 Sir John Carr, the author of " Tours in Ireland, Holland, 
Sweden," &c. &c. 

* This alludes, I believe, to a curious correspondence 
which is said to have passed lately between Alb— n — a, 
Countess of B— ck— gh— ms— e, and a certain ingenious 
Parodist. 



212 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Should you feel any touch of poetical glow, 
We've a Scheme to suggest — Mr. Sc — tt, you must 

know, 
(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the 

Row, 1 ) 
Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown, 
Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town ; 
And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay) 
Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way. 
Now, the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys 

can beat him) 
To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet him ; 
Who, by means of quick proofs — no revises — long 

coaches — 
May do a few Villas, before Sc — tt approaches. 
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby, 
He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn- 

Abbey. 
Such, Sir, is our plan — if you're up to the freak, 
'Tis a match ! and we'll put you in training next 

week. 
At present, no more — in reply to this Letter, a 
Line will oblige very much 

Yours, et cetera. 
Temple of the Muses. 



LETTER VIII. 

FROM COLONEL TH — M — S TO 

SK — FF — NGT N, ESQ. 

Come to our Fete, 2 and bring with thee 
Thy newest, best embroidery. 
Come to our Fete, and show again 
That pea-green coat, thou pink of men, 
Which charm'd all eye? that last survey'd it ; 
When Br — mm — l's self inquired " who made it ?" — 
When Cits came wond'ring, from the East, 
And thought thee Poet Pye at least ! 

Oh ! come, (if haply 'tis thy week 
For looking pale,) with paly cheek ; 

i Paternoster Row. 

2 This Letter enclosed a Card for the Grand Fete on the 
5th of February. 

3 An amateur actor of much risible renown. 
* Quern tu, Melpomene, semel 

Nascentem placido luminc, videris, &c Horat 
The Man, upon whom thou hast deign'd to look funny, 

Oh Tragedy's Muse ! at the hour of his birth- 
Let them say what they will, that's the Man for my money, 

Give others thy tears, but let me have thy mirth ! 

6 The crest of Mr. C— tes, the very amusing amateur tra- 



Though more we love thy roseate days, 
When the rich rouge-pot pours its blaze 
Full o'er thy face, and, amply spread, 
Tips even thy whisker-tops with red — 
Like the last tints of dying Day 
.That o'er some darkling grove delay. 

Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philander 
(That lace, like H — rry Al — x — nd — r, 
Too precious to be wash'd,) — thy rings, 
Thy seals — in short, thy prettiest things ! 
Put ail thy wardrobe's glories on, 
And yield in frogs and fringe, to none 
But the great R — g — t's self alone ; 
Who — by particular desire — 
For that night only, means to hire 
A dress from Romeo C — tes, Esquire. 3 
Hail, first of Actors ! 4 best of R— g— ts ! 
Born for each other's fond allegiance ! 
Both gay Lotharios — both good dreese^s — 
Of serious Farce both learn'd Professors — 
Both circled round, for use or show, 
With cock's combs, whercpoe'er they go ! s 

Thou know'st the time, thou man of lore ! 
It takes to chalk a ball-room floor — 
Thou know'st the time, too, well-a-day ! 
It takes to dance that chalk away. 6 
The Ball-room opens — far and nigh 
Comets and suns beneath us lie ; 
O'er snow-white moons and stars we walk, 
And the floor seems one sky of chalk ! 
But soon shall fade that bright deceit, 
When many a maid, with busy feet 
That sparkle in the lustre's ray, 
O'er the white path shall bound and play 
Like Nymphs along the Milky Way : — 
With every step a star hath fled, 
And suns grow dim beneath their tread ! 
So passeth life — (thus Sc — tt would write, 
And spinsters read him with delight,) — 
Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on, 
Time is not chalk, yet time's soon gone ! T 

But, hang this long digressive flight ! — 
I meant to say, thou'lt see, that night, 

gedian here alluded to, was a cock ; and most profusely were 
his liveries, harness, &c. covered with this (\-nament. 

« To those, who neither go to balls nor read the Morning 
Post, it may be necessary to mention, that the floors of Ball- 
rooms, in general, are chalked, for safety and for ornament, 
with various fanciful devices. 

' Hearts are not flint, yet flints are rent, 

Hearts are not steel, yet steel is bent. 
After all, however, Mr. Sc— tt may well say to the Colonel 
(and, indeed, to much better wags than the Colonel,) paov 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



213 



What falsehood rankles in their hearts, 

Who say the Pr e neglects the arts — 

Neglects the arts ? — no, Str — hi — g, 1 no ; 
Thy Cupids answer " 'tis not so ;" 
And every floor, that night, shall tell 
How quick thou daubest, and how well. 
Shine as thou may'st in French vermilion, 
Thou'rt best, beneath a French cotillion ; 
And still com'st off, whate'er thy faults, 
With, flying colors in a Waltz. 
Nor need'st thou mourn the transient date 
To thy best works assign' d by fate. 
While some chef-d'oeuvres live to weary one, 
Thine boast a short life and a merry one ; 
Their hour of glory past and gone 
With " Molly put the kettle on!" 9 

But, bless my soul ! I've scarce a leaf 
Of paper left — so, must be brief. 

This festive Fete, in fact, will be 
The former Fete's facsimile ; s 
The same long Masquerade of Rooms, 
All trick'd up in such odd costumes, 
(These, P — rt — r, 4 are thy glorious works !) 
You'd swear Egyptians, Moors, and Turks, 
Bearing Good-Taste some deadly malice, 
Had clubb'd to raise a Pic-Nic Palace ; 
And each to make the olio pleasant 
Had sent a State-Room as a present 
The same fauteuils and girandoles — 
The same gold Asses, 5 pretty souls ! 
That, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home. 
The same bright river 'mong the dishes, 
But not — ah ! not the same dear fishes — 
Late hours and claret kilPd the old ones — 
So 'stead of silver and of gold ones, 
(It being rather hard to raise 
Fish of that specie now-a-days,) 
Some sprats have been by Y — rm — th's wish, 
Promoted into Silver Fish, 
And Gudgeons (so V — ns — tt — t told 
The R — g — t) are as good as Gold ! 

So, prithee, come — our Fete will be 
But half a Fete if wanting thee. 



i A foreign artist much patronized by the Prince Regent. 

2 The name of a popular country-dance. 

s »c — rlt— n H e will exhibit a complete facsimile, in 

respect to interior ornament, to what it did at the last Fete. 
The same splendid draperies," &c. &.c. — Morning Post. 

4 Mr. Walsh Porter, to whose taste was left the furnishing 
of the rooms of Carlton House. 



APPENDIX 



LETTER IV. page 208. 

Among the papers enclosed in Dr. D — g — n — n's 
Letter, was found an Heroic Epistle in Latin verse, 
from Pope Joan to her Lover, of which, as it is 
rather a curious document, I shall venture to give 
some account. This female Pontiff was a native of 
England, (or, according to others, of Germany,) who, 
at an cijly age, disguised herself in male attire, and 
followed her lover, a jrung ecclesiastic, to Athens, 
where she studied with such effect, thai upon her 
arrival at Rome she was thought worthy jf being 
raised to the Pontificate. This Epistle is addressed 
to her Lover (whom she had elevated to the dignity 
of Cardinal) soon after the fatal accouchement, by 
which her Fallibility was betrayed. 

She begn/s ty reminding him tenderly of the time, 
when they were together at Athens — when, as she 
says, 

" by Uissus' stream 

" We whisp'ring walk'd along, and learn'd to speak 
" The tenderest feelings in the purest Greek ; — 
" Ah, then how little did we think or hope, 
" Dearest of men, that I should e'er be Pope ! 6 
" That I, the humble Joan, whose housewife art 
" Seem'd just enough to keep thy house and heart, 
" (And those, alas, at sixes and at sevens,) 
" Should soon keep all the keys of all the heavens !" 

Still less (she continues to say) could they have 
foreseen, that such a catastrophe as had happened 
in Council would befall them — that she 

" Should thus surprise the Conclave's grave de- 
corum, 
" And let a little Pope pop out before 'em — 
" Pope Innocent ! alas, the only one 
" Thai: name could e'er be justly fix'd upon." 

She then very pathetically laments the downfall of 
her greatness, and enumerates the various treasures 
to which she is doomed to bid farewell forever : — 



-e's own table were in the 



s The salt-cellars on the Pr- 
form of an Ass with panniers. 

6 Spanheim attributes the unanimity, with which Joan 
was elected, to that innate and irresistible charm by which 
her sex, though latent, operated upon the instinct of the 
Cardinals—" Non vi aliqua, sed concorditer, omnium in se 
converso desiderio, qua sunt blandientis sexus artes, laten 
tes in hac quanquam !" 



214 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" But oh, more dear, more precious ten times over — 
" Farewell my Lord, my Cardinal, my Lover ! 
" I made thee Cardinal — thou mad'st me — ah ! 
" Thou mad'st the Papa of the world Mamma !" 

I have not time at present to translate any more 
of this Epistle ; but I presume the argument which 
the Right Hon. Doctor and his friends mean to de- 
duce from it, is (in their usual convincing strain) 
that Romanists must be unworthy of Emancipation 
now, because they had a Petticoat Pope in the 
Ninth Century. Nothing can be more logically 
clear, and I find that Horace had exactly the same 
views upon the subject. 

Romanus (eheu posteri negabitis !) 

Emancipatus F(EMiN,ae 
Fert vallum ! 



LETTER VII. page 211. 

The Manuscript found enclosed in the Booksel- 
ler's Letter, turns out to be a Melo-Drama, in two 
Acts, entitled " The Book," 1 of which the Theatres, 
of course, had had the refusal, before it was presented 
to Messrs. L — ck — ngt — n and Co. This rejected 
Drama, however, possesses considerable merit, and 
I shall take the liberty of laying a sketch of it before 
my Readers. 

The first Act opens in a very awful manner — 
Time, three o'clock in the morning — Scene, the 
Bourbon Chamber 2 in C — rlt — n House — Enter the 
P e R — g — t solus — After a few broken sen- 
tences, he thus exclaims : — 

Away — Away — 
Thou haunt'st my fancy so, thou devilish Book, 
I meet thee — trace thee, wheresoe'er I look. 
I see thy damned ink in Eld — n's brows — 
I see thy foolscap on my H — rtf — d's Spouse — 
V — ns — tt — t's head recalls thy leathern case, 
And all thy black-leaves stare from R — d — r's face ! 

» There was, in like manner, a mysterious Book, in the 
16th Century, which employed all the anxious curiosity of 
the Learned of that time. Every one spoke of it ; many 
wrote against it ; though it does not appear that anybody 
had ever seen it ; and Grotius is of opinion that no such 
Book ever existed. It was entitled " Liber de tribus impos- 
toribus." (See Morhof, Cap. de Libris damnatis.)— Our 
more modern mystery of " the Book" resembles this in many 
particulars ; and, if the number of Lawyers employed in 
drawinjj it up be stated correctly, a slight alteration of the 



While turning here, {laying his hand on his heart,) 

I find, ah wretched elf, 
Thy List of dire Errata in myself. 

(Walks the stage in considerable agitation.) 
Oh Roman Punch ! oh potent Curacoa ! 
Oh Mareschino ! Mareschino oh ! 
Delicious drams ! why have you not the art 
To kill this gnawing Book-worm in my heart ? 

He is here interrupted in his Soliloquy by perceiv- 
ing on the ground some scribbled fragments of paper, 
which he instantly collects, and " by the light of 
two magnificent candelabras" discovers the follow- 
ing unconnected words, " Wife neglected 1 " — " the 
Book" — " Wrong Measures" — " the Queen" — " Mr- 
Lambert"—" the R— g— t." 

Ha ! treason in my house ! — Curst words, that 

wither 
My princely soul, (shaking the papers violently ,} 

what Demon brought you hither? 
" My Wife ;"— " the Book" too .'—stay— a nearer 

look — 
(holding the fragments closer to the Candelabras) 
Alas ! too plain, B, double O, K, Book — 
Death and destruction ! 

He here rings all the bells, and a whole legion of 
valets enter. A scene of cursing and swearing 
(very much in the German style) ensues, in the 
course of which messengers are dispatched in differ- 
ent directions, for the L — rd Ch — nc — 11 — r, the 
D — e of C — b — 1 — d, &c. <&c. The intermediate 
time is filled up by another Soliloquy, at the conclu- 
sion of which the aforesaid Personages rush on 
alarmed ; the D — ke with his stays only half-laced, 
and the Ch — nc — 11 — r with his wig thrown hastily 
over an old red night-cap, " to maintain the becom- 
ing splendor of his office." 3 The R — g — t produces 
the appalling fragments, upon which the Ch — nc — I- 
1 — r breaks out into exclamations of loyalty and 
tenderness, and relates the following portentous 
dream : 

'Tis scarcely two hours since 

I had a fearful dream of thee, my P e ! — 

Methought I heard thee, midst a courtly crowd, 
Say from thy throne of gold, in mandate loud, 

title into " a tribus impostoribus" would produce a coinci- 
dence altogether very remarkable. 

» The same Chamber, doubtless, that was prepared for the 
reception of the Bourbons at the first Grand Fete, and which 
was ornamented (all " for the Deliverance of Europe") with 
Jleurs-de-lys. 

3 "To enable the individual, who holds the office of Chan 
cellor, to maintain it in becoming splendor." (Jl loud laugh.) 
— Lord Castlereagh's Speech upon the Fice-Chancellor'* 
Bill. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



215 



" Worship my whiskers !" — (weeps) not a knee was 

there 
But bent and worshipp'd the Illustrious Pair, 
Which curl'd in conscious majesty ! (pulls out his 

handkerchief) — while cries 
Of "Whiskers, whiskers!" shook the echoing 

skies. — 
Just in that glorious hour, methought, there came, 
With looks of injured Pride, a Princely Dame, 
And a young maiden, clinging by her side, 
As if she fear'd some tyrant would divide 
Two hearts that nature and affection tied ! 
The Matron came — within her right hand glow'd 
A radiant torch ; while from her left a load 
Of Papers hung — (wipes his eyes) collected in her 

veil — 
The venal evidence, the slanderous tale, 
The wounding hint, the current lies that pass 
From Post to Courier, form'd the motley mass ; 
Which, with disdain, before the Throne she throws, 
And lights the Pile beneath thy princely nose. 

(Weeps.) 
Heav'ns, how it blazed ! — I'd ask no livelier fire 
(With animation) To roast a Papist by, my gra- 
cious Sire ! — 
But, ah! the Evidence— (weeps again) I mourn'd 

to see — 
Cast, as it burn'd, a deadly light on thee : 
And Tales and Hints their random sparkle flung, 
And hiss'd and crackled, like an old maid's 

tongue ; 
While Post and Courier, faithful to their fame, 
Made up in stink for what they lack'd in flame. 
When, lo, yo Gods ! the fire ascending brisker, 
Now singes one, now lights the other whisker. 
Ah ! where was then the Sylphid, that unfurls 
Her fairy standard in defence of curls ? 
Throne, Whiskers, Wig, soon vanish'd into smoke, 
The watchman cried " Past One," and — I awoke. 

Here his Lordship weeps more profusely than 
ever, and the R — g— : (who has been very much 
agitated during the recital of the Dream) by a 
movement as characteristic as that of Charles XII. 
when he was shot, claps his hands to his whiskers 
to feel if all be really safe. A Privy Council is 
held — all the Servants, &c, are examined, and it 
appears that a Tailor, who had come to measure 
the R — g — t for a Dress, (which takes three whole 
pages of the best superfine clinquant in describing,) 
was the only person who had been in the Bourbon 
Chamber during the day. It is, accordingly, 
determined to seize the Tailor, and the Council 
breaks up with a unanimous resolution to be vig- 
orous. 

The commencement of the Second Act turns 



chiefly upon the Tria_ and Imprisonment of two 
Brothers 1 — but as this forms the under plot of 
the Drama, I shall content myself with extracting 
from it the following speech, which is addressed 
to the two Brothers, as they " exeunt severally" 
to Prison: — 

Go to your prisons — though the air of Spring 

No mountain coolness to your cheeks shall bring ; 

Though Summer flowers shall pass unseen away, 

And all your portion of the glorious day 

May be some solitary bei.ya that falls, 

At morn or eve, upon your dreary walls — 

Some beam that enters, trembling as if awed, 

To tell how gay the young world laughs abroad ! 

Yet go — for thoughts as blessed as the air 

Of Spring or Summer flowers await you there ; 

Thoughts, such as He, who feasts his courtly crew 

In rich conservatories, never knew ; 

Pure self-esteem — the smiles that light within — 

The Zeal, whose circling charities begin 

With the few loved ones Heaven has placed it near, 

And spread, till all Mankind are in its sphere ; 

The Pride, that suffers without vaunt or plea, 

And the fresh Spirit, that can warble free, 

Through prison-bars, its hymn to Liberty ! 

The Scene next changes to a Tailor's Workshop, 
and a fancifully-arranged group of these Artists is 
discovered upon the Shopboard — Their task evi- 
dently of a royal nature, from the profusion of gold- 
lace, frogs, &c, that lie about — They all rise and 
come forward, while one of them sings the following 
Stanzas to the tune of " Deny Down." 

My brave brother Tailors, come, straighten your 
knees, 

For a moment, like gentlemen, stand up at ease, 

While I sing of our P e, (and a fig for his rail- 
era,) 

The Shopboard's delight ! the Maecenas of Tailors ! 
Derry down, down, down deny down. 

Some monarchs take roundabout ways into note, 
While His short cut to fame is — the cut of his 

coat; 
Philip's Son thought the World was too small for his 

Soul, 
But our R — g — t's finds room in a laced button-hole. 
Deny down, &c. 

Look through all Europe's Kings — those, at least, 

who go loose — 
Not a King of them all's such a friend to the Goose, 

i Mr. Leigh Hunt and his brother. 



216 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



So, God keep him increasing in size and renown, 
Still the fattest and best fitted P— — e about town ! 
Deny down, &c. 

During the " Deny down" of this last verse, a 

messenger from the S — c — t — y of S e's Office 

rushes on, and the singer (who, luckily for the 
effect of the scene, is the very Tailor suspected of 
the mysterious fragments) is intenupted in the 
midst of his laudatory exertions, and hunied away, 
to the no small surprise and consternation of his 
comrades. The Plot now hastens rapidly in its 
development — the management of the Tailor's 
examination is highly skilful, and the alarm, which 
he is made to betray, is natural without being 
ludicrous. The explanation, too, which he finally 
gives is not more simple than satisfactory. It 
appears that the said fragments formed part of a 
self-exculpatory note, which he had intended to 

send to Colonel M'M n upon subjects purely 

professional, and the conesponding bits (which 



still lie luckily in his pocket) being produced, and 
skilfully laid beside the others, the following 
billet-doux is the satisfactory result of th<sir juxta- 
position. 

Honored Colonel — my Wife, who's the Queen of 
all slatterns, 

Neglected to put up the Book of new Patterns. 

She sent the wrong Measures too — shamefully 
wrong — 

They're the same used for poor Mr. Lambert, when 
young; 

But, bless you ! they wouldn't go half round the 
R-g-t- 

So, hope you'll excuse yours till death, most obe- 
dient. 

This fully explains the whole mystery — the 
R — g — t resumes his wonted smiles, and the Drama 
terminates as usual, to the satisfaction of all par- 
ties. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



EXOAAZONTOE AZXOAIA. 



THE INSURRECTION OF THE PAPERS. 



" It would be impossible for his Royal Highness to disen- 
gage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that 
encompassed it." — Lord Castlereagh's Speech upon Col- 
onel M'Mahon's Appointment, April 14, 1812. 

Last night I toss'd and turn'd in bed, 
But could not sleep — at length I said, 
" I'll think of Viscount C— stl— r— gh, 
" And of his speeches — that's the way." 
And so it was, for instantly 
I slept as sound as sound could be. 
And then I dream' d — so dread a dream ! 
Fuseli has no such theme ; 
Lewis never wrote or bonow'd 
Any horror, half so honid ! 

Methought the P e, in whisker'd state, 

Before me at his breakfast sate ; 



On one side lay unread Petitions, 
On t'other, Hints from five Physicians ; 
Here tradesmen's bills, — official papers, 
Notes from my Lady, drams for vapors — 
There plans of saddles, tea and toast, 
Death-warrants and the Morning Post 

When \o ! the Papers, one and all, 
As if at some magician's call, 
Began to flutter of themselves 
From desk and table, floor and shelves, 
And, cutting each some different capers, 
Advanced, oh Jacobinic papers ! 
As though they said, "Our sole design is 
" To suffocate his Royjal Highness !" 
The Leader of this vile\sedition 
Was a huge Catholic Petition, 
With grievances so full and ^heavy, 
It threaten'd worst of all the bevi ne °- 
Then Common-Hall Addresses C*L. ^ 
In swaggering sheets, and took then aim 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



217 



Right at the R — g — t's well-dress'd head, 

As if determined to be read. 

Next Tradesmen's Bills began to fly, 

And Tradesmen's BiL's, we know, mount high; 

Nay, ev'n Death-warrants thought they'd best 

Be lively too, and join the rest. 

But, oh the basest of defections ! 
His letter about " predilections," — 
His own dear Letter, void of grace, 
Now flew up in its parent's face ! 
Shock'd with his breach of filial duty, 
He just could murmur " et Tu Brute /" 
Then sunk, subdued upon the floor 
At Fox's bust, to rise no more ! 

I waked — and pray'd, with lifted hand, 
" Oh ! never may this Dream prove true ; 

" Though paper overwhelms the land, 
" Let it not crush the Sovereign too !" 



PARODY 



OF A CELEBRATED LETTER.* 

At length, dearest Freddy, the moment is nigh, 
"When, with P — re — v — l's leave, I may throw my 

chains by ; 
And, as time now is precious, the first thing I do, 
Is to sit down and write a wise letter to you. 

* * * * 

* * * * 
*■ * * * 

* * ■* * 

* * * * 

* * * * 

I meant before now to have sent you this Letter, 
But Y — rm — th and I thought perhaps 'twould be 

better 
To wait till the Irish affairs- v ere decided — 
(That is, till both Houses had prosed and divided, 
With all due appearance of thought and digestion,) — 
For, though H — rtf — rd House had long settled the 

question, 
I thought it but decent, between me and you, 
That the two other Houses should settle it too. 

i Letter from his Royal Highness the Prince Regent to the 
Duke of York, Feb. 13, 1812. _ >^ 

- " I think it hardly necessary to cafipSlM&collection to 
the recent circumstances under whicrnf assumed the author- 
ity delegated to me by Parliament." — Prince's Letter. 

3 " My sense of duty to our Royal father solely decided 
that choice."— Ibid. 



I need not remind you how cursedly bad 
Our affairs were all looking, when Father went 

mad; 2 
A straight waistcoat on him and restrictions on me, 
A more limited Monarchy could not well be. 
I was call'd upon then, in that moment of puzzle, 
To choose my own Minister — just as they muzzle 
A playful young bear, and then mock his disaster, 
By bidding him choose out his own dancing- 
master. 

I thought the best way, as a dutiful son, 

Was to do as Old Royalty's self would have done. 3 

So I sent word to say, I would keep the whole 
batch in, 

The same chest of tools, without cleansing or 
patching ; 

For tools of this kind, ijte Martinus's sconce ; 4 

Would lose all their beauty, if purine*! once ; 

And think — only think — if our Father should 
find, 

Upon graciously coming again to his mind, 5 

That improvement had spoil'd any favorite ad- 
viser — 

That R — se was grown honest, or W — stm — rel — nd 
wiser — 

That R — d — r was, ev'n by one twinkle, the 
brighter — 

Or L — v — rp — l's speeches but half a pound light- 
er — 

What a shock to his old royal heart it would be ! 

No ! — far were such dreams of improvement from 
me: 

And it pleased me to find, at the House, where, you 
know, 6 

There's such good mutton cutlets, and strong 
curac^a, 7 

That the Marchioness call'd me a duteous old boy, 

And my Y — rm — th's red whiskers grew redder 
for joy. 

You know, my dear Freddy, how oft, if I would, 
By the law of last Sessions I might have done good. 
I might have withheld these political noodles 
From knocking their heads against hot Yankee 

Doodles ; 
I might have told Ireland I pitied her lot, 
Might have sooth'd her with hope — but you know 

I did not. 

* The antique shield of Martinus Scriblerus, which, upon 
scouring, turned out to be only an old sconce. 

6 "I waived any personal gratification, in order that his 
Majesty might resume, on his restoration to health, every 
power and prerogative," &c. — Prince's Letter. 

e "And I have the satisfaction of knowing that such was 
the opinion of persons for whose judgment," &c. &c.—lbid. 

"> The letter-writer's favorite luncheon. 



218 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And my wish is, in truth, that the best of old 

fellows 
Should not, on recovering, have cause to be jealous, 
But find that, while he has been laid on the shelf, 
We've been all of us nearly as mad as himself. 
You smile at my hopes — but the Doctors and I, 
Are the last that can think the K — ng ever will die. 1 

A new era's arrived, 2 — though you'd hardly be- 
lieve it— 

And all things, of course, must be new to receive it. 

New villas, new fetes, (which ev'n Waithman at- 
tends,) — 

New saddles, new helmets, and — why not new 
friends ? 

* * * # 

* * * * 

I repeat it, " New Friends" — for I cannot describe 
The delight I am in with this P — re — v — 1 tribe. 
Such capering ! — Such vaporing ! — Such rigor ! — 

Such vigor ! — 
North, South, East, and West, they have cut such 

a figure, 
That soon they will bring the whole world round 

our ears, 
And leave us no friends — but Old Nick and Algiers. 

When I think of the glory they've beam'd on my 
chains, 
'Tis enough quite to turn my illustrious brains. 
It is true we are bankrupts in commerce and riches, 
But think how we find our Allies in new breeches ! 
We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 'tis granted, 
But then we've got Java, an island much wanted, 
To put the last lingering few who remain, 
Of the Walcheren warriors, out of their pain. 
Then how Wellington fights ! and how squabbles 

his brother ! 
For Papists the one, and with Papists the other ; 
One crushing Napoleon by taking a City, 
While t'other lays waste a whole Cath'Iic Com- 
mittee. 
Oh deeds of renown ! — shall I boggle or flinch, 
With such prospects before me? by Jove, not an 

inchi 
No — let England's affairs go to rack, if they will, 
We'll look after th' affairs of the Continent still ; 
And, with nothing at home but starvation and riot, 
Find Lisbon in bread, and keep Sicily quiet. 



i " 1 certainly am the last person in the kingdom to whom 
it can be permitted to despair of our royal father's recovery." 
— Prince's Letter. 

2 " A new era is now arrived, and I cannot but reflect 
with satisfaction," &cc.—Ibid. 

3 " I have no predilections to indulge,— no resentments to 
gratify."— Ibid. 



I am proud to declare I have no predilections, 8 
My heart is a sieve, where some scatter'd affections 
Are just danced about for a moment or two, 
And the finer they are, the more sure to run 

through : 
Neither feel I resentments, nor wish there should 

come ill 
To mortal — except (now I think on't) Beau 

Br — mm — 1, 
Who threaten'd last year, in a superfine passion, 
To cut me, and bring the old K — ng into fashion. 
This is all I can lay to my conscience at present ; 
When such is my temper, so neutral, so pleasant, 
So royally free from all troublesome feelings, 
So little encumber'd by aith ia my dealings, 
(And that I'm consistent the world will allow, 
What I was at Newmarket the same I am%now.) 
When such are my merits, (you know I hate crack- 
ing,) 
I hope, like the Vender of Best Patent Blacking, 
" To meet with the gen'rous and kind approbation 
" Of a candid, enlighten'd, and liberal nation." 

By the by, ere I close this magnificent Letter, 
(No man, except Pole, could have writ you a 

better,) 
'Twould please me if those, whom I've humbugg'd 

so long 4 
With the notion (good men!) that I knew right 

from wrong, 
Would a few of them join me — mind, only a few — 
To let too much light in on me never would do ; 
But even Grey's brightness shan't make me afraid, 
While I've C — md — n and Eld — n to fly to for 



Nor will Holland's clear intellect do us much harm, 
While there's W — stm — rel — nd near him to weak- 
en the charm. 
As for Moira's high spirit, if aught can subdue it, 
Sure joining with H — rtf — rd and Y — rm — th will 

do it! 
Between R — d — r and Wh — rt — n let Sheridaivsit, 
And the fogs will soon quench even Sheridan's wit : 
And against all the pure public feeling that glows 
Ev'n in Whitbread himself we've a Host in G — rge 

R— se! 
So, in short, if they wish to have Places, they 

may, 
And I'll thank you to tell all these matters to Grey, 5 



* " I cannot conclude without expressing the gratification 
I should feel if some of those persons with whom the early 
habits of my public life were formed would strengthen my 
hands, and constitute a part of my government." — Ibid. 

6 "You are authorized to communicate these sentiments 
to Lord Grey, who, I have no doubt, will make them known 
to Lord Grenville."— Ibid. 



. , . 1 
SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 219 


Who, I doubt not, will write (as there's no time to 


Books, that, far from every eye, 


lose) 


In " swelter'd venom sleeping" lie,) 


By the twopenny post to tell Grenvillo the news ; 


Stick them in between the two, 


And now, dearest Fred, (though I've no predilec- 


Proud Pea-hen and old Cuckoo. 


tion,) 


Now you have the triple feather, 


Believe me yours, always with truest affection. 


Bind the kindred stems together 




With a silken tie, whose hue 


P. S. A copy of this is to P — re — 1 going :* 


Once was brilliant Buff and Blue ; 


Good Lord, how Si Stephen's will ring with his 


Sullied now — alas, how much ! 


crowing ! 


Only fit for Y — rm— th's touch. 




There — enough — thy task is done ; 




Present, worthy G ge's Son ; 






Now, beneath, in letters neat, 




Write " I serve," and all's complete. 


ANACREONTIC 


TO A PLUMASSIER. 




Fine and feathery artisan, 
Best of Plumists (if you can 






With your art so far presume) 




Make for me a Pr — ce's Plume — 




Feathers soft and feathers rare, 


EXTRACTS 


Such as suits a Pr — ce to wear. 


FROM THE DIARY OF A POLITICIAN. 


First, thou downiest of men, 


Wednesday. 


Seek me out a fine Pea-hen ; 


Through M — nch — st — r Square took a canter 


Such a Hen, so tall and grand, 


just now — 


As by Juno's side might stand, 


Met the old yellow chariot, 6 and made a low bow. 


If there were no cocks at hand. 


This I did, of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil, 


Seek her feathers, soft as down, 


But got such a look — oh 'twas black as the devil ! 


Fit to shine on Pr — ce's crown ; 


How unlucky ! — incog, he was trav'ling about, 


If thou canst not find them, stupid ! 


And I, like a noodle, must go find him out. 


Ask the way of Prior's Cupid. 2 






Mem. — when next by the old yellow chariot I ride, 


Ranging these in order due, 


To remember there is nothing princely inside. 


Pluck me next an old Cuckoo ; 




Emblem of the happy fates 


Thursday. 


Of easy, kind, cornuted mates. 


At Levee to-day made another sad blunder — 


Pluck him well — be sure you do — 


What can be come over me lately, I wonder ? 


Who wouldn't be an old Cuckoo, 


The Pr — ce was as cheerful, as if, all his life, 


Thus to have his plumage bless'd, 


He had never been troubled with Friends or a 


Beaming on a R — y — 1 crest ? 


Wife— 




" Fine weather," says he — to which I, who must 


Bravo, Plumist ! — now what bird 


prate, 


Shall we find for Plume the third ? 


Answer'd, " Yes, Sir, but changeable rather, of late." 


You must get a learned Owl, 


He took it, I fear, for he look'd somewhat gruff, 


Bleakest of black-letter fowl, — 


And handled his new pair of whiskers so rough, 


Bigot bird, that hates the light, 3 


That before all the courtiers I fear'd they'd come 


Foe to all that's fair and bright. 


off, 


Seize his quills, (so form'd to pen 


And then, Lord, how Geramb 6 would triumphantly 


Books, 4 that shun the search of men ; 


scoff! 


i "I shall. send a copy of this letter immediately to Mr. 


* In allusion to " the Book" which created such a sensa- 


Perceval." — Prince's Letter. 


tion at that period. 


a See Prior's poem, entitled " The Dove." 


6 The incog, vehicle of the Pr — ce. 


3 P— rc— v— 1. 


« Baron Geramb, the rival of his R. H. in whiskers. 



220 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Mem. — to buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion 
To nourish his whiskers — sure road to promotion I 1 

Saturday. 
Last night a Concert — vastly gay — 
Given by Lady C — stl — r — gh. 
My Lord loves music, and, we know, 
Has " two strings always to his bow." 2 
In choosing songs, the R — g — t named 
" Had I a heart for falsehood framed." 
While gentle H — rtf — d begg'd and pray'd 
For " Young I am, and sore afraid." 



EPIGRAM. 



What news to-day ? — Oh ! worse and worse — 
" Mac 3 is the Pr — ce's Privy Purse !" — 
The Pr — ce's Purse ! no, no, you fool, 
You mean the Pr — ce's Ridicule. 



KING CRACK 4 AND HIS IDOLS. 

WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOTIATION FOR A NEW 
M — N — STRY. 

King Crack was the best of all possible Kings, 
(At least, so his Courtiers would swear to you 
gladly,) 

But Crack now and then would do het'rodox things, 
And, at last, took to worshipping Images sadly. 

Some broken-down Idols, that long had been placed 

In his father's old Cabinet, pleased him so much, 

That he knelt down and worshipp'd, though — such 

was his taste — 

They were monstrous to look at, and rotten to 

touch. 

And these were the beautiful Gods of King 
Crack !— 
But his People, disdaining to worship such things, 

* England is not the only country where merit of this kind 
is noticed and rewarded " I remember," says Tavernier, 
" to have seen one of the King of Persia's porters, whose 
moustaches were so long that he could tie them behind his 
neck, for which reason he had a double pension." 

a A rhetorical figure used by Lord C— stl— r— gh, in one 
of his speeches. 

» Colonel M— cm— h— n. 



Cried aloud, one and all, " Come, your Godships 
must pack — 
" You'll not do for us, though you may do for 
Kings." 

Then, trampling these images under their feet, 
They sent Crack a petition, beginning " Great 



" We're willing to worship ; but only entreat 

" That you'll find us some dccenter Godheads 
than these are." 

" I'll try," says King Crack — so they furnish'd him 
models 
Of better shaped Gods, but he sent them all 
back ; 
Some were chisell'd too fine, some had b«ads 'stead 
of noddles, 
In short, they were all much too godlike for 
Crack 

So he took to his darling old Idols again, 

And, just mending their legs and new bronzing 
their faces, 
In opon defiance of Gods and of man, 

Set the monsters up grinning once more in their 
places. 



WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE? 

Quest. Why is a Pump like V — sc — nt C — stl- 
r-gh? 

Answ. Because it is a slender thing of wood, 
That up and down its awkward arm doth sway, 
And coolly spout and spout and spout away, 

In one weak, washy, everlasting flood ! 



* One of those antediluvian Princes with whom Manetho 
and Whiston seem so intimately acquainted. If we had 
the Memoirs of Thoth, from which Manetho compiled his 
History, we should find, I dare say, that Crack was only 
a Regent, and that he, perhaps, succeeded Typhon, who 
(as Whiston says) was the last King of the Antediluvian 
Dynasty. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



221 



EPIGRAM. 

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CATHOLIC DELEGATE AND HIS 
K Y — L II— KJHN — SS THE D E OF C B L D. 

Said his Highness to Ned, 1 with that grim face of 
his, 
" Why refuse us the Veto, dear Catholic Neddy?" 
" Because. Sir," said Ned, looking full in his phiz, 
" You're forbidding enough, in all conscience, 
already !" 



WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS. 

AN ANACREONTIC. 

Hither, Flora, Queen of Flowers ! 
Haste thee from Old Bromptou's bowers — 
Or, (if sweeter that abode,) 
From the King's well-odor'd Road, 
Where each little nursery bud 
Breathes the dust and quaffs the mud. 
Hither come and gayly twine 
Brightest herbs and flowers of thine 
Into wreaths for those who rule us, 
Those, who rule and (some say) fool us — 
Flora, sine, will love to please 
England's Household Deities ! 2 

First you must then, willy-nilly, 
Fetch me many an orange lily — 
Orange of the darkest dye 
Irish G — ff— rd can supply ; — 
Dhoose me out the longest sprig, 
And stick it in old Eld — n's wig. 

Find me next a Poppy posy ; 
Type of his harangues so dozy, 
Garland gaudy, dull and cool, 
To crown the head of L — v — rp — 1. 
'Twill console his brilliant brows 
For that loss of laurel boughs, 
Which they suffer'd (what a pity !) 
On the road to Paris City. 

J Edward Byrne, the head of the Delegates of the Irish 
Catholics. 

a The ancients, in like manner, crowned their Lares, or 
Household Gods. See Juvenal, Sat. 9. iv. 138.— Plutarch, 
too, tells us that Household Gods were then, as they are now, 
"much given to War and penal Statutes." — epivvvcodeis icai 
woivifiovs Saijiovas. 

3 Certain tinsel imitations of the Shamrock which are dis- 
tributed by the Servants of C n House every Patrick's 

Day 



Next, our C — stl — r — gh to crown, 
Bring me from the County Down, 
Wither'd Shamrocks, which have been 
Gilded o'er, to hide the green — 
(Such as H — df — t brought away 
From Pali-Mall last Patrick's day) 3 — 
Stitch the garland through and through 
With shabby threads of every hue ; — 
And as, Goddess ! — entre nous — 
His lordship loves (though best of men) 
A little torture, now and then, 
Crimp the leaves, thou first of Syrens, 
Crimp them with thy curling-irons. 

That's enough — away, away — 
Had I leisure, I could say 
How the oldest rose that grows 
Must be pluck'd to deck Old Rose— 
How the Doctci s brow should smile 
Crown'd with wreaths of chamomile. 
But time presses — to thy taste 
I leave the rest, so, prithee, haste ! 



EPIGRAM. 



dialogue between a dowager and HER MAID c* 

THE NIGHT OF LORD Y RM Th's FETE. 

" I want the Court Guide," said my lady, " to look 
" If the House, Seymour Place, be at 30. or 
20."— 
" We've lost the Court Guide, Ma'am, but here's 
the Red Book, 
" Where you'll find, I dare say, Seymour Places 
in plenty !" 



HORACE, ODE XL LIB. II. 

FREELY TRANSLATED BY THE PR CE R G T.* 

6 Come, Y — rm — th, my boy, never trouble your 
brains, 
About what your old crony, 
The Emperor Boney, 
Is doing or brewing on Muscovy's plains ; 

4 The sobriquet given to Lord Sidmouth. 
6 This and the following are extracted from a Work which 
may, some time or other, meet the eye of the Public — en- 
titled " Odes of Horace, done into English by several Persons 
of Fashion." 
e Quid bellicosus Cantaber, ct Scythes. 

Hirpine Q.uincti, cogitet Hadria 
Divisus objecto, remittas 

Quserere », 



222 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



1 Nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our granaries : 

Should there come famine, 
Still plenty to cram in 
You always shall have, my dear Lord of the Stan- 
naries. 

Brisk let us revel, while revel we may ; 

2 For the gay bloom of fifty soon passes away, 

And then people get fat, 
And infirm, and — all that, 
8 And a wig (I confess it) so clumsily sits, 

That it frightens the little Loves out of their wits ; 

* Thy whiskers, too, Y — rm — th ! — alas, even they, 
Though so rosy they burn, 
Too quickly must turn 
(What a heart-breaking change for thy whiskers !) 
to Grey. 

Then why, my Lord Warden, oh ! why should 
you fidget 
Your mind about matters you don't understand ? 
Or why should you write yourself down for an 
idiot, 
Because " you," forsooth, " have the pen in 
your hand .'" 

Think, think how much better 
Than scribbling a letter, 
(Which both you and I 
Should avoid, by the by,) 
How much pleasanter 'tis to sit under the bust 
Of old Charley, 7 my friend here, and drink like 
a new one ; 
While Charley looks sulky and frowns at me, just 
As the Ghost in the Pantomime frowns at Don 

Juan. 
6 To crown us, Lord Warden, 
In C — mb — rl — nd's garden 
Grows plenty of monk's hood in venomous sprigs : 



* Nee trepides in usum 
Poscentis sevi pauca. 

2 Fugit retro 
Levis juventas et decor. 

3 Pellente lascivos amores 

Canitie. 

* Neque uno Luna rubens nitet 
Vultu. 

6 Quid aeternis minorem 

Consiliis animum fatigas? 
o Cur non sub alta vel platano, vel hac 

Pinu jacentes sic temere. 
? Charles Fox. 
e Rosa 

Car os odorati capillos, 

Dam licet, Assyriaque nardo 
Polamus uncti. 
» Q.uis puer ocius 



While Otto of Roses 
Refreshing all noses 
Shall sweetly exhale from our whisxers and wigs 

9 What youth of the Household will cool our Noyau 
In that streamlet delicious, 
That down 'midst the dishes, 
All full of gold fishes, 
Romantic doth flow ? — 
A0 Or who will repair 

Unto M ch r Sq e, 

And see if the gentle Marchesa be there ? 
Go — bid her haste hither, 
11 And let her bring with her 
The newest No-Popery Sermon that's going — 
12 Oh ! let her come, with her dark tresses flowing, 
All gentle and juvenile, curly and gay, 
In the manner of — Ackermann's Dresses for 
May! 



HORACE, ODE XXII. LIB. I. 

FREELY TRANSLATED BY LORD ELD N. 

13 The man who keeps a conscience pure, 

(If not his own, at least his Prince's,) 
Through toil and danger walks secure, 
Looks big and black, and never winces. 

14 No want has he of sword or dagger, 

Cock'd hat or ringlets of Geramb ; 
Though Peers may laugh, aud Papists swagger, 
He doesn't care one single d-mn. 

15 Whether midst Irish chairmen going, 

Or through St. Giles's alleys dim, 
'Mid drunken Sheelahs, blasting, blowing, 
No matter, 'tis all one to him. 



Restinguet ardentis Falerni 
Pocula preetereunte lympha ? 

w Quis eliciet domo 

Lyden 1 

11 Eburna, die age, cum lyra (qu. liar-a) 
Maturet. 

12 Incomtam Lacaenaj 
More comam religata nodo. 

13 Integer vita? scelerisque purus. 

" Non eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu, 
Nee venenatis gravida sagittis, 

Fusee, pharetra. 
15 Sive per Syrtes iter aestuosas, 

Sive facturus per inhoppUalpm 
Caucasum, vel quaeloca ikbulosus 
Lambit Hydaspes. 
The Noble Translator had, at first, laid the scene of these 
imagined dangers of his Man of Conscience among the Pa 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



n 



223 



1 For instance, I, one evening late, 
Upon a gay vacation sally, 
Singing the praise of Church and State, 

Got (God knows how) to Cranbourne Alley. 

When lo ! an Irish Papist darted 

Across my path, gaunt, grim, and big — 

I did but frown, and ofF he started, 
Scared at me, even without my wig. 

3 Yet a more fierce and raw-boned dog 

Goes not to mass in Dublin City, 

Nor shakes his brogue o'er Allen's Bog, 

Nor spouts in Catholic Committee. 

s Oh ! place me midst O'Rourkes, O'Tooles, 
The ragged royal-blood of Tara ; 
Or place me where Dick M — rt — n rules 
The houseless wilds of Connemara ; 

4 Of Church and State I'll warble still 

Though ev'n Dick M — rt — n's self should 
grumble ; 
Sweet Church and State, like Jack and Jill, 
* So lovingly upon a hill — 

Ah ! ne'er like Jack and Jill to tumble ! 



pists of Spain, and had translated the words " qute loca fabu- 
losus lambit Hydaspes" thus — "The fabling Spaniard licks 
the French ;" but, recollecting that it is our interest just now 
to be respectful to Spanish Catholics, (though there is cer- 
tainly no earthly reason for our being even commonly civil to 
Irish ones,) he altered the passage as it stands at present. 

i Namque me silva lupus in Sabinft, 

Dum meam canto Lalagen, et ultra 
Terminum curis vagor expedills, 
Fugit inermem. 

1 cannot help calling the reader's attention to the peculiar 
ingenuity with which these lines are paraphrased. Not to 
mention the happy conversion of the Wolf into a Papist, 
(seeing that Romulus was suckled by a wolf, that Rome was 
founded by Romulus, and that the Pope has always reigned 
at Rome,) there is something particularly neat in supposing 
"ultra ferwiinum" to mean vacation-time: and then the 
modest consciousness with which the Noble and Learned 
Translator has avoided touching upon the words " curis ex- 
■peditis" (or, as it has been otherwise read, " causis ezpedi- 
ta's,") and the felicitous idea of his being " inermis" when 
" without his wig," are altogether the most delectable speci- 
mens of paraphrase in our language. 

2 Quale portentum neque militaris 
Daunias latis alit aesculetis, 
Nee Jubae tellus generat lconum 

Arida nutrix. 



NEW COSTUME OF THE MINISTERS. 



Nova monstra creavit. 

Ovir>. Metamorph. 



v. 437. 



Having sent off the troops of brave Major Camac, 
With a swinging horse-tail at each valorous back, 
And such helmets, God bless us ! as never deck'd 

any 
Male creature before, except Signor Giovanni — 
" Let's see," said the R — g — t, (like Titus, perplex'd 
With the duties of empire,) " whom shall I dress 

next ?" 

He looks in the glass — but perfection is th<&<*, 
Wig, whiskers, and chin-tufts all right to a hair ; 6 
Not a single e:r-curl on his forehead he . jaces — 
For curls are like Ministers, strange as the case is, 
The falser they are, the more firm in their places. 
His coat he next views — but the coat who could 

doubt ? 
For his Y — rm — th's own Frenchified hand cut it out ; 
Every pucker and seam were made matters of state, 
And a Grand Household Council was held on each 

plait. 

Then whom shall he dress 1 shall he new -rig his 
brother, 
Great C — mb — rl — d's Duke, with some kickshaw 
or other ? 

3 Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis 
Arbor aestiva recreatur aura: 

Quod latus mundi, nebulae, malusque 
Jupiter urget. 
I must here remark, that the said Dick M — rt — n being a 
very good fellow, it was not at all fair to make a "malus 
Jupiter" of him. 

4 Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, 

Dulce loquentem. 

6 There cannot be imagined a more happy illustration of 
the inseparability of Church and State, and their (what is 
called) " standing and falling together," than this ancient 
apologue of Jack and Jill. Jack, of course, represents the 
State in this ingenious little Allegory. 
Jack fell down, 
And broke his Crown, 
And Jill came tumbling after. 

6 That model of Princes, the Emperor Commodus, was 
particularly luxurious in the dressing and ornamenting of 
his hair. His conscience, however, would not suffer him to 
trust himself with a barber, and he used, accordingly, to 
burn off his beard— " timore tonsoris," says Lampridius. 
(Hist. August. Scriptor.) The dissolute ^Elius Verus, too, 
was equally attentive to the decoration of his wig. (See 
Jul. Capitolin.)— Indeed, this was not the only princely trait 
in the character of Verus, as he had likewise a most hearty 
and dignified contempt for his Wife.— See his insulting 
answer to her in Spartianus. 



224 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And kindly invent him more Christian-like shapes 
For his feather-bed neckcloths and pillory capes. 
Ah ! no — here his ardor would meet with delays, 
For the Duke had been lately pack'd up in new Stays, 
So complete for the winter, he saw very plain 
'Twould be devilish hard work to wwpack him again. 

So, what's to be done ? — there's the Ministers, bless 
'em! — ! 

As he made the puppets, why shouldn't he dress 'em ? 

" An excellent thought ! — call the tailors — be nim- 
ble— 

" Let Cum bring his spy-glass, and H — rtf— d her 
thimble ; 

" While Y — rm — th shall give us, in spite of all 
quizzers, 

" The last Paris cut with his true Gallic scissors." 

So saying, he calls C — stl — r — gh, and the rest 
Of his heaven-born statesmen, to come and be dress' d. 
While Yr— rm — th, with snip-like and brisk expedi- 
tion, 
Cuts up, all at once, a large Cath'lic Petition 
In long tailors' measures, (the P — e crying " Well- 
done !") 
And first puts in hand my Lord Chancellor Eld — n. 



CORRESPONDENCE 

BETWEEN A LADY AND GENTLEMAN, 

UPON THE ADVANTAGE OF (WHAT IS CALLED) " HAVING 
LAW 1 ON ONE'S SIDE." 

The Gentleman s Proposal. 

" Legge aurea, 
S'ei piace, ei lice." 

Come, fly to these arms, nor let beauties so bloomy 

To one frigid owner be tied ; 
Your prudes may revile, and your old ones look 
gloomy, 

But, dearest, we've Law on our side. 

Oh ! think the delight of two lovers congenial, 

Whom no dull decorums divide ; 
Their error how sweet, and their raptures how venial, 

When once they've got Law on their side. 

i In allusion to Lord Ell— nb— gh. 



'Tis a thing, that in every King's reign has been 
done, too ; 

Then why should it now be decried? 
If the Father has done it, why shouldn't the Son, too ? 

For so argues Law on our side 

And, ev'n should our sweet violation of duty 

By cold-blooded jurors be tried, 
They can but bring it in " a misfortune," my beauty, 

As long as we've Law on our side. 



The Lady's Answer. 

Hold, hold, my good sir, go a little more slowly ; 

For, grant me so faithless a bride, 
Such sinners as we, are a little too lowly, 

To hope to have Law on our side. 

Had you been a great Prince, to whose star shining 
o'er 'em 
The people should look for their guide, 
Then your Highness (and welcome!) might kick 
down decorum — 
You'd always have Law on your side. 

Were you ev'n an old Marquis, in mischief grown 
hoary, 

Whose heart, though it long ago died 
To the pleasures of vice, is alive to its glory — 

You still would have Law on your side. 

But for you, Sir, Crim. Con. is a path full of troubles ; 

By my advice therefore abide, 
And leave the pursuit to those Princes and Nobles 

Who have such a Law on their side 



OCCASIONAL ADDRESS 

FOR THE OPENING OF THE NEW THEATRE OF 
ST. ST— PH— N, 

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY THE PROPRIETOR 
IN FULL COSTUME, ON THE 24TH OF NOVEMBER, 
1812. 

This day a New House, for your edification, 
We open, most thinking and right-headed nation ! 
Excuse the materials — though rotten and bad, 
They're the best that for money just now could be 

had ; 
And, if echo the charm of such houses should be 
You will find it shall echo my speech to a T. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



225 



As for actors, we've got the old Company yet, 
The same motley, odd, tragi-comical set ; 
And consid'ring they all were but clerks t'other day, 
It is truly surprising how well they can play. 
Our Manager, 1 (he, who in Ulster was nursed, 
And sung Erin go Brah for the galleries first, 
But, on finding Piti-interest a much better thing, 
Changed his note of a sudden, to God save the King,) 
Still wise as he's blooming, and fat as he's clever, 
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as ever, 
Here offers you still the full use of his breath, 
Your devoted and long-winded proser till death. 

You remember last season, when things went 
perverse on, 
We had to engage (as a block to rehearse on) 
One Mr. V — ns — tt— >t, a good sort of person, 
Who's also employ'd for this season to play, 
In « Raising the Wind," and the " Devil's to Pay." 2 
We expect too — at least we've been plotting and 

planning — 
To get that great actor from Liverpool, C — nn — g ; 
And, as at the Circus there's nothing attracts 
Like a good single combat brought in 'twixt the acts, 
If the Manager should, with the help of Sir 

P— ph— m, 
Get up new diversions, and C — nn — g should stop 

'em, 
Who knows but we'll have to announce in the 

papers, 
"Grand fight — second time — with additional ca- 
pers." 

Be your taste for the ludicrous, humdrum, or sad, 
There is plenty of each in this House to be had. 
Where our Manager ruleth, there weeping will be, 
For a dead hand at tragedy always was he ; 
And there never was dealer in dagger and cup, 
Who so smilingly got all his tragedies up. 
His powers poor Ireland will never forget, 
And the widows of Walcheren weep o'er them yet. 

So much for the actors ; — for secret machinery 
Traps, and deceptions, and shifting of scenery 
Y — rm — th and Cum are the best we can ftid» 
To transact all that trickery business behind. 
The former's employ'd to teach us French jigs, 
Keep the whiskers in curl, and loot after the wigs. 

In taking my leave now, IVe only to say, 
A few Seats in the House, not as yet sold away, 
May be had of the Manager, Pat C— stl— r— gh. 



1 Lord C— stl— r— gh. 

* He had recently been appointed Chancellor of the Ex- 
chequer. 



15 



THE SALE OF THE TOOLS. 

Instrumenta regni.— Tacitus. 

Here's a choice set of Tools for you, Ge'mmen 

and Ladies, 
They'll fit you quite handy, whatever youi trade is ; 
(Except it be Cabinet-making ; — no doubt, 
In that delicate service they're rather worn out ; 
Though their owner, bright youth ! if he'd had his 

own will, 
Would have bungled away with them joyously 

still.) * 

You can see they've been pretty well hacFd — and 

alack ! 
What tool is there job after job will not hack ? 
Their edge is but dullish, it must be confess'd, 
And their temper, like E nb'r h's, none of 

the best ; 
But you'll find them good hard-working Tools, 

upon trying, 
Wer't but for their brass, they are well worth the 

buying ; 
They're famous for making blinds, sliders, and 

screens, 
And are, some of them, excellent turning machines. 

The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a Chan- 
cellor) 
Heavy concern to both purchaser and seller. 
Though made of pig iron, yet worthy of note 'tis, 
'Tis ready to melt at a half minute's notice. 3 
Who bids? Gentle buy** ! 'twill turn as thou 



'Twill make a good ^numb-screw to torture a Papist ; 

Or else a cramp ^on, to stick in the wall 

Of some chinch that old women are fearful will 

fatt* 
Or bett-r, perhaps, (for I'm guessing at random,) 
A h-avy drag-chain for some Lawyer's old Tan- 
dem. 
Will nobody bid ? It is cheap, I am sure, Sir — 
Once, twice, — going, going, — thrice, gone ! — it is 

yours, Sir. 
To pay ready money you shan't be distress'd, 
As a bill at long date suits the Chancellor best. 

Come, where's the next Tool ? — Oh ! 'tis here 
in a trice — 
This implement, Ge'mmen, at first was a Vice ; 
(A tenacious and close sort of tool, that will let 
Nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get ;) 

3 An allusion to Lord Eld — n's lachrymose tendencies. 



226 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But it since has received a new coating of Tin, 
Bright enough for a Prince to behold himself in. 
Come, what shall we say for it ? briskly ! bid on, 
We'll the sooner get rid of it — going — quite gone. 
God be with it, such tools, if not quickly knock'd 

down, 
Might at last cost their owner — how much ? why, 

a Crown .' 



The next Tool I'll set up has hardly had handsel or 
Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor — 
Such dull things as these should be sold by the 



Yet, dull as it is, 'twill be found to shave close, 
And like other close shavers, some courage to 

gather, 
This blade first began by a flourish on leather. 1 
You shall have it for nothing — then, marvel with 

me 
At the terrible tinkering work there must be, 
Where a Tool such as this is (I'll leave you to judge 

it) 
Is placed by ill luck at the top of the Budget ! 



LITTLE MAN AND LITTLE SOUL. 

A. BALLAD. 

To the tune of " There was a tittle man, and he woo'd a little 
maid." 

DEDICATED TO THE RT. HON. CH--Rjj — s ABB — T. 

Arcades ambo 
Et cani-are pares. 

1«3. 
There was a little Man, and he had a little Sou\ 
And he said, " Little Soul, let us try, try, try, 
" Whether it's within our reach 
" To make up a little Speech, 
" Just between little you and little I, I, I, 
" Just between little you and little I !" — 

Then said his little Soul, 

Peeping from her little hole, 
" I protest, little Man, you are stout, stout, stout, 

" But, if it's not uncivil, 

" Pray tell mo what the devil 
" Must our little, little speech be about, bout, bout, 
" Must our little, little speech be about ?" 

i " Of the taxes proposed by Mr. Vansittart, that princi- 
pally opposed in Parliament was the additional duty on 
leather."— Jinn. Register. 



The little Man look'd big 
With th' assistance of his wig, 
And he call'd his little Soul to order, order, order, 
Till she fear'd he'd make her jog in 
To jail, like Thomas Croggan, 
(As she wasn't Duke or Earl) to reward her, 
ward her, ward her, 
As she wasn't Duke or Earl, to reward her. 

The little Man then spoke, 
" Little Soul, it is no joke, 
" For as sure as J — cky F — 11 — r loves a sup, sup, 
sup, 
" I will tell the Prince and People 
" What I think of Church and Steeple, 
" And my little patent plan to prop them up, up, up, 
" And my little patent plan to prop them up." 

Away then, cheek by jowl, 
Little Man and little Soul 
Went and spoke their little speech to a tittle, tittle, 
tittle, 
And the world all declare 
That this priggish little pair 
Never yet in all their lives look'd so little, little, 
little, 
Never yet in all their lives look'd so little ! 



REINFORCEMENTS 
FOR LORD WELLINGTON. 

Suosque tibi commendat Troja Penates 
Hos cape fatorum comites. Virgil. 

1813. 

As recruits in these times are not easily got, 

And the Marshal must have them — pray, why 
should we not, 

As? the last and, I grant it, the worst of our loans 
to him, 

Ship oK the Ministry, body and bones to him ? 

There's n^ i n all England, I'd venture to swear, 

Any men wt CO uld half so conveniently spare ; 

And, though thw've been helping the French for 
years past, 

We may thus make \bem useful to England at last. 

C — stl — r — gh in our fcieges might save some dis- 
graces, 

Being used to the taking and keeping of places ; 

And Volunteer C — nn — g, still ready for joining, 

Might show off his talent for sly undermining. 

Could the Household but spare us its glory and pride, 

Old H — df— t at horn-works again might be tried, 



SATIRICAL AXD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



227 



And the Ch — f J — st — e make a bold charge at his 

side: 
While V — ns — it — t could victual the troops upon 

tick, 
And the Doctor look after the baggage and sick. 

Xay, I do not see why the great R — g — t himself 
Should, in times such as these, stay at home on the 

shelf: 
Though through narrow defiles he's not fitted to pass, 
Yet who could resist, if he bore down en masse ? 
And though oft, of an evening, perhaps he might 

prove, 
Like our Spanish confed'rates, " unable to move,'" 1 
Yet there's one thing in war of advantage unbounded, 
Which is, that he could not with ease be surrounded. 

In my next I shall sing of their arms and equip- 
ment : 
At present no more, but — good luck to the shipment ! 



HORACE, ODE I. LIB. IIL 

A FRAGMENT. 

Odi profanum vulgus et arceo : 
Favete Unguis : cannina non prius 
Audita Musarum sacerdos 
Yirginibus puerisque canto. 
Regum timendorum in proprios greges, 
Reges in ipsos imperium est Jovis. 



1513. 



I hate thee, oh, Mob, as my Lady hates delf : 
To Sir Francis I'll give up thy claps and thy 
hisses, 
Leave old Magna Charta to shift for itself, 

And, like G — dw — n, write books for young mas- 
ters and misses. 
Oh ! it is not high rank that can make the heart 
merry, 
Even monarchs themselves are not free from mis- 
hap: 
Though the Lords of Westphalia must quake before 
Jerry, 
Poor Jerry liimself has to quake before Xap. 
***** 

J The character given to the Spanish soldier, in Sir John 
Murray's memorable dispatch. 

2 The literal closeness of the version here cannot but be 
admired. The Translator ha3 added a long, erudite, and 
flowers - note upon Roses, of which I can merely give a speci- 
men at present. In the first place, he ransacks the Rosarium 
Politicum of the Persian poet Sadi. with the hope of finding 
some Political Roses, to match the gentleman in the text— 
but in vain : he then tells us that Cicero accused Verres of 
reposing upon a cushion " Helitensi rosd fartum." which, 
from the odd mixture of words, he supposes to be a kind of 
Irish Bed of Roses, like Lord Castlereagh's. The learned 



HORACE, ODE XXXVIII. LIB I. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Persicos odi, puer. adparatus ; 
Displicent nexae philyra coronas ; 
Mitte sectari, Rosa quo locorum. 

Sera moretur. 

TRANSLATED EY A TREASURY CLERK, WHILE WAITING 
DINNER FOR THE RIGHT HON". G RGE R SE. 

Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all nick-nackeries, 
Fricassees, vol-au-vents, puffs, and gim-crackeries — 
Six by the Horse-Guards ! — old Georgv is late — 
But come — lay the table-cloth — zounds ! do not wait, 
Xor stop to inquire, while the dinner is staying, 
At which of his places Old R — e is delaying I 2 



IMPROMPTU. 

IT ON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A PLEASANT PARTY, 
FROM TEE WANT OF A PAIR OF BREECHES TO DRESS 
FOR DLNNER L\\ 

iSifi 

Between Adam and me the great difference is, 
Though a paradise each has been forced to resign, 

That he never wore breeches till turn'd out of his, 
While, for want of my breeches, I'm banish' d from 
mine. 



LORD WELLINGTON AXD 

MINISTERS. 



THE 



1513. 



So gently in peace Alcibiades smiled, 

While in battle he shone forth so terribly grand, 

That the emblem they graved on his seal, was a child 
With a thunderbolt placed in its innocent hand. 

Oh Wellington, long as such Ministers wield 

Your magnificent arm, the same emblem will do ; 

For while they're in the Council and you in the Field, 
We've the babies in them and the thunder in you ! 

Clerk next favors us with some remarks upon a well-knowu 
punning epitaph on fair Rosamond, and expresses a most 
loyal hope, that, if •• Rosa munda" mean " a Rose with clean 
hands," it may be found applicable to the Right Honorable 
Rose in question. He then dwells at some length upon the 
■• Rosa aurea" which, though descriptive, in one sense, of 
the old Treasury Statesman, yet, as being consecrated and 
worn by the Pope, must, of course, not be brought into the 
same atmosphere with him. Lastly, in reference to the 
words u old Rose," he winds up with the pathetic lamenta- 
tion of the Poet " consenuisse Rosas." The whole note, 
indeed, shows a knowledge of Roses, that is quite edifying. 



228 MOORE'S WORKS. 


IRISH MELODIES 


TO 


The Advertisements which were prefixed to the 




different numbers, the Prefatory Letter upon Music, 


THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF 
DONEGAL. 


&c, will be found in an Appendix at the end of the 
Melodies. 


It is now many years since, in a Letter prefixed 




to the Third Number of the Irish Melodies, I had 
the pleasure of inscribing the Poems of that work to 






your Ladyship, as to one whose character reflected 




honor on the country to which they relate, and 
whose friendship had long been the pride and happi- 


IRISH MELODIES. 


ness of their Author. With the same feelings of 
affection and respect, confirmed if not increased by 






the experience of every succeeding year, I now 


GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. 


place those Poems in their present new form under 




vour protection, and am, 


Go where glory waits thee, 


With perfect sincerity, 


But, while fame elates thee, 


Your Ladyship's ever attached Friend, 


Oh ! still remember me. 


THOMAS MOORE. 


When the praise thou meetest 




To thine ear is sweetest, 




Oh ! then remember me. 
Other arms may press thee, 






Dearer friends caress thee, 




All the joys that bless thee, 


PREFACE. 


Sweeter far may be ; 




But when friends are nearest, 


Though an edition of the Poetry of the Irish 


And when joys are dearest, 


Melodies, separate from the Music, has long been 


Oh ! then remember me ! 


called for, yet, having, for many reasons, a strong 




objection to this sort of divorce, I should with diffi- 


When, at eve, thou rovest 


culty have consented to a disunion of the words 


By the star thou lovest, 


from the airs, had it depended solely upon me to 


Oh ! then remember me 


keep them quietly and indissolubly together. But, 


Think, when home returning, 


besides the various shapes in which these, as well 


Bright we've seen it burning, 


as my other lyrical writings, have been published 


Oh ! thus remember me. 


throughout America, they are included, of course, 


Oft as summer closes, 


in all the editions of my works printed on the 


When thine eye reposes 


Continent, and have also appeared, in a volume full 


On its ling'ring roses, 


of typographical errors, in Dublin. I have there- 


Once so loved by thee, 


fore readily acceded to the wish expressed by the 


Think of her who wove them, 


Proprietor of the Irish Melodies, for a revised and 


Her who made thee love them, 


complete edition of the poetry of the Work, though 


Oh ! then remember me. 


well aware that my verses must lose even more than 




the " anima dimidium," in being detached from the 


When, around thee dying, 


beautiful airs to which it was their good fortune to be 


Autumn leaves are lying, 


associated. 


Oh ! then remember me. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



229 



And, at nighty when gazing 
On the gay hearth blazing, 

Oh ! still remember me. 
Then should music, stealing 
All the soul of feeling, 
To thy heart appealing, 

Draw one tear from thee ; 
Then let memory bring thee 
Strains I used to sing thee, — 

Oh ! then remember me. 



WAR SONG. 

REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN 
THE BRAVE. 1 

Remember the glories of Brien the brave, 

Tho' the days of the hero are o'er ; 
Tho' lost to Mononia, 2 and cold in the grave, 

He returns to Kinkora 3 no more. 
That star of the field, which so often hath pour'd 

Its beam on the battle, is set ; 
But enough of its glory remains on each sword, 

To light us to victory yet. 

Mononia ! when Nature embellish' d the tint 

Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair, 
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print 

The footstep of slavery there ? 
No ! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, 

Go, tell our invaders, the Danes, 
That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, 

Than to sleep but a moment in chains. 

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood 4 

In the day of distress by our side ; 
While the moss of the valley grew red with their 
Ixood, 
They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died. 
That sun which now blesses our arms with his light, 
Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain ; — 
| Oh ! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, 
To find that they fell there in vain. 

i Brien Borombe, the great monarch of Ireland, who was 
i killed at the battle of Clontarf, in the beginning of the 11th 
century, after having defeated the Danes in twenty-five en- 
I gagements. 

2 Munster. 

3 The palace of Brien. 

4 This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the 
j Dalgais, the favorite troops of Brien, when they were inter- 
j rupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpat- 



ERIN ! THE TEAR AND THE SMILE IN 
THINE EYES. 

Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes, 
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies ! 
Shining through sorrow's stream, 
Saddening through pleasure's beam, 
Thy suns with doubtful gleam, 
Weep while they rise. 

Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, 
Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase, 

Till, like the rainbow's light, 

Thy various tints rnite, 

And form in heaven's sight 
One arch of peace ! 



OH ! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 

Oh ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, 
Where cold and unhonor'd his relics are laid : 
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, 
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head. 

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it 

weeps, 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he 



And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, 
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. 



WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE. 

When he, who adores thee, has left but the name 

Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
Oh ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame 

Of a life that for thee was resign'd? 
Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, 

Thy tears shall efface their decree ; 
For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 

I have been but too faithful to thee. 

rick, prince of Ossory. The wounded men entreated that 
they might be allowed to fight with the rest.—" Let stakes 
(they said) be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of vs. tied 
to and supported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank 
by the side of a sound man." "Between seven and eight 
hundred wounded men, (adds O'Halloran,) pale, emaciated, 
and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the fore- 
most of the troops ;— never was such another sight exhibit- 
ed." — History of Ireland, book xii. chap. i. 



230 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 

Every thought of my reason was thine ; 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above, 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine. 
Oh ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 

The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 

Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 



THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH 
TARA'S HALLS. 

The harp that once through Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 

As if that soul were fled. — 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er, 
And hearts, that once beat high for praise, 

Now feel that pulse no more. 

No more to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells ; 
The chord alone, that breaks at night, 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 

The only throb she gives, 
Is when some heart indignant breaks, 

To show that still she lives. 



FLY NOT YET 

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour, 
When pleasure, like the midnight flower 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light, 
Begins to bloom for sons of night, 

And maids who love the moon. 
'Twas but to bless these hours of shade 
That beauty and the moon were made ; 
'Tis then their soft attractions glowing 
Set the tides and goblets flowing. 

Oh J stay, — Oh ! stay, — 
Joy so seldom weaves a chain 
Like this to-night, that oh ! 'tis pain 

To break its links so soon. 



i Solis Fons, near the Temple of Ammon. 



Fly not- yet, the fount that play'd 

In times of old through Ammon's shade, 1 

Though icy cold by day it ran, 

Yet still, like souls of mirth, began 

To burn when night was near. 
And thus, should woman's heart and looks 
At noon be cold as winter brooks, 
Nor kindle till the night, returning, 
Brings their geni xl hour for burning. 

Oh! stay,— Oh! stay,— 
When did morning ever break, 
And find such beaming eyes awake 

As those that sparkle here ? 



OH 



THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE 
ALWAYS AS LIGHT. 



Oh ! think not my spirits are always as light, 

And as free from a pang as they seem to you 
now ; 
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night 

Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow. 
No : — life is a waste of wearisome hours, 

Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, 

Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns. 
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile — 

May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, 
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile, 

And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear. 

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven 
knows ! 
If it were not with friendship and love inter- 
twined ; 
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, 
When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my 
mind. 
But they who have loved the fondest, the purest, 

Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed ; 
And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship 
securest, 
Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived. 
But send round the bowl ; while a relic of truth 
Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be 
mine, — 
That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth, 
And the moonlight of friendship console our de- 
cline. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



231 



THO' THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN WITH 
SORROW I SEE. 

Tho' the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, 
Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me ; 
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, 
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam. 

To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore, 
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more, 
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind 
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. 

And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it 

wreaths, 
And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes ; 
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear 
Ono chord from that harp, or one lock from that 

hair. 1 



RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE 
WORE. 2 

Rich and rare were the gems she wore, 
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ; 
But oh ! her beauty was far beyond 
Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand. 

" Lady ! dost thou not fear to stray, 

" So lone and lovely through this bleak way? 

" Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, 

" As not to be tempted by woman or gold ?" 

" Sir Knigbt ! I feel not the least alarm, 

" No son of Erin will offer me harm : — 

" For though they love woman and golden store, 

" Sir Knight ! they love honor and virtue more !" 

i " In the twenty-eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII., 
an Act was made respecting the habits, and dress in general, 
of the Irish, whereby all persons were restrained from being 
shorn or shaven above the ears, or from wearing Glibbes, or 
Coulins, (long locks,) on their heads, or hair on their upper 
lip, called Crommeal. On this occasion a song was written 
by one of our bards, in which an Irish virgin is made to give 
the preference to her dear Coulin (or the youth with the 
flowing locks) to all strangers, (by which the English were 
meant,) or those who wore their habits. Of this song, the 
air alone has reached us, and is universally admired." — 
Walker's Historical Memoirs of Irish Bards, p. 134. Mr. 
Walker informs us also, that, about the same period, there 
were some harsh measures taken against the Irish Min- 
strels. 

a This ballad is founded upon the following anecdote : — 



On she went, and her maiden smile 
In safety lighted her round the Green Isle ; 
And blest forever is she who relied 
Upon Erin's honor and Erin's pride. 



AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF THE 
WATERS MAY GLOW. 

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow 
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, 
So the cheek maybe tinged with a warm sunny smile, 
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. 

One fatal remembrance, one sorrcw that throws 
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, 
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, 
For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting — 

Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will 

stay, 
Like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright 

ray; 
The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain, 
It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again. 



THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. 3 

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters 

meet ; 4 
Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, 
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my 

heart. 

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene 
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green ; 

" The people were inspired with such a spirit of honor, vir 
tue, and religion, by the great example of Brien, and by his 
excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are informed 
that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jewels and 
a costly dress, undertook a journey alone, from one end of the 
kingdom to the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the 
top of which was a ring of exceeding great value ; and such 
an impression had the laws and government of this Monarch 
made on the minds of all the people, that no attempt was 
made upon her honor, nor was she robbed of her clothes or 
jewels." — Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i., book x. 

3 " The Meeting of the Waters" forms a part of that beau- 
tiful scenery which lies between Rathdrum and Arklow, in 
the county of Wicklow, and these lines were suggested by a 
visit to this romantic spot, in the summer of the year 1807. 

4 The rivers Avon and Avoca. 



232 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, 
Oh ! no, — it was something more exquisite still. 

'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were 
near, 

Who made every dear scene of enchantment more 
dear, 

And who felt how the best charms of nature im- 
prove, 

When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 

Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest 
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, 
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world 

should cease, 
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. 



HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR. 

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies, 
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea ; 

For then sweet dreams of other days arise, 
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee. 

And, as I watch the line of light, that plays 

Along the smooth wave tow'rd the burning west, 

I long to tread that golden path of rays, 

And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest. 



TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. 

WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK. 

Take back the virgin page, 

White and unwritten still ; 
Some hand, more calm and sage, 

The leaf must fill. 
Thoughts come, as pure as light, 

Pure as even you require : 
But, oh ! each word I write 

Love turns to fire. 

Yet let me keep the book : 

Oft shall my heart renew, 
When on its leaves I look, 

Dear thoughts of you. 
Like you, 'tis fair and bright ; 

Like you, too bright and fair 
To let wild passion write 

One wrong wish there. 



Haply, when from those eyes 

Far, far away I roam, 
Should calmer thoughts arise 

Tow'rds you and home ; 
Fancy may trace some line, 

Worthy those eyes to meet, 
Thoughts that not burn, but shine, 

Pure, calm, and sweet. 

And as, o'er ocean far, 

Seamen their records keep, 
Led by some hidden star 

Through the cold deep ; 
So may the words I write 

Tell thro' what storms I stray — 
You still the unseen Ight, 

Guiding my way. 



THE LEGACY. 

When in death I shall calmly recline, 

O bear my heart to my mistress dear ; 
Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine 

Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here. 
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow 

To sully a heart so brilliant and light ; 
But balmy drops of the red grape borrow, 

To bathe the relic from morn till night. 

When the light of my song is o'er, 

Then take my harp to your ancient hall ; 
Hang it up at that friendly door, 

Where weaiy travellers love to call. 1 
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, 

Revive its soft note in passing along, 
Oh ! let one thought of its master waken 

Your warmest smile for the child of song. 

Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 

To grace your revel, when I'm at rest ; 
Never, oh ! never its balm bestowing 

On lips that beauty hath seldom bless'd. 
But when some warm devoted lover 

To her he adores shall bathe its brim, 
Then, then my spirit around shall hover, 

And hallow each drop that foams for him. 



i « In every house was one or two harps, free to all trav- 
ellers, who were the more caressed, the more they excelled 
in music."— O'Halloran. 






IRISH MELODIES. 



233 



HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED. 

How oft has the Benshee cried, 

How oft has death untied 

Bright links that Glory wove, 

Sweet bonds entwined by Love ! 
Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth ; 
Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth ; 

Long may the fair and brave 

Sigh o'er the hero's grave. 

We're fall'n upon gloomy days !* 

Star after star decays, 

Every bright name, that shed 

Light o'er the land, is fled. 
Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth 
Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth ; 

But brightly flows the tear, 

Wept o'er a hero's bier. 

Quench'd are our beacon lights — 
Thou, of the Hundred Fights ! 2 
Thou, on whose burning tongue 
Truth, peace, and freedom hung ! 3 

Both mute, — but long as valor shineth, 

Or mercy's soul at war repineth, 
So long shall Erin's pride 
Tell how they lived and died. 



WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS 
WORLD. 

We may roam through this world, like a child at a 
feast, 
Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the 
rest; 
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, 
We may order our wings, and be off to the west ; 
But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, 

Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies, 
We never need leave our own green isle, 

For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, 
Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward 
you roam, 

' I have endeavored here, without losing that Irish char- 
acter which it is my object to preserve throughout this 
work, to allude to the sad and ominous fatality, by which 
England has been deprived of so many great and good men, 
at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent 
and integrity. 

2 This designation, which has been before applied to LoDfi 



When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 
Oh ! remember the smile which adorns her at 
home. 

In England, the garden of Beauty is kept 

By a dragon of prudery placed within call ; 
But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, 

That the garden's bu+ carelessly watch'd after all. 
Oh ! they want the wild sweet-briery fence, 

Which round the flowers of Erin dwells ; 
Which warns the touch, while winning the sense, 

Nor charms us least when it most repels. 
Then remembei, wherever your goblet is crown'd, 

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward 
you roam, 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 

Oh ! iemember the smile that adorns her at home. 

In France, when the heart of a woman <e>t£ sail, 

On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, 
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, 

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-by. 
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy, 

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, 
Through billows of wo, and beams of joy, 

The same as he look'd when he left the shore. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, 

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward 
you roam, 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 

Oh ! remember the smile that adorns her at home. 



EVELEEN'S BOWER. 

Oh ! weep for the hour, 

When to Eveleen's bower 
The Lord of the Valley with false vows came ; 

The moon hid her light 

From the heavens that night, 
And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame 

The clouds pass'd soon 

From the chaste cold moon, 
And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame ; 

But none will see the day, 

When the clouds shall pass away, 
Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. 

Nelson, is the title given to a celebrated Irish Hero, in a 
Poem by O'Guive, the bard of O'Niel, which is quoted in the 
"Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland," page 433. 
" Con, of the Hundred Fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, 
and upbraid not our defeats with thy victories." 
3 Fox, " Romanorum ultimus." 



234 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The white snow lay- 
On the narrow path-way, 

When the Lord of the Valley cross'd over the moor ; 
And many a deep print 
On the white snow's tint 

Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. 

The next sun's ray 

Soon melted away 
Every trace on the path where the false Lord came ; 

But there's a light above 

Which alone can remove 
That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. 



LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF 
OLD. 

Let Erin remember the days of old, 

Ere her faithless sons betray'd her ; 
When Malachi wore the collar of gold, 1 

Which he won from her proud invader, 
When her kings, with standard of green unfurl'd, 

Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger f — 
Ere the emerald gem of the western world 

Was set in the crown of a stranger. 

On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, 

When the clear cold eve's declining, 
He sees the round towers of other days 

In the wave beneath him shining ; 
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, 

Catch a glimpse of the days that are over ; 
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time 

For the long faded glories they cover. 3 

i "This brought on an encounter between Maiachi (the 
Monarch of Ireland in the tenth century) and the Danes, in 
which Malachi defeated two of their champions, whom he 
encountered successively, hand to hand, taking a collar of 
gold from the neck of one, and carrying off the sword of 
the other, as trophies of his victory." — Warner's History of 
Ireland, vol. i. book ix. 

2 " Military orders of knights were very early established 
In Ireland : long before the birth of Christ we find an hered- 
itary order of Chivalry in Ulster, called Curaidhe na Crai- 
ohhe ruadh, or the Knights of the Red Branch, from their 
chief seat in Einania, adjoining to the palace of the Ulster 
kings, called Teagh na Craiobkc ruadh, or the Academy of 
the Red Branch; and contiguous to which was a large hos- 
pital, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called Bron- 
bhearg, or the House of the Sorrowful Soldier."— O' Hallo- 
Tan's Introduction, <S-c, part i. chap. 5. 

3 It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that 
Lough Neagh had been originally a fountain, by whose sud- 
den overflowing the country was inundated, and a whole 



THE SONG OF FIONNUALA. 4 

Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water, 

Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, 
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daugh- 
ter 

Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. 
When shall the swan, her death-note singing, 

Sleep with wings in darkness furl'd ? 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 

Call my spirit from this stormy world ? 

Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping, 

Fate bids me languish long ages away ; 
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, 

Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. 
When will that day-star, mildly springing, 

Warm our isle with peace and love ? 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ri ging, 

Call my spirit to the fields above ? 



COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. 

Come, send round the wine, and leave points of 
belief 
To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools ; 
This moment's a flower too fair and brief, 

To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the 
schools. 
Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, 
But while they are fill'd from the same bright 
bowl, 
The fool who would quarrel for diff 'rence of hue, 
Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. 

region, like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He says 
that the fishermen, in clear weather, used to point out to 
strangers the tall ecclesiastical towers under the water. 
Piscatores aqua illius turres ecclesiasticas, qua more patriae 
aretes sunt ct altce, necnon et rotundce, sub undis manifeste 
sereno tempore conspiciunt, et extraneis trans euntibus, rcique 
causas admirantibus, frequenter ostendunt. — Topogr. Hib. 
dist. 2, c. 9. 

4 To make this story intelligible in a song would require a 
much greater number of verses than any one is authorized to 
inflict upon an audience at once ; the reader must therefore 
be content to learn, in a note, that Fionnuala, the daughter 
of Lir, was, by some supernatural power, transformed into a 
swan, and condemned to wander, for many hundred years, 
over certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the coming of 
Christianity, when the first sound of the mass-bell was to 
be the signal of her release. — I found this fanciful fiction 
among some manuscript translations from the Irish, which 
were begun under the direction of that enlightened friend of 
Ireland, the late Countess of Moira. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



235 



Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side 

In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree ? 
Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, 

If he kneel not before the same altar with me ? 
From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly, 

To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss ? 
No : perish the hearts, and the laws that try 

Truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this ! 



SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. 

Sublime was the warning that Liberty spoke, 
And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke 

Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain. 
Oh, Liberty ! let not this spirit have rest, 
Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the 

west — 
Give the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, 
Nor, oh, be the shamrock of Erin forgot 

While you add to your garland the Olive of 
Spain ! 

If the fame of our fathers, bequeath'd with their 

rights, 
Give to country its charm, and to home its delights, 

If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain, 
Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the same ! 
And oh ! may his tomb want a tear and a name, 
Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, 
.Than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath, 

For the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain ! 

Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd 
Tbe green hills of their youth, among strangers to 

find 
That repose which, at home, they had sigh'd for 

in vain, 
Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you 

light, 
May be felt yet in Erin, as calm, and as bright, 
And forgive even Albion while blushing she draws, 
Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause 
Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain ! 

God prosper the cause ! — oh, it cannot but thrive, 
While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, 

Its devotion to feel, and its rig-its to maintain ; 
Then, how sainted by sorrow, its martyrs will die ! 
The finger of glory shall point where they lie ; 

i The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare, 
which Giraldus mentions :— " Apud Kildariam occurrit ignis 
SanctJE Brigidae, quem inextinguibilem vocant ; non quod ex- 
tingui non possit, sed quod tam solicite moniales et sanctas 



While, far from the footstep of coward or slave, 
The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter their 
grave 
Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives of Spain ! 



BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEAR- 
ING YOUNG CHARMS. 

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, 

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, 
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, 

Like fairy-gifts fading away, 
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou 
art, 

Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 

Would entwine itself verdantly still. 

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, 

And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear 
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, 

To which time will but make thee more dear ; 
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, 

But as truly loves on to the close, 
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, 

The same look which she turn'd when he rose. 



ERIN, OH ERIN. 



holy 



Like the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare' 
fane, 1 

And burn'd thro' long ages of darkness and storm, 
Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd on in vain, 

Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm. 
Erin, oh Erin, thus bright thro' the tears 
Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears. 

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, 
Thy sun is but rising, when others aro set ; 

And tho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung, 
The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee 
yet. 

Erin, oh Erin, tho' long in the shade, 

Thy star shall shine out when the proudest shall fade. 

mulieres ignem, snppetente materia, fovent et nutriunt, ut a 
tempore virginis per tot annornm curricula semper inansit in- 
extinctus."— Girald. Camb. de Mirabil. Hibcrn. dist 2, c. 34 



236 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Unchill'd by the rain, and unwaked by the wind, 
The lily lies sleeping thro' winter's cold hour, 

Till Spring's light touch her fetters unbind, 

And daylight and liberty bless the young flower. 1 

Thus Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past, 

And the hope that lived thro' it shall blossom at last 



DRINK TO HER 

Drink to her, who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 
Oh ! woman's heart was made 

For minstrel hands alone ; 
By other fingers play'd, 

It yields not half the tone. 
Then here's to her, who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 

At Beauty's door of glass, 

When Wealth and Wit oiice stood, 
They ask'd her, " which might pass ?" 

She answer'd, " he, who could." 
With golden key Wealth thought 

To pass — but 'twould not do : 
While Wit a diamond brought, 

Which cut his bright way through 
So here's to her, who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 

The love that seeks a home 

Where wealth or grandeur shines, 
Is like the gloomy gnome, 

That dwells in dark gold mines. 
But oh ! the poet's love 

Can boast a brighter sphere ; 
Its native home's above, 

Tho' woman keeps it here. 

i Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the Lily, has 
applied this image to a still more important object. 

2 We may suppose this apology to have been uttered by 
one of those wandering bards, whom Spenser so severely, 
and, perhaps, truly, describes in his State of Ireland, and 
whose poems, he tells us, " were sprinkled with some pretty 
flowers of their natural device, which have good grace and 
comeliness unto them, the which it is great pity to see 
abused to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with 
good usage, would serve to adorn and beautify virtue." 



Then drink to her, who long 
Hath waked the poet's sigh, 

The girl, who gave to song 
What gold could never buy. 



OH ! BLAME NOT THE BARD. 9 

Oti I blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers, 

Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame ; 
He was born for much more, and in happier hours 

His soul might have burn'd with a holier flame. 
The string, that now languishes loose o'er the lyre, 

Might have bent a proud bow to the warrior's 
dart ; 3 
And the lip, which now breathes but the song cf 
desire, 

Might have pour'd the full tide of a patriot's heart. 

But alas for his country ! — her pride is gone by, 
And that spirit is broken, which never would 
bend ; 
O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, 

For 'tis treason to love her, and death to defend. 
Unprized are her sons, till they've learn'd to betray ; 
Undistinguish'd they live,, if they shame not their 
sires ; 
And the torch, that would light them thro' dignity's 
way, 
Must be caught from the pile, where their country 
expires. 

Then blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft 
dream, 
He should try to forget what he never can heal : 
Oh ! give but a hope — let a vista but gleam 

Through the gloom of his country, and mark how 
he'll feel ! 
That instant, his heart at her shrine would lay down 

Every passion it nursed, every bliss it adored ; 
While the myrtle, now idly entwined with his crown, 
Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover his 
sword. 4 

3 It is conjectured by Wormius, that the name of Ireland 
is derived from Yr, the Runic for a bow, in the use of which 
weapon the Irish were once very expert. This derivation is 
certainly more creditable to us than the following : V So that 
Ireland, called the land of Ire, from the constant broils 
therein for 400 years, was now become the land of con- 
cord." — Lloyd's State Worthies, art. The Lord Grandison. 

4 See the Hymn, attributed to Alcaeus, Ei> fivprov kXciSi to 
%i<pos (puprjo-w— "I will carry my sword, hidden in myrtles, 
like Harmodius, and Aristogiton," &c. 






IRISH MELODIES. 



237 



But tho' glory be gone, and tho' hope fade away, 

Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in his songs ; 
Not ev'n in the hour, when his heart is most gay, 

Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy 
wrongs. 
The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains ; 

The sigh of thy harp shaU be sent o'er the deep, 
Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains, 

Shall pause at the song of their captive, and weep. 



WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON'S LIGHT. 

While gazing on the moon's light, 

A moment from her smile I turn'd, 
To look at orbs, that, more bright, 
In lone and distant glory burn'd. 
But too far 
Each proud star, 
For me to feel its warming flame ; 
Much more dear 
That mild sphere, 
Which near our planet smiling came ; x — 
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own ; 

While brighter eyes unheeded play, 
I'll love those moonlight looks alone, 
That bless my home and guide my way 

The day had sunk in dim showers, 

But midnight now, with lustre meet, 
Illumined all the pale flowers, 

Like hope upon a mourner's cheek. 
I said (while 
The moon's smile 
Play'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss,) 
" The moon looks 
" On many brooks 
" The brook can see no moon but this ;" a 
And thus, I thought, our fortunes run, 

For many a lover looks to thee, 

While oh ! I feel there is but one, 

One Mary in the world for me. 



ILL OMENS. 

When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, 
And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, 

i " Of such celestial bodies as are visible, the sun excepted, 
ths single moon, as despicable as it is in comparison to most 
of the others, is much more beneficial than they all put to- 
gether." — Whiston's Theory, Sec. 

In the Entretiens cCAriste, among other ingenious em- 



Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, 

The last time she e'er was to press it alone. 
For the youth whom she treasured her heart and her 
soul in, 
Had promised to link the last tie before noon ; 
And, when once the young heart of a maiden is 
stolen, 
The maiden herself will steal after it soon. 

As she look'd in he glass, which a woman ne'er 
misses, 

Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two, 
A butterfly, 3 fresh from the night-flower's kisses, 

Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view. 
Enraged with the insect for hiding her graces, 

She brush'd him — he fell, alas! never to rise : 
"Ah! such," said the girl, "is the pride of our 
faces, 

" For which the soul's innocence too often dies." 

While she stole thro' the garden, where heart's-ease 
was growing, 
She cull'd some, and kiss'd off its night -fall'n dew : 
And a rose, farther <.m, look'd so tempting and 
glowing, 
That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too : 
But while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning, 
Her zone flew in two, and the heart's-ease was 
lost: 
" Ah ! this means," said the girl, (and she sigh'd at 
its meaning,) 
" That love is scarce worth the repose it will cost !" 



BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

By the hope within us springing, 

Herald of to-morrow's strife ; 
By that sun, whose light is bringing 

Chains or freedom, death or life — 
Oh ! remember life can be 
No charm for him, who lives not free ! 

Like the day-star in the wave, ■ 

Sinks a hero in his grave, 
Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears. 

Happy is he o'er whose decline 
The smiles of home may soothing shine, 
And light him down the steep of years : — 

blems, we find a starry sky without a moon, with these 
words, JVon mille, quod absens. 

a This image was suggested by the following thought, 
which occurs somewhere in Sir William Jones's works : 
"The moon looks upon many night-flowers, the night-flower 
sees but one moon." 3 An emblem of the soul. 



238 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But oh, how blest they sink to rest, 
Who close their eyes on Victory's breast ! 

O'er his watch-fire's fading embers 

Now the foeman's cheek turns white, 
When his heart that field remembers, 

Where we tamed his tyrant might. 
Never let him bind again 
A chain, like that we broke from then. 

Hark ! the horn of combat calls — 

Ere the golden evening falls, 
May we pledge that horn in triumph round I 1 

Many a heart that now beats high, 
In slumber cold at night shall lie, 
Nor waken even at victory's sound : — 
But oh, how blest that hero's sleep, 
O'er whom a wond'ring world shall weep ! 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Night closed around the conqueror's way, 

And lightnings show'd the distant hill, 
Where those who lost that dreadful day, 

Stood few and faint, but fearless still. 
The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal, 

Forever dimm'd, forever cross'd — 
Oh ! who shall say what heroes feel, 

When all but life and honor's lost ? 

The last sad hour of freedom's dream, 

And valor's task, moved slowly by, 
While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam 

Should rise and give them light to die. 
There's yet a world, where souls are free, 

Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss ; — 
If death that world's bright opening be, 

Oh ! who would live a slave in this ? 



'TIS SWEET TO THINK. 

'Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove, 
We are sure to find something blissful and dear, 

i " The Irish Corna was not entirely devoted to mar- 
tial purposes. In the heroic ages, our ancestors quaffed 
Meadh out of them, as the Danish hunters do their bever- 
age at this day."— Walker. 

2 I believe it is Marmontel who says, " Quand on n'apas 
ce que Con aime, il faut aimer ce que Von a." — There are so 
many matter-of-fact people, who take such jeux d'esprit as 
this defence of inconstancy, to be the actual and genuine 



And that, when we're far from the lips we love, 

We've but to make love to the lips we are near. 2 
The heart, like a tendril, accustom'd to cling, 

Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, 
But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing, 

It can twine with itself, and make closely its cwn. 
Then oh ! what pleasure, where'er we rove, 

To be sure to find something, still, that is dear, 
And to know, when far from the . ips we love, 

We've but to make love to the iips we are near. 

'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, 

To make light of the rest, if the rose isn't there ; 
And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes, 

'Twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair. 
Love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike, 

They are both of them bright, but they're change- 
able too, 
And, wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, 

It will tincture Love's plume with a different hue. 
Then oh ! what pleasure, where'er we rove, 

To be sure to find something, still, that is dear, 
And to know, when far from the lips we love, 

We've but to make love to the lips we are near. 



THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS. 8 

Through grief and through danger thy smile hath 

cheer'd my way, 
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round 

me lay ; 
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love 

burn'd, 
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd ; 
Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, 
And bless'd even the sorrows that made me more 

dear to thee. 

Thy rival was honor'd, while thou wert wrong'd 

and scorn'd, 
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows 

adorn'd ; 

sentiments of him who writes them, that they compel one, in 
self-defence, to be as matter-of-fact as themselves, and to 
remind them, that Democritus was not the worse physiolo 
gist, for having playfully contpmlod that snow was black; 
nor Erasmus, in any degree, the le^s wise, for having writtea 
an ingenious encomium of folly. 
3 Meaning, allegorically, the ancient Church of Ireland. 



IRISH MELODIES 



239 



She woo'd me to temples, while thou lay'st hid in 

caves, 
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas ! were 



Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather 

be, 
Than wed what I loved not, or turn one thought 

from thee. 

They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are 
frail— 

Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd 
less pale. 

They say, too, so long thou hast worn those linger- 
ing chains, 

That deep in thy heart they have printed their ser- 
vile stains — 

Oh ! foul is the slander, — no chain could that soul 
subdue — 

Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too I 1 



ON MUSIC. 

When thro' life unblest we rove, 

Losing all that made life dear, 
Should some notes we used to love, 

In days of boyhood, meet our ear, 
Oh ! how welcome breathes the strain ! 

Wakening thoughts that long have slept ; 
Kindling former smiles again 

In faded eyes that long have wept. 

Like the gale, that sighs along 

Beds of oriental flowers, 
Is the grateful breath of song, 

That once was heard in happier hours ; 
Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on, 

Though the flowers have sunk in death ; 
So, when pleasure's dream is gone, 

Its memory lives in Music's breath. 

Music, oh how faint, how weak, 

Language fades before thy spell ! 
Why should Feeling ever speak, 

When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? 
Friendship's balmy words may feign, 

Love's are ev'n more false than they ; 
Oh ! 'tis only music's strain 

Can sweetly sooth and not betray. 

i "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."- 
St. Paul, 2 Cor. iii. 17. 



IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MO- 
MENT SHED. 2 

It is not the tear at this moment shed, 

When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, 
That can tell how beloved was the friend that's fled, 

Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 
'Tis the tear, thro' many a long day wept, 

'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded ; 
'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, 

When all lighter griefs have faded. 

Thus ;vs memory, like some holy light, 

Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, 
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright, 

When we think how he lived but to love them. 
And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume 

Where buried saints are lying, 
So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom 

From the image he left there in dying ! 



THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 

'Tis believed that this Harp, which I wake now for 

thee, 
Was a Syren of old, who sung under the sea ; 
And who often, at eve, thro' the bright waters roved, 
To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she 

loved. 

But she loved him in vain, for he left her to weep, 
And in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to steep ; 
Till heav'n look'd with pity on true love so warm, 
And changed to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's 
form. 

Still her bosom rose fair — still her cheeks smiled the 

same — 
While her sea-beauties gracefully form'd the light 

frame ; 
And her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white arm it fell, 
Was changed to bright chords utt'ring melody's spell. 

Hence it came, that this soft Harp so long hath been 

known 
To mingle love's language with sorrow's sad tone ; 
Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay 
To speak love when I'm near thee, and grief when 

away. 

> These lines were occasioned by the loss of a very near 
and dear relative, who had died lately at Madeira. 



240 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 



Oh 



the days are gone, when Beauty bright 
My heart's chain wove ; 
When my dream of life, from morn till night, 
Was love, still love. 
New hope may bloom, 
And days may come, 
Of milder, calmer beam, 
But there's nothing half so sweet in life, 

As love's young dream : 
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life 
As love's young dream. 

Though the bard to purer fame may soar, 

When wild youth's past ; 
Though he win the wise, who frown'd before, 
To smile at last ; 
He'll never meet 
A joy so sweet, 
In all his noon of fame, 
As when first he sung to woman's ear 

His soul-felt flame, 
And at every close, she blush'd to hear 
The one loved name. 

No, — that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot 

Which first love traced , 
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot 
On memory's waste. 
'Twas odor fled 
As soon as shed ; 
'Twas morning's winged dream ; 
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again 

On life's dull stream ; 
Oh ! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again 
On life's dull stream. 



THE PRINCE'S DAY. 1 

Tiro' dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, 
And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in 
showers : 
There never were hearts, if our rulers would let 
them, 
More form'd to be grateful and blest than ours. 
But just when the chain 
Has ceased to pain, „ 
And hope has enwreath'd it round with flowers, 

i This song was written for a fete in honor of the Prince 
of Wales's birthday, given by my friend, Major Bryan, at his 
seat in the county of Kilkenny. 



There c^mes a new link 
Our spirits to sink — 
Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the 
poles, 
Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay ; 
But, though 'twere the last little spark in our souls, 
We must light it up now, on our Prince's Day. 

Contempt on the minion, who calls you disloyal ! 
Tho' fierce to your foe, to your friends you are 
true; 
And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, 
Is love from a heart that loves liberty too. 
While cowards, who blight 
Your fame, your right, 
Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array, 
The Standard of Green 
In front would be seen, — 
Oh, my life on your faith ! were you summon'd this 
minute, 
You'd cast every bitter remembrance away, 
And show what the arm of old Erin has in it, 
When roused by the foe, on her Prince's Day, 

He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded 

In hearts which have suffer'd too much to forget ; 
And hope shall be crown'd, and attachment re- 
warded, 
And Erin s gay jubilee shine out yet. 
The gem may be broke 
By many a stroke, 
But nothing can cloud its native ray ; 
Each fragment will cast 
A light to the last, — 
And thus, Erin, my country, tho' broken thou art, 

There's a lustre within thee, that ne'er will decay ; 
A spirit, which beams through each suffering part, 
And now smiles at all pain on the Prince's Day. 



WEEP ON, WEEP ON. 

Weep on, weep on, your hour is past ; 

Your dreams of pride are o'er ; 
The fatal chain is round you cast, 

And you are men no more. 
In vain the hero's heart hath bled ; 

The sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain ; 
Oh, Freedom ! once thy flame hath fled, 

It never lights again. 

Weep on — perhaps in after days, 
They'll learn to love your name ; 



IRISH MELODIES. 241 


When many a deed may wake in prais« 


Who can tell if they're design'd 


That long hath slept in blame. 


To dazzle merely, or to wound us ? 


And when they tread the ruhi'd Isle, 


Pillow'd on my Nora's heart, 


Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, 


In safer slumber Love reposes — 


They'll wond'ring ask, how hands so vile 


Bed of peace ! whose roughest part 


Could conquer hearts so brave? 


Is but the crumpling of the roses. 




Oh ! my Nora Creina, dear, 


" 'Twas fate," they'll say, " a wayward fate 


My mild, my artless Nora Creina ! 


" Your web of discord wove ; 


Wit, though bright, 


" And while your tyrants join'd in hate, 


Hath no such light, 


" You never join'd in love. 


As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina 


" But hearts fell off, that ought to twine, 




" And man profaned what God had given ; 
" Till some were heard to curse the shrine, 






" Where others knelt to heaven !" 






I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. 




I saw thy form in youthful prime, 






Nor thought that pale decay 




Would steal before the steps of Time, 


LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. 


And waste its bloom away, Mary ! 




Yet still thy features wore that light, 


Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 


Which fleets not with the breath ; 


But no one knows for whom it beameth ; 


And life ne'er look'd more truly bright 


Right and left its arrows fly, 


Than in thy smile of death, Mary ! 


But what they aim at no one dreameth. 


Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon 


As streams that run o'er golden mines, 
Yet humbly, calmly glide, 


My Nora's lid that seldom rises ; 


Few its looks, but every one, 


Nor seem to know the wealth that shines 


Like unexpected light, surprises ! 


Within their gentle tide, Mary ! 


Oh, my Nora Creina, dear, 


So veil'd beneath the simplest guise, 


My gentle, bashful Nora Creina, 


Thy radiant genius shone, 


Beauty lies 


And that, which charm'd aU other eyes, 


In many eyes, 


Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary ! 


But Love in yours, my Nora Creina. 






If souls could always dwell above, 


Lesbia wears a robe of gold, 


Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere ; 


But all so close the nymph hath laced it, 


Or could we keep the souls we love, 


Not a charm of beauty's mould 


W T o ne'er had lost thee here, Mary ! 


Presumes to stay where nature placed it. 


Though many a gifted mind we meet, 


Oh ! my Nora's gown for me, 


Though fairest forms we see, 
To live with them is far less sweet, 


That floats as wild as mountain breezes, 


Leaving every beauty free 


Than to remember thee, Mary I 1 


To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. 




Yes, my Nora Creina, dear, 




My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 




Nature's dress 




Is loveliness — 


BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY 


The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. 


SHORE. 2 


Lesbia hath a wit refined, 


By that Lake, whose gloomy shore 


But, when its points are gleaming round us, 


Sky-lark never warbles o'er, 3 


1 I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that exquisite 


Glendalough, a most gloomy and romantic spot in the county 


inscription of Shenstone's, li Heu '. quanto minus est cum 


of Wicklow. 


reliqnis versari quam meminisse !*• 


3 There are many other curious traditions concerning this 


2 This ballad is founded upon one of the many stories re- 


Lake, which may be found in Giraldus, Colgan, &.c 


lated of St. Kevin, whose bed in the rock is to be seen at 





242 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Where the cliff hangs high and steep 


She sings the wild song of her dear native plains* 


Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. 


Every note which he loved awaking ; — 


" Here, at least," he calmly said, 


Ah ! little they think who delight in her strains, 


" Woman ne'er shall find my bed." 


How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. 


Ah ! the good Saint little knew 




What that wily sex can do. 


He had lived for his love, for his country he died, 




They were all that to life had entwined him ; 


'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew, — 


Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 


Eyes of most unholy blue ! 


Nor long will his love stay behind him. 


She had loved him well and long, 




Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong. 


Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 


Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly, 


When they promise a glorious morrow ; 


Still he heard her light foot nigh ; 


They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the 


East or west, where'er he turn'd, 


West, 


Still her eyes before him burn'd. 


From her own loved island of sorrow 


On the bold cliff's bosom cast, 




Tranquil now he sleeps at last ; 




Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er 
Woman's smile can haunt him there. 






But nor earth nor heaven is free 




From her power, if fond she be : 




Even now, while calm he sleeps, 




Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps. 


NAY, TELL ME NOT, DEAR. 


Fearless she had track'd his feet 


Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns 


To this rocky, wild retreat ; 


One charm of feeling, one fond regret ; 


And when morning met his view, 


Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns 


Her mild glances met it too. 


Are all I've sunk in its bright wave yet. 


Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts ! 


Ne'er hath a beam 


Sternly from his bed he starts, 


Been lost in the stream 


And with rude repulsive shock, 


That ever was shed from thy form or soul ; 


Hurls her from the beetling rock. 


The spell of those eyes, 




The balm of thy sighs, 


Glendalough, thy gloomy wave 


Still float on the surface, and hallow my bowl. 


Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave ! 


Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal 


Soon the Saint, (yet ah ! too late,) 


One blissful dream of the heart from me ; 


Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate. 


Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, 


When he said, " Heaven rest her soul !" 


The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 


Round the Lake light music stole ; 




And her ghost was seen to glide, 


They tell us that Love in his fairy bower 


Smiling o'tc the fatal tide. 


Had two blush -roses, of birth divine ; 




He sprinkled the one with a rainbow's shower, 




But bathed the other with mantling wine. 




Soon did the buds 




That drank of the floods 
Distill'd by the rainbow, decline and fade ; 






While those which the tide 




Of ruby had dyed 


SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. 


All blush'd into beauty, like thee, sweet maid ! 




Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal 


She is far from the land where her young hero 


One blissful dream of the heart from me ; 


sleeps, 
And lovers are round her, sighing : 


Like founts, that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, 


The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 


But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 




For her heart in his grave is lying. 






• 



IRISH MELODIES. 



243 



AVENGING AND BRIGHT. 

Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin 1 
On him who the brave sons of Usna betray'd ! — 

For every fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in, 
A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her 
blade 

By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark 
dwelling, 2 
When Ulad's 3 three champions lay sleeping in 
gore- 
By the billows of war, which so often, high swelling, 
Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore — 

We swear to revenge them ! — no joy shall be tasted, 
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, 

Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie 
wasted, 
Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head. 

Yes, monarch ! tho' sweet are our home recollections, 
Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness 
fall; 
Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our 
affections, 
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all ! 



WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWERET. 

He. — What the bee is to the flow'ret, 
When he looks for honey-dew, 
Through the leaves that close embower it, 
That, my love, I'll be to you. 

She. — What the bank, with verdure glowing, 
Is to waves that wander near 
Whisp'ring kisses, while they're going, 
That I'll be to you, my dear. 

She. — But they say, the bee's a rover, 

Who will fly, when sweets are gone ; 

i The words of this song were suggested by the very an- 
cient Irish story called "Deirdri, or the Lamentable Fate of 
the Sons of Usnach," which has been translated literally from 
the Gaelic, by Mr. O'Flanagan, (see vol. i. of Transactions of 
the Gaelic Society of Dublin,) and upon which it appears 
that the " Darthula of Macpherson" is founded. The treach- 
ery of Conor, King of Ulster, in putting to death the three 
sons of Usna, was the cause of a desolating war against 
Ulster, which terminated in the destruction of Eman. " This 
story (says Mr. O'Flanagan) has been, from time immemo- 
rial, held in high repute as one of the three tragic stories of 
the Irish. These are, ' The death of the children of Touran ;' 
'The death of the children of Lear,' (both regarding Tuatha 



He.- 



And, when once the kiss is over, 
Faithless brooks will wander on 

-Nay, if flowers will lose their looks, 
If sunny banks will wear away, 

'Tis but right, that bees and brooks 

Should sip and kiss them while they may. 



LOVE AND THE NOVICE. 

" Here we dwell, in holiest bowers, 

" Where angels of light o'er our orisons bend ; 
" Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers 
" To heaven in mingled odor ascend. 
" Do not disturb our calm, oh Love ! 
" So like is thy form to the cherubs above, 
" It well might deceive such hearts as ours." 

Love stood near the Novice and listen'd, 

And Love is no novice in taking a hint ; 
His laughing blue eyes soon with piety glisten'd ; 
His rosy wing turn'd to heaven's own tint. 
" Who would have thought," the urchin cries, 
" That Love could so well, so gravely disguise 
" His wandering wings and wounding eyes ?" 

Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping, 
Young Novice, to him all thy orisons rise. 
He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping, 
He brightens the censer's flame with his sighs. 
Love is the Saint enshrined in thy breast, 
And angels themselves would admit such a 
guest, 
If he came to them clothed in Piety's vest 



THIS LIFE IS ALL CHECKER'D WITH 
PLEASURES AND WOES. 

This life is all checker'd with pleasures and woes, 
That chase one another like waves of the deep, — 

de Danans,) and this, ' The death of the children of Usnach,' 
which is a Milesian story." It will be recollected, that, in 
the Second Number of these Melodies, there is a ballad 
upon the story of the children of Lear or Lir ; " Silent, oh 
Moyle !" &c. 

Whatever may be thought of those sanguine claims to 
antiquity, which Mr. O'Flanagan and others advance for the 
literature of Ireland, it would be a lasting reproach upon our 
nationality, if the Gael ic researches of this gentleman did not 
meet with all the liberal encouragement they so well merit. 

2 " Oh Nasi ! view that cloud that I here see in the sky ! I 
see over Eman-green a chilling cloud of blood-tinged red." — 
DeirdrVs Song. 3 Ulster. 



244 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Each brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, 


Says Valor, " See, 


Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. 


" They spring for me, 


So closely our whims on our miseries tread, 


" Those leafy gems of morning !" — 


That the laugh is awaked ere the tear can be 


Says Love, " No, no, 


dried ; 


" For me they grow, 


And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed, 


" My fragrant path adorning." 


The goose-plumage of Folly can turn it aside. 


But Wit perceives 


But pledge me the cup — if existence would cloy, 


The triple leaves, 


With hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, 


And cries, " Oh ! do not sever 


Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to Joy, 


" A type, that blends 


And the light, brilliant Folly that flashes and dies. 


" Three godlike friends, 




" Love, Valor, Wit, forever !" 


When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, 


Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock ! 


Through fields full of light, and with heart full of 


Chosen leaf 


play, 


Of Bard and Chief, 


Light rambled the boy over meadow and mount, 


Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 


And neglected his task for the flowers on the 




way. 1 


So firmly fond 


Thus many, like me, who in youth should have 


May last the bond 


tasted 


They wove that morn together, 


The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine, 


And ne'er may fall 


Their time with the flowers on the margin have 


One drop of gall 


wasted, 


On Wit's celestial feather. 


And left their light urns all as empty as mine. 


May Love, as twine 


But pledge me the goblet ; — while Idleness weaves 


His flowers divine, 


These flow'rets together, should Wisdom but see 


Of thorny falsehood weed 'em ; 


One bright drop or two that has fall'n on the leaves, 


May Valor ne'er 


From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me. 


His standard rear 




Against the cause of Freedom ! 




Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock ! 




Chosen leaf 

Of Bard and Chief, 






Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 


OH THE SHAMROCK. 




Through Erin's Iele, 
To sport awhile, 






As Love and Valor wander'd, 




With Wit, the sprite, 




Whose quiver bright 


AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. 


A thousand arrows squander'd. 




Where'er they pass, 


At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, 


A triple grass 3 


I fly 


Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, 


To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm 


As softly green 


in thine eye ', 


As emeralds seen 


And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the re- 


Through purest crystal gleaming. 


gions of air, 


Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock 


To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come 


Chosen leaf, 


to me there, 


Of Bard and Chief, 


And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the 


Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 


sky. 


i " Proposito florern praetulit officio." 


to that species of trefoil called in Ireland by the name of the 


Piiot'EttT. lib. i. eleg. 20. 


Shamrock ; and hence, perhaps, the Island of Saints adopted 




this plant as her national emblem. Hope, among the ancients, 


a It Is said that St. Patrick, when preaching the Trinity to 


was sometimes represented as a beautiful child, standing up- 


the Pagan Irish, used to illustrate his subject by reference 


on tiptoes, and a trefoil of three-colored grass in her hand. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



245 



Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure 

to hear ! 
When our voices commingling, breathed, like one, 

on the ear ; 
And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad 

orison rolls, 
I think, oh my love I 'tis thy voice from the 

Kingdom of Souls, 1 
Faintlv answering still the notes that once were so 

dear. 



ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. 

One bumper at parting ! — though many 

Have circled the board since we met, 
The fullest, the saddest of any, 

Remains to be crown'd by us yet. 
The sweetness that pleasure hath in it, 

Is always so slow to come forth, 
That seldom, alas, till the minute 

It dies, do we know half its worth. 
But come, — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moments made up ; 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 

As onward we journey, how pleasant 

To pause and inhabit awhile 
Those few sunny spots, like the present, 

That 'mid the dull wilderness smile ! 
But Time, like a pitiless master, 

Cries " Onward !" and spurs the gay hours — 
Ah, never doth Time travel faster, 

Than when his way lies among flowers. 
But come, — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moments made up ; 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 



The waters beneath him how bright ; 
And now, let our farewell of drinking 

Resemble that farewell of light 
You saw how he finish'd, by darting 

His beam o'er a deep billow's brim — 
So, fill up, let's shine at our parting, 

In full liquid glory, like him. 



i "There aie' countries," says Montaigne, "where they 
believe the souls of the happy live in all manner of liberty, 
in delightful fields ; and that it is those souls, rcpeatiig the 
words we utter, which we call Echo." 

> " Steals silently to Morna's grove."— See, in Mr. Burning's 



And oh ! may our life's happy measure 
Of moments like this be made up, 

'Twas born on the bosom of Pleasure, 
It dies 'mid the tears of the cup. 



'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 

'Tis the last rose of stjmmer 

Left blooming alone ; 
All her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone ; 
No flower of her kindred, 

No rosebud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 

Or give sigh for sigh. 

I'll not leave thee, thou lone or© : 

To pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may / follow, 

When friendships decay, 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems drop away. 
When true hearts lie wither'd, 

And fond ones are flown, 
Oh ! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ? 



THE YOUNG MAY MOON 

The young May moon is beaming, love, 
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, 

How sweet to rove 

Through Morna's grove, 2 
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! 
Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, my dear, 
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, 

And the best of all ways 

To lengthen our days, 
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear ! 



collection, a poem translated from the Irish, by the late John 
Brown, one of my earliest college companions and friends, 
whose death was as singularly melancholy and unfortunate 
as his life had been amiable, honorable, and exemplary. 



246 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Now all the world is sleeping, love, 

But the Sage, his star- watch Keeping, love, 

And I, whose star, 

More glorious far, 
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. 
Then awake ! — till rise of sun, my dear, 
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, 

Or, in watching the flight 

Of bodies of light, 
F » might happen to take thee for one, my dear. 



THE MINSTREL BOY. 

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, 

In the ranks of death you'll find him ; 
His father's sword he has girded on, 

And his wild harp swung behind him.— ■ 
" Land of song !" said the warrior-bard, 

" Though all the world betrays thee, 
" One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, 

" One faithful harp shall praise thee !" 

The Minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chain 

Could not bring his proud son 1 under ; 
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, 

For he tore its chords asunder ; 
And said, " No chains shall sully thee, 

" Thou soul of love and bravery ! 
" Thy songs were made for the pure and free, 

" They shall never sound in slavery." 



THE SONG OF O'RUARK, 

PRINCE OF BREFFNI. 1 

The valley lay smiling before me, 

Where lately I left her behind ; 
Yet I trembled, and something hung o'er me, 

That sadden'd the joy of my mind. 



i These stanzas are founded upon an event of most mel- 
ancholy importance to Ireland ; if, as we are told by our 
Irish historians, it gave England the first opportunity of 
profiting by our divisions and subduing us. The following 
are the circumstances as related by O'Halloran :— " The 
king of Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for 
Dearbhorgil, daughter to the king of Meath, and though she 
had been for some time married to O'Ruark, prince ofBreffhi, 
yet it could not restrain his passion. They carried on a 
private correspondence, and she informed him that O'Ruark 
intended soon to go on a pilgrimage, (an act of piety frequent 
in those days,) and conjured him to embrace that opportu- 



I look'd for the lamp which, she told me, 
Should shine, when her Pilgrim return'd ; 

But, though darkness began to infold me, 
No lamp from the battlements burn'd ! 

I flew to her chamber — 'twas lonely, 

As if the loved tenant lay dead ; — 
Ah, would it were death, and death only .' 

But no, the young false one had fled. 
And there hung the lute that could soften 

My very worst pains into bliss ; 
While the hand, that had waked it so often, 

Now throbb'd to a proud rival's kiss. 

There was a time, falsest of women, 

When Breffhi's good sword would have sought 
That man, thro' a million of foemen, 

Who dared but to wrong thee in thought .' 
While now — oh degenerate daughter 

Of Erin, how fall'n is thy fame ! 
And through ages of bondage and slaughter, 

Our country shall bleed for thy shame. 

Already, the curse is upon her, 

And strangers her valleys profane ; 
They come to divide, to dishonor, 

And tyrants they long will remain. 
But onward ! — the green banner rearing, 

Go, flesh every sword to the hilt, 
On our side is Virtue and Erin, 

On theirs is the Saxon and guilt. 



OH 



HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE 
ISLE OF OUR OWN. 



Oh ! had we some bright little isle of our own, 
In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone, 
Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bow- 
ers, 
And the bee banquets on through a whole year of 
flowers ; 



nity of conveying her from a husband she detested to a lover 
she adored. Mac Murchad too punctually obeyed the sum- 
mons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of Ferns." 
The monarch Roderick espoused the cause of O'Ruark, 
while Mac Murchad fled to England, and obtained the as 
sistance of Henry II. 

" Such," adds Giraldus Cambrensis, (as I find him in an 
old translation,) " is the variable and fickle nature of wo- 
man, by whom all mischief in the world (for the most part) 
do happen and come, as may appear by Marcus Antonius, 
and by the destruction of Troy." 






IRISH MELODIES. 



247 



"Where the sun loves to pause 

With so fond a delay, 
That the night only draws 
A thin veil o'er the day ; 
Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, 
Is worth the best joy that hie elsewhere can give. 

There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, 
We should love, as they loved in the first golden 

time ; 
The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, 
Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer 
there. 

With affection as free 

From decline as the bowers, 
And, with hope, like the bee, 
Living always on flowers, 
Our hie should resemble a long day of light, 
And our death come on, holy and calm as the night. 



FAREWELL I— BUT WHENEVER YOU 
WELCOME THE HOUR. 

Farewell ! — but whenever you welcome the 

hour, 
That awakens the night -song of mirth in your 

bower, 
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of 

pain, 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw 
Its enchantment around him, while ling'ring with 

you. 

And still c2 that evening, when pleasure fills up 
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup, 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that 

night: 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your 

wiles, 
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your 

smiles — 
Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer, 
Some kind voice had jnurmur'd, '•' I wish he were 

here !"' 

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, 

Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot de- 

strov : 



Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
And bring back the features that joy used to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd ! 
Like the vase, in which roses have once been dis- 

till'd— 
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you 

will, 
But the scent of the rages will hang round it still. 



OH! DOUBT ME NOT. 

Oh ! doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove, 
And now the vestal, Reason, 

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love. 
Although this heart was early ; pwn, 
And fairest hands disturb'd the tree, 
They only shook some blossoms down, 
Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 
Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove, 
And now the vestal, Reason, 

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love. 

And though my lute no longer 

May sing of Passion's ardent spell, 
Yet, trust me, all the stronger 
I feel the bliss I do not tell. 
The bee through many a garden roves, 

And hums his lay of courtship o'er, 
But when he finds the flower he loves, 
He settles there, and hums no more. 
Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly kept me free, 
And now the vestal, Reason, 

Shall guard the flame awaked by thee. 



YOU REMEMBER ELLEN. 1 

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, 

How meekly she bless'd her humble lot, 
When the stranger, William, had made her his 
bride, 

And love was the light of their lowly cot 
Together they toil'd through winds and rains, 

Till "William, at length, in sadness said, 
" We must seek our fortune on other plains ;" — 

Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. 

» This ballad was suggested by a well-known and interest- 
ing story told of a certain noble family in England. 



248 



MOCRE'S WORKS. 



They roam'd a long and a weary way, 

Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, 
When now, at close of one stormy day, 

They see a proud castle among the trees. 
" To-night," said the youth, " we'll shelter there ; 

" The wind blows cold, the hour is late :" 
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air, 

And the Porter bow'd, as they pass'd the gate. 

" Now, welcome," Lady, exclaim'd the youth, — 

" This castle is thine, and these dark woods all !' 
She believed him crazed, but his words were truth, 

For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall ! 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 

What William, the stranger, woo'd and wed ; 
And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, 

Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. 



I'D MOURN THE HOPES. 

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 

If thy smiles had left me too ; 
I'd weep when friends deceive me, 

If thou wert, like them, untrue. 
But while I've thee before me, 

With hearts so warm and eyes so bright, 
No clouds can linger o'er me, 

That smile turns them all to light. 

'Tis not in fate to harm me, 

While fate leaves thy love to me ; 
'Tis not in joy to charm me, 

Unless joy be shared with thee. 
One minute's dream about thee 

Were worth a long, an endless year 
Of waking bliss without thee, 

My own love, my only dear ! 

And though the hope be gone, love, 

That long sparkled o'er our way, 
Oh ! we sball journey on, love, 

More safely, without its ray. 
Far better lights shall win me 

Along the path I've yet to roam.- — ■ 
The mind that bums within me, 

And pure smiles from thee at home 

Thus when the lamp that lighted 
The traveller at first goes out, 

He feels awhile benighted, 

And looks round in fear and doubt. 



But soon, the prospect clearing, 
By cloudless starlight on he treads, 

And thinks no lamp so cheering 
As that light which Heaven sheds. 



COME O'ER THE SEA. 

Come o'er the sea, 

Maiden, with me, 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows ; 

Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
Let fate f-pwn on, so we love and part not ; 
'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou'rt not. 

Then come o'er the sea, 

Maiden, with me, 
Come wherever the wild wind blows ; 

Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes 

Was not the sea 

Made for the Free, 
Land for courts and chains alone ? 

Here we are slaves, 

But, on the waves, 
Love and Liberty's all our own. 
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, 
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us — ■ 

Then come o'er the sea, 

Maiden, with me, 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows ; 

Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. . 



HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS 
SHADED. 

Has sorrow thy young days shaded, 

As clouds o'er the morning fleet ? 
Too fast have those young days faded, 

That, ev'n in sorrow, were sweet ! 
Does Time with his cold wing wither 

Each feeling that once was dear ? — 
Then, child of misfortune, come hither, 

I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. 



IRISH MELODIES. 249 


Has love to that soul, so tender, 




Been like our Lagenian mine, 1 




Where sparkles of golden splendor 


WHEN FIRST I MET THEE. 


All over the surface shine — 




But, if in pursuit we go deeper, 


When first I met thee, warm and young, 


x\llured by the gleam that shone, 


There shone such truth about thee, 


Ah ! false as the dream of the sleeper, 


And on thy lip such promise hung, 


Like Love, the bright ore is gone. 


I did not dare to doubt thee. 




I saw thee change, yet still relied, 


Has Hope, like the bird in the story, 8 


Still clung with hope the fonder, 


That flitted from tree to tree 


And thought, though false to all beside, 


With the talisman's glitt'ring glory — 


From me thou couldst not wander. 


Has Hope been that bird to thee ? 


But go, deceiver ! go, 


On branch after branch alighting, 


The heart, whose hopes could make it 


The gem did she still display, 


Trust one so false, so low, 


And, when nearest and most inviting, 


Deserves that thou shouldst break it. 


Then waft the fair gem away ? 






When every tongue thy follies named, 


If thus the young hours have fleeted, 


I fled the unwelcome story ; 


When sorrow itself look'd bright ; 


Or found, in even the faults they blamed, 


If thus the fair hope hath cheated, 


Some gleams of future glory. 


That led thee along so light ; 


i" still was true, when nearer friends 


If thus the cold world now wither 


Conspired to wrong, to slight thee ; 


Each feeling that once was dear : — 


The heart that now thy falsehood rends 


Come, child of misfortune, come hither, 


Would then have bled to right thee. 


I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. 


But go, deceiver ! go, — 




Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken 




From pleasure's dream, to know 




The grief of hearts forsaken. 
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed, 






No lights of age adorn thee : 


NO, NOT MORE WELCOME. 


The few, who loved thee once, have fled, 




And they, who flatter, scorn thee. 


No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 


Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves, 


Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, 


No genial ties enwreath it ; 


When half-awaking from fearful slumbers, 


The smiling there, like light on graves, 


He thinks the full quire of heaven is near, — 


Has rank cold hearts beneath it. 


Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, 


Go — go — though worlds were thine, 


! This heart long had sleeping lain, 


I would not now surrender 


Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken 


One taintless tear of mine 


To such benign, blessed sounds again. 


For all thy guilty spendor ! 


Sweet voice of comfort ! 'twas like the stealing 


And days may come, thou false one ! yet, 


Of summer wind tl;ra' some wreathed shell — 


When even those ties shall sever ; 


Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 


When thou wilt call, with vain regret, 


Of all my soul echoed to its spell. 


On her thou'st lost forever •, 


'Twas whisper'd balm — 'twas sunshine spoken ! — 


On her who, in thy fortune's fall, 


I'd live years of grief and pain 


With smiles had still received thee, 


To have my long sleep of sorrow broken 


And gladly died to prove thee all 


By such benign, blessed sounds again. 


Her fancy first believed thee. 


1 Our Wicklow Gold Mines, to which this verse alludes, 


the talisman in his mouth. The prince drew near it, hoping 


deserves, I fear, but too well the character here given of them. 


it would drop it ; but, as he approached, the bird took wing, 


a " The bird, having got its prize, settled not far off, with 


and settled again," &c. — Arabian Nights. 



250 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Go — go — 'tis vain to curse, 
'Tis weakness to upbraid thee ; 

Hate cannot wish thee worse 

Than guilt and shame have made thee. 



WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE. 

While History's Muse the memorial was keeping 

Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, 
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping, 

For her's was the story that blotted the leaves. 
But oh ! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, 
When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, 
She saw History write, 
With a pencil of light 
That illumed the whole volume, her Wellington's 
name. 

" Hail, Star of my Isle !" said the Spirit, all spar- 
kling 
With beams, such as break from her own dewy 
skies — 
" Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, 

" I've watch'd for some glory like thine to arise. 
" For, though Heroes I've number' d, unblest was 

their lot, 
" And unhallow'd they sleep in the crossways of 
Fame ; — 

" But oh ! there is not 
" One dishonoring blot 
" On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's 



" Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, 
" The grandest, the purest, ev'n thou hast yet 
known ; 
" Though proud was thy task, other nations un- 
chaining, 
" Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy 
own. 
" At the foot of that throne for whose weal thou 

hast stood, 

" Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame, 

" And, brigh o'er the flood 

" Of her tears and her blood, 

" Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's 

name !" 

1 This alludes to a kind of Irish fairy, which is to be met 
with, they say, in the fields at dusk. As long as you keep 
your eyes upon him, he is fixed, and in your power ; — but 
the moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnish- 
ing some inducement) he vanishes. I had thought that this 



THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING 

The time I've lost in wooing, 
In watching and pursuing 

The light, that lies 

In woman's eyes, 
Has been my heart's undoing. 
Though Wisdom oft has sought me, 
I scorn'd the lore she brought me, 

My only books 

Were woman's looks, 
And folly's all they've taught me. 

Her smile when Beauty granted, 
I hung with gaze enchanted, 

Like him the sprite, 1 

Whom maids by night 
Oft meet in glen that's hauntea. 
Like him, too, Beauty won me, 
But while her eyes were on me, 

If once their ray 

Was turn'd away, 
O ! winds could not outrun me. 

And are those follies going ? 
And is my proud heart growing 

Too cold or wise 

For brilliant eyes 
Again to set it glowing? 
No, vain, alas ! th' endeavor 
From bonds so sweet to sever ; 

Poor Wisdom's chance 

Against a glance 
Is now as weak as ever. 



WHERE IS THE SLAVE. 

Oh, where's the slave so lowly, 
Condemn'd to chains unholy, 

Who, could he burst 

His bonds at first, 
Would pine beneath them slowly ? 
What soul, whoso wrongs degrade it, 
-Vould wait till time decay'd it, 

When thus its wing 

At once may spring 
To the throne of Him who made it ? 

was the sprite which we call the Leprechaun ; but a high 
authority upon such subjects, Lady Morgan, (in a note upon 
her national and interesting novel, O'Donnel,) has given a 
very different account of that goblin. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



251 



Farewell, Erin, — farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall ! 

Less dear the laurel growing, 
Alive, untouch'd and blowing, 

Than that, whose braid 

Is pluck'd to shade 
The brows with victory glowing. 
We tread the land that bore us, 
Her green flag glitters o'er us, 

The friends we've tried 

Are by our side, 
And the foe we hate before us. 

Farewell, Erin, — farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall ! 



COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. 

Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, 
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is 

still here ; 
Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, 
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. 

Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same 
Through joy and through torment, through glory and 

shame ? 
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, 
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. 

Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of bliss, 
And thy Angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this, — 
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pur- 
sue, 
And shield thee, and save thee, — or perish there 
too! 



'TIS GONE, AND FOREVER. 

'Tis gone, and forever, the light we saw breaking, 
Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the 
dead — 
When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking, 
Look'd upward, and bless'd the pure ray, ere it 
fled. 



'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning 
But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, 
That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning, 
And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee. 

For high was thy hope, when those glories were 
darting 
Around thee, through all the gross clouds of the 
world ; 
When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting, 
At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner unfuii'd. 1 
Oh ! never shall earth see a moment so splendid ! 
Then, then — had one Hymn of Deliverance blended 
The tongues of all nations — how sweet had as- 
cended 
The first note of Liberty, Erin, from thee ! 

But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the bless- 
ing! 

And shame on the light race, unworthy its good, 
Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies, caressing 

The young hope of Freedom, baptized it in blood. 
Then vanish'd forever that fair, sunny vision, 
Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision, 
Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian 

As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee. 



I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 

I saw from the beach, when the morning was 
shining, 
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on ; 
I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining, 
The bark was still there, but the waters were 
gone. 

And such is the fate of our life's early promise, 
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; 

Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs 
from us, 
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 

Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning 

The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ; — 
Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of 
Morning, 
Her clouds and her tears are wcrth Evening's 
best light. 

» " The Sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the 
ancient Irish to the Royal Banner. 



252 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Oh, who would not welcome that moment's return- 


But oh his joy, when, round 


ing, 


The halls of Heaven spying, 


When passion first waked a new life through his 


Among the stars he found 


frame, 


A bowl of Bacchus lying ! 


And his soul, like the wood, that grows precious in 




burning, 


Some drops were in that bowl, 


Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame. 


Remains of last night's pleasure, 




With which the Sparks of Soul 




Mix'd their burning treasure. 




Hence the goblet's shower 
Hath such spells to win us ; 






Hence its mighty power 




O'er that flame within us. 


FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. 


Fill the bumper fair ! 




Every drop we sprinkle 


Fill the bumper fair ! 


O'er the brow of Care 


Every drop we sprinkle 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 


O'er the brow of Care 




Smooths away a wrinkle. 




Wit's electric flame 
Ne'er so swiftly passes, 






As when through the frame 




It shoots from brimming glasses. 




Fill the bumper fair ! 


DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY. 


Eveiy drop we sprinkle 




O'er the brow of Care 


Dear Harp of my Country ! in darkness I found 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 


thee, 




The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long/ 


Sages can, they say, 


When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound 


Grasp the lightning's pinions, 


thee, 


And bring down its ray 


And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and 


From the stair d dominions : — 


song ! 


So we, Sages, sit, 


The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness 


And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 


Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill ; 


From the Heaven of Wit 


But, so oft hast thou echo'd the deep sigh of sad- 


Draw down all its lightning. 


ness, 




That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. 


Wouldst thou know what first 




Made our souls inherit 


Dear Harp of my Country ! farewell to thy num- 


This ennobling thirst 


bers, 


For wine's celestial spirit? 


This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall 


It chanced upon that day, 


twine ! 


When, as bards inform us, 


Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slum- 


Prometheus stole away 


bers, 


The living fires that warm us : 


Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than 


The careless Youth, when up 


mine : 
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, 


To Glory's fount aspiring, 


Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone ; 


Took nor urn nor cup 


I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over, 


To hide the pilfer'd fire in. — 


And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own. 


1 In that rebellious but beautiful song, "When Erin first 


brated contention for precedence between Finn and Gaul, 


rose," there is, if I recollect right, the following line:— 


near Finn's palace at Almhaiin, where the attending Bards, 


" The dark chain of Silence was thrown o'er the deep." 


anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostilities, 
shook the chain of Silence, and flung themselves among the 


The chain of Silence was a sort of practical figure of rhet- 


ranks." See also the Ode to Gaul, the Son of JHorni, in 


oric among the ancient Irish Walker tells us of " a cele- 


Miss Brooke's Rcliques of Irish Poetry. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



253 



MY GENTLE HARP. 

My gentle Harp, once more I waken 

The sweetness of thy slumb'ring strain ; 
In tears our last farewell was taken, 

And now in tears we meet again. 
No light of joy hath o'er thee broken, 

But, like those Harps whose heav'nly skill 
Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, 

Thou hang'st upon the willows still. 

And yet, since last thy chord resounded, 

An hour of peace and triumph came, 
. And many an ardent bosom bounded 

With hopes — that now are turn'd to shame 
Yet even then, while Peace was singing 

Her halcyon song o'er land and sea, 
Though joy and hope to others bringing, 

She only brought new tears to thee. 

Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, 

My drooping Harp, from chords like thine ? 
Alas, the lark's gay morning measure 

As ill would suit the swan's decline ! 
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee, 

Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains, 
When ev'n the wreaths in which I dress thee, 

Aro sadly mix'd — half flow'rs, half chains ? 

But come — if yet thy frame can borrow 

One breath of joy, oh, breathe for me, 
And show the world, in chains and sorrow, 

How sweet thy music still can be ; 
How gayly, ev'n mid gloom surrounding, 

Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill — 
Like Memnon's broken image sounding, 

'Mid desolation tuneful still I 1 



IN THE MORNING OF LIFE. 

In the morning of life, <3rhen its cares are unknown, 

And its pleasures in aa their new lustre begin, 
When we live in a bright-beaming world of our 
own, 
And the light that surrounds us is all from 
within ; 
Oh 'tis not, believe me, in that happy time 

We can love, as in hours of less transport we 
may;— 

* Dimidio magics resonant ubi Meranone chords. — Juvenal. 



Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny 
prime, 
But affection is truest when these fade away 

When we see the first glory of youth pass us by, 

Like a leaf on the stream that will never return ; 
When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so 
high, 

First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn ; 
Then, then is the time when affection holds sway 

With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew ; 
Love, nursed among pleasures, is faithless as they, 

But the Love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true. 

In climes full of sunshine, though splendid the 
flowers, 
Their sighs have no freshness, their odor no 
worth ; 
'Tis the cloud and the mist of our own Isle of 
showers, 
That call the rich spirit of fragrancy forth 
So it is not mid splendor, prosperity, mirth, 

That the depth of Love's generous spirit a£ 
pears ; 
To the sunshine of smiles it may first owe its birth, 
But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by 
tears. 



AS SLOW OUR SHIP. 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear Isle 'twas leaving. 
So loath we part from all we love, 

From all the links that bind us ; 
So turn our hearts as on we rove, 

To those we've left behind us. 

When, round the bowl, of vanislrd years 

We talk, with joyous seeming, — 
With smiles that might as well be tears, 

So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
While mem'ry brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we've left behind us. 

And when, in other climes, we meet 
Some isle, or vale enchanting, 

Where all looks flow'ry, wild, and sweet, 
And naught but love is wanting ; 



254 MOORE'S WORKS. 


We think how great had been our bliss, 




If Heav'n had but assign'd us 


REMEMBER THEE. 


To live and die in scenes like this, 




With some we've left behind us ! 


Remember thee ? yes, while there's life in this heart, 




It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art ; 


As trav'lers oft look back at eve, 


More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy 


When eastward darkly going, 


showers, 


To gaze upon that light they leave 


Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. 


Still faint behind them glowing, — 




So, when the close of pleasure's day 


Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and 


To gloom hath near consigned us, 


free, 


We turn to catch one fading ray 


First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, 


Of joy that's left behind us. 


I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow, 


But oh ! could I love thee more deeply than now ? 




No, thy chains as they rauA>, thy blood as it runs, 




But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons — 






Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's 

nest, 
Drink love in each life -drop that flows from by 




WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH. 


breast. 


When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast 




loved, 




Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then ; 




Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed, 




Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again. 




And oh ! if 'tis pain to remember how far 


WREATH THE BOWL. 


From the pathways of light he was tempted to 




roam, 


Wreath the bowl 


Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star 


With flowers of soul, 


That arose on his darkness, and guided him 


The brightest Wit can find us ; 


home. 


We'll take a flight 




Tow'rds heaven to-night, 


From thee and thy innocent beauty first came 


And leave dull earth behind us. 


The revealings, that taught him true love to 


Should Love amid 


adore, 


The wreaths be hid, 


To feel the bright presence, and turn him with 


That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us, 


shame 


No danger fear, 


From the idols he blindly had kn-ilt to before. 


While wine is near, 


O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, 


We'll drown him if he stings us • 


Thou cam'st, like a soft golden calm o'er the 


Then, wreath the bowl 


sea ; 


With flowers of soul, 


And if happiness purely and glowingly smiled 


The brightest Wit can find us ; 


On his ev'ning horizon, the light was from thee. 


We'll take a flight 




Tow'rds heaven to-night, 


And though, sometimes, the shades of past folly 


And leave dull earth behind us. 


might rise, 




And though falsehood again would allure him to 


'Twas nectar fed 


stray, 


Of old, 'tis said, 


He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes, 


Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ; 


And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanish'd away. 


And man may brew 


As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew 


His nectar too, 


dim, 


The rich receipt's as follows . 


At the day -beam alone could its lustre repair, 


Take wine like this, 


So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him, 


Let looks of bliss 


He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there. 


Around it well be blended, 



IRISH MELODIES. 255 


Then bring Wit's beam 




To warm the stream, 


IF THOU'LT BE MINE. 


And there's your nectar, splendid ! 




So .wreath the bowl 


If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air, 


With flowers of soul, 


Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet ; 


The brightest Wit can find us ; 


Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair, 


We'll take a flight 


Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweet, 


Tow'rds heaven to-night, 


Shall be ours — if thou wilt be mine, love ! 


And leave dull earth behind us. 






Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove, 


Say, why did Time, 


A voice divine shall talk in each stream ; 


His glass sublime, 


The stars shall look like worlds of love, 


Fill up with sands unsightly, 


And this earth be all one beautiful dream 


When wine, he knew, 


In our eyes — if thou wilt be mine, love ! 


Runs brisker through 




And sparkles far more brightly ? 


And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high, 


Oh, lend it us, 


Like streams, that come from heaven-ward hills, 


And, smiling thus, 


Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie 


The glass in two we'll sever, 


To be bathed by those eternal rills, 


Make pleasure glide 


Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love ! 


In double tide, 




And fill both ends forever ! 


All this and more the Spirit of Love 


Then wreath the bowl 


Can breathe o'er them, who feel his spells ; 


With flowers of soul, 


That heaven, which forms his home above, 


The brightest Wit can find us ; 


He can make on earth, wherever he dwells, 


We'll take a flight 


As thou'lt own, — if thou wilt be mine, love ! 


Tow'rds heaven to-night, 




And leave dull earth behind us. 






TO LADIES' EYES. 


WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES. 






To Ladies' eyes around, boy, 


Whene'er I see those smiling eyes, 


We can't refuse, we can't refuse, 


So full of hope, and joy, and light, 


Though bright eyes so abound, boy, 


As if no cloud could ever rise, 


'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose. 


To dim a heav'n so purely bright — 


For thick as stars that lighten 


I sigh to think how soon that brow 


Yon airy bow'rs, yon airy bow'rs, 


In grief may lose its every ray, 


The countless eyes that brighten 


And that light heart, so joyous now, 


This earth of ours, this earth of ours. 


Almost forget it once was gay. 


But fill the cup — where'er, boy, 




Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 


For time will come with all its blights, 


We're sure to find Love there, boy, 


The ruin'd hope, the friend unkind, 


So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 


And love, that leaves, where'er it lights, 




A chill' d or burning heart behind : — 


Some looks there are so holy, 


While youth, that now like snow appears, 


They seem but giv'n, they seem but giv'n, 


Ere sullied by the dark'ning rain, 


As shining beacons, solely, 


• When once 'tis touch'd by sorrow's tears 


To light to heav'n^ to light to heav'n. 


Can never shine so bright again. 


While some — oh ! ne'er believe them — 




With tempting ray, with tempting ray, 




Would lead us (God forgive them !) 


1 


The other way, the other way. 



256 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But fill the cup — where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 

In some, as in a mirror, 

Love seems portray'd, Love seems portray'd, 
But shun the fiatt'ring error, 

'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade. 
Himself has fix'd his dwelling 

In eyes we know, in eyes we know, 
And lips — but this is telling — 

So here they go ! so here they go ! 
Fill up, fill up — where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 



FORGET NOT THE FIELD 

Forget not the field where they perish'd, 

The truest, the last of the brave, 
All gone — and the bright hope we cherish'd 

Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave ! 

Oh ! could we from death but recover 
Those hearts as they bounded before, 

In the face of high heav'n to fight over 
That combat for freedom once more ; — 

Could the chain for an instant be riven 
Which Tyranny flung round us then, 

No, 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven, 
To let Tyranny bind it again ! 

But 'tis past — and, tho' blazon'd in story 

The name of our Victor may be, 
Accursed is the march of that glory 

Which treads o'er the hearts of the free 

Far dearer the grave or the prison, 

Illumed by one patriot name, 
Than the trophies of all, who have risen 

On Liberty's ruins to fame. 



i Tons les habitans de Mercure sont vifs.— PluraliU des 
Mondes. 
3 La terre pourra etre pour Venus I'etoile du berger et la 



THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE. 

They may rail at this life — from the hour I began 
it, 

I found it a life full of kindness and bliss ; 
And, until they can show me some happier planet, 

More social and bright, I'll content me with this. 
As long as the world has such lips and such eyes, 

As before mo this moment enraptured I see, 
They may say what they will of their orbs in the 
skies, 

But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. 

In Mercury's star, where each moment can bring 
them 

New sunshine and wit from the fountain on high, 
Though the nymphs may have livelier poets to sing 
them, 1 

They've none, even there, more enamor'd than I. 
And, as long as this harp can be waken'd to love, 

And that eye its divine inspiration shall be, 
They may talk as they will of their Edens above, 

But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. 

In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendor, 
At twilight so often we've roam'd through the 
dew, 
There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as 
tender, 
And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you. 2 
But tho' they were even more bright than the queen 

Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea, 
As I never those fair young celestials have seen, 
Why — this earth is the planet for you, love, and 
me. 

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, 

Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare, 
Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that 
station, 

Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth we could 
spare. 
Oh ! think what a world we should have of it here, 

If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee, 
Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere, 

And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and 



mere des amours, comme Vdnus I'est pour nous.— Pluraliti 
des Mondes. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



257 



OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER 
TIME ! 

Oh for the swords of former time ! 

Oh for the men who bore them, 
When arm'd for Right, they stood sublime, 

And tyrants crouch'd before them : 
When free yet, ere courts began 

With honors to enslave him, 
The best honors worn by Man 

Were those which Virtue gave Inm 
Oh for the swords, &c, &c. 

Oh for the Kings who fiourish'd then ! 

Oh for the pomp that crown'd them, 
When hearts and hands of freeborn men 

Were all the ramparts round them. 
When, safe built on bosoms true, 

The throne was but the centre, 
Round winch Love a circle drew, 

That Treason durst not enter. 
Oh for the Kings who fiourish'd then ! 

Oh for the pomp that crown'd them, 
When hearts and hands of freeborn men 

Were all the ramparts round them ! 



ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY 



ST. SENANUS.* 

'*' Oh ! haste and leave this sacred isle, 
" Unholy bark, ere morning smile ; 
K For on thy deck, though dark it be, 

" A female form I see ; 
" And I have sworn this sainted sod 
" Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod." 

THE LADY. 

" Oh ! Father, send not hence my bars, 
" Through wintry winds and billows dark . 
'•' I como with humble heart to share 
" Thy morn and evening prayer ; 
** Nor mine the feet, oh ! holy Saint, 
" The brightness of thy sod to taint" 

i In a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is taken from an 
old Kilkenny MS., and may be found among the Acta Sanc- 
torum Hibcrnits, we are told of his flight to the island of Scat- 
ten - , and his resolution not to admit any woman of the par- 
ty ; and that he refused to receive even a sister saint, St. 
Cannera, whom an angel had taken to the island for the ex- 
press purpose of introducing her to him. The following was 
the ungracious answer of Senanus, according to his poetical 
biographer: 



17 



The Lady's prayer Senanus spum'd ; 
The winds blew fresh, the bark return'd ; 
But legends hint, that had the maid 

Till morning's light delay'd ; 
And giv'n the saint one rosy smile, 
She ne'er had left his lonely isle. 



NE'ER ASK THE HOUR. 

Ne'er ask the hour — what is it to us 

How Time deals out his treasures ? 
The golden moments lent us thus, 

Are not his coin, but Pleasure's. 
If counting them o'er could add to their blisses, 

I'd number, each glorious second : 
But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses, 

Too quick and sweet to be reckon'd". 
Then fill the cup — what is it to us 

How Time his circle measures t 
The fairy hours we call up thud, 

Obey no wand, but Pleasure's. 

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours, 

Till Care, one summer's morning, 
Set up, among his smiling flowers, 

A dial, by wav of warning. 
But Joy loved ietter to gaze on the sun, 

As long a? its light was glowing, 
Than to w^tch with old Care how the shadow stole 

An<? how fast that light was going. 
So fd the cup — what is it to us 

How Time his circle measures? 
1'he fairy hours we call up thus, 

Obey no wand, but Pleasure's. 



SAIL ON, SAIL ON 

Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark — 
Wherever blows the welcome wind, 

It cannot lead to scenes more dark, 
More sad than those we leave behind. 

Cui Prcssul, quid faminis 
Commune est cum monachisl 
Jfec re nee ullam uliam 
Admittemus in insulam. 
See the Acta Sanct. Hib., page 610. 

According to Dr. Ledwich, St. Senanus was no less a per- 
sonage than the river Shannon ; but O'Connor and other 
antiquarians deny the metamorphose indignantly. 



258 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Each Wave that passes seems to say, 

" Though death beneath out smile may be, 

" Less cold we are, less false than they, 

" Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee." 

Sail on, sail on, — through endless space — 

Through calm-r-through tempest — stop no more 
The stormiest sea's a resting-place 

To him who leaves such hearts on shore. 
Or — if some desert land we meet, 

Where never yet false-hearted men 
Profaned a world, that else were sweet, — 

Then rest thee, bark, but not till then. 



THE PARALLEL. 

Yes, sad one of Sion, 1 if closely resembling, 

In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart — 

If drinking deep, feep, of the same " cup of trem- 
bling," 
Could make us thy children, our parent thou art. 

Like thee doth our nation lit conquer'd and broken, 
And fall'n from her head is the once royal crown ; 

In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, 
And "while it is day yet, hei sun hath gone 
down." 2 

Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, 
Die far from the home it were life to behtld ; 

Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning ; 
Remember the bright things th at bless'd them oiold. 

Ah, well may we call her, like thee, " the Forsaken," 4 
Her boldest are vanquished, her proudest are 
slaves ; 
And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they 
waken, 
Have tones 'mid their mirth like the wind over 
graves ! 

Yet hadst thou thy vengeance — yet came there the 

morrow, 

ft That 6hines out, at last, on the longest dark night, 

When the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and 

sorrow, 

Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight. 

i These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise 
by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were 
originally Jews. 

a " Her sun is gone down while it was yet day."— Jer. 
xv 9. 

s "Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken." — Isaiah, 
lxii 4 



When that cup, which for others the proud Golden 

City* 
Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own 

lips ; 
And the world she had trampled on heard, without 

pity, 

The howl in her halls, and the cry from her ships 

When the curse Heaven keeps for tho haughty 
came over 

Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, 
And, a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover, 8 

The Lady of Kingdoms 6 lay low in the dust. 



DRINK OF THIS CUP. 

Drink of this cup ; you'll find there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 
Would you forget the dark world we are in, 

Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of 
it; 
But would you rise above earth, till akin 

To Immortals themselves, you must drain every 
drop of it ; 
Send round the cup — for oh, there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

Never was philter form'd with such power 

To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing ; 
Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour, 

A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing 
There having, by Nature's enchantment, been fill'd 

With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest 
leather, 
This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd 

To enliven such hearts as are here brought to- 
gether. 
Then drink of the cup — you'll find there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gauist the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

< «' How hath the oppressor ceased ! the golden city 
ceased !" — Isaiah, xiv. 4. 

6 " Thy pomp is brought down to the grave and 

the worms cover thee." — Isaiah, xiv. 11. 

c " Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms.' 
— Isaiah, xlvii. 5. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



259 



And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one — 

Like liquor the witch brew eat midnight so awful, 
This philter in secret was first taught to flow on, 

Yet 'tis n't less potent for being unlawful. 
And, eVn though it taste of the smoke of that flame, 

Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden — 
Fill up — there's a fire in some hearts I could name, 

Which may work too its charm, though as law- 
less and hidden. 
So drink of the cup — for oh there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen I 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 



THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 

Down in the valley come meet me to-night, 
And I'll tell you your fortune truly 

As ever was told, by the new-moon's light, 
To a young maiden, shining as newly. 

But, for the world, let no one be nigh, 
Lest haply the stars should deceive me ; 

Such secrets between you and me and the sky 
Should never go farther, believe me. 

If at that hour the heav'ns be not dim, 
My science shall call up before you 

A male apparition, — the image of him 
Whose destiny 'tis to adore you. 

And if to that phantom you'll be kind, 

So fondly around you he'll hover, 
You'll hardly, my dear, any difference find 

'Twixt him and a true living lover. 

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 
He'll kneel, with a warmth of devotion — 

An ardor, of which such an innocent sprite 
You'd scarcely believe had a notion. 

What other thoughts and events may arise, 
As in destiny's book I've not seen them, 

Must only be left to the stars and your eyes 
To settle, ere morning, between them. 

1 Paul Zealand mentions that there is a mountain in some 
part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died 
in foreign lands walk about and converse with those they 
meet, like living people. If asked why they do not return to 
their homes, they say they are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, 
and disappear immediately. 

2 The particulars of the tradition respecting O'Donohue 
and his White Horse, may be found in Mr. Weld's Account 
of Killarney, or more fully de ailed in Derrick's Letters. For 
many years after his death, the spirit of this hero is sup- 
posed to have been seen on the morning of May-day, gliding 



OH, YE DEAD ! 

Oh, ye Dead ! oh, ye Dead I 1 whom we know by 

the light you give 
From your cold gleaming eyes, though you movo 
like men whe live, 

Why leave you thus your graves 
In far-off fields and waves, 
Where the worm and the sea-bird only know your 
bed, 

To haunt this spot where all 
Those eyes that wept your fall, 
And the hearts that wail'd you, like your own, lie 
dead? 

It is true, it is true, we are shadows cold a: d ^an; 
And the fair and the brave whom we loved or earth 
are gone ; 

But still thus ev'n in death, 

So sweet the living breath 
Of the fields and the flow'rs in our youth we wan- 
der'd o'er, 

That ere, condemn'd, we go 

To freeze 'mid Hecla's snow, 
We would taste it awhile, and think we live once 



O'DONOHUE'S MISTRESS. 

Of all the fair months, that round the sun 
In light-link'd dance their circles run, 

Sweet May, shine thou for me ; 
For still, when thy earliest beams arise, 
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies, 
■ Sweet May, returns to me. 

Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves 
Its lingering smile on golden eves, 

Fair Lake, thou'rt dearest to me ; 
For when the last April sun grows dim, 
Thy Naiads prepare his steed 2 for him 

Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee. 

over the lake on his favorite white horse, to the sound of 
sweet unearthly music, and preceded by groups of youths 
and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring flowers 
in his path. 

Among other stories, connected with this Legend of the 
Lakes, it is said that there was a young and beautiful girl 
whose imagination was so impressed with the idea of this 
visionary chieftain, that she fancied herself in love with 
him. and at last, in a fit of insanity, on a May-morning threw 
herself into the lake 



260 MOORED 


WORKS. 


Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore 


And there we shall have our feasts of tears, 


Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore, 


And many a cup in silence pour ; 


White Steed, most joy to thee ; 


Our guests, the shades of former years, 


Who still, with the first young glance of spring, 


Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. 


From under that glorious lake dost bring 




My love, my chief, to me. 


There, while the myrtle's withering boughs 




Their lifeless leaves around us shed, 


While, white as the sail some bark unfurls, 


We'll brim the bowl to broken vows, 


When newly launch'd, thy long mane 1 curls, 


To friends long lost, the changed, the dead. 


Fair Steed, as white and free ; 


Or, while some blighted laurel waves 


And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers, 


Its branches o'er the dreary spot, 


Glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers, 


We'll drink to those neglected graves, 


Around my love and thee. 


Where valor sleeps, unnamed, forgot. 


Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, 




Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie, 





Most sweet that death will be, 




Which, under the next May evening's light, 




When thou and thy steed are lost to sight, 


THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE. 


Dear love, I'll die for thee. 






The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking, 




The night's long hours still finime thinking 




Of thee, thee, only thee. 
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, 






And smiles are near, that once enchanted, 


ECHO. 


Unreach'd by all that sunshine round, 


How sweet the answer Echo makes 


My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted 


To music at night, 


By thee, thee, only thee. 


When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, 




And far away, o'er lawns and lakes, 


Whatever in fame's high path could waken 


Goes answering light. 


My spirit once, is now forsaken 




For thee, thee, only thee. 


Yet Love hath echoes truer far, 


Like shores, by which some headlong bark 


And far more sweet, 


To th' ocean hurries, resting never, 


Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star, 


Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark, 


Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, 


I know not, heed not, hastening ever 


The songs repeat. 


To thee, thee, only thee. 


'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, 


I have not a joy but of thy bringing, 


And only then, — 


And pain itself seems sweet when springing 


The sigh that's breathed for one to hear, 


From thee, thee, only thee. 


Is by that one, that only dear, 


Like spells, that naught on earth can break, 


Breathed back again ! 


Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken, 


This heart, howe'er the world may wake 




Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken 




By thee, thee, only thee. 




OH BANQUET NOT. 




Oh banquet not in those shining bowers, 




Where Youth resorts, but come to me : 




For mine's a garden of faded flowers, 


SHALL THE HARP, THEN, BE SILENT. 


More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. 


Shall the Harp, then, be silent, when he who first 


1 The boatmen at Killavney call those waves which come 
on a windy day, crested with foam, "O'Donohte's white 


gave 
To our country a name, is withdrawn from all 


horses." 


eyes? 



IRISH MELODIES. 



261 



Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave, 
Where the first — where the last of her Patriots 
lies? 

No — fair., tho' the death-song may fall from his lips, 
Tho' his Harp, like his soul, may with shadows 
be crjss'd, 
Yet, yet shall it sound, 'mid a nation's eclipse, 
And proclaim to the world what a star hath 
been lost ;* — 

What a union of all the affections and powers 
By which life is exalted, embellish'd, refined, 

Was embraced in that spirit — whose centre was ours, 
While its mighty circumference circled mankind. 

Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can see, 
Through the waste of her annals, that epoch 
sublime — 

Like a pyramid raised in the desert — where he 
And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time ; 

That one lucid interval, snatch'd from the gloom 
And the madness of ages, when fill'd with his soul, 

A Nation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of her doom, 
And for one sacred instant, touch'd Liberty's goal? 

Who, that ever hatn heard him — hath drunk at 
the source 
Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own, 
In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the 
force, 
And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are 
shown ? 

An eloquence rich, wheresoever its wave 

Wander'd free and triumphant, with thoughts 
that shone through, 

As clear as the brook's " stone of lustre," and gave, 
With the flash of the gem, its solidity too. 

Who, that ever approach'd him, when free from 
the crowd, 
In a home full of love, he delighted to tread 
'Mong the trees which a nation had given, and 
which bow'd, 
As if each brought a new civic crown for his 
head — 

Is there one, who hath thus, through his orbit of life 
But at distance observed him — through glory, 
through blame, 



1 These lines were written on the death of our great pa- 
triot, Grattan, in the year 1S20. It is only the two first 
verses that are either intended or fitted to be sung. 



In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife, 
Whether shining or clouded, still high and the 
same, — 

Oh no, not a heart, that e'er knew him, but mourns 
Deep, deep o'er the grave, where such glory is 
shrined — 
O'er a monument Fame will preserve, 'mong the 
urns 
Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind ! 



OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING. 

Oh, the signt entrancing, 

When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files array'd 

With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing ! 
When hearts are all high beating, 
And the trumpet's voice repeating 

That song, whose breath 

May lead to death, 
But never to retreating. 
Oh the sight entrancing, 
When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files array'd 

With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing 

Yet, 'tis not helm or feather — 
For ask yon despot, whether 

His plumed bands 

Could bring such hands 
And hearts as ours together. 
Leave pomps to those who need 'em — 
Give man but heart and freedom, 

And proud he braves 

The gaudiest slaves 
That crawl where monarchs lead 'em. 
The sword may pierce the beaver, 
Stone walls in time may sever, 

'Tis mind alone, 

Worth steel and stone, 
That keeps men free forever. 
Oh that sight entrancing, 
When the morning's beam is glancing, 

O'er files array'd 

With helm and blade, 
And in Freedom's cause advancing ! 



262 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



SWEET INNISFALLEN. 

Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, 

May calm and sunshine long be thine J 

How fair thou art let others tell, — 
To feel how fair shall long be mine. 

Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell 
In memory's dream that sunny smile, 

Which o'er thee on that evening fell, 
When first I saw thy fairy isle. 

'Twas light, indeed, too blest for one, 
Who had to turn to paths of care — 

Through crowded haunts again to run, 
And leave thee bright and silent there ; 

No more unto thy shores to come, 
But, on the world's rude ocean toss'd, 

Dream of thee sometimes, as a home 
Of sunshine he had seen and lost 

Far better in thy weeping hours 
To part from thee, as I do now, 

When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers, 
Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow. 

For, though unrivall'd still thy grace, 
Thou dost not look, as then, too blest, 

But thus in shadow, seem'st a place 
Where erring man might hope to rest — 

Might hope to rest, and find in thee 
A gloom like Eden's, on the day 

He left its shade, when every tree, 
Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way 

Weeping or smiling, lovely isle ! 

And all the lovelier for thy tears — 
For though but rare thy sunny smile, 

'Tis heav'n's own glance when it appears. 

Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, 
But, when indeed they come, divine — 

The brightest light the sun e'er threw 
Is lifeless to one gleam of thine ! 



'TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS. 1 

'Twas one of those dreams, that by music are 

brought, 
Like a bright summer haze, o'er the poet s warm 

thought — 

i Written during a visit to Lord Kenmarc, at Killarney. 



When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, 
And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. 

The wild notes he heard o'er the water were those 
He had taught to sing Erin's dark bondage and woes, 
And the breath of the bugle now wafted them o'er 
From Dinis' green isle, to Glena's wooded shore. 

He listen' d — while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest, 
The lingering sounds on their way loved to rest ; 
And the echoes sung back from their full mountain 

quire, 
As if loath to let song so enchanting expire. 

It seem'd as if ev'ry sweet note, that died here, 
Was again brought to life in some airier sphere, 
Some heav'n in those hills, where the soul of the 

strain 
That had ceased upon earth was awaking again ! 

Oh forgive, if, while list'ning to music, whose 

breath 
Seem'd to circle his name with a charm against 

death, 
He should feel a proud Spirit within him proclaim, 
" Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of Fame : 

" Even so, tho' thy mem'ry should now die away, 
" 'Twill be caught up again in some happier day, 
" And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, 
" Through the answering Future, thy name and 
thy song." 



FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE. 

Fairest ! put on awhile 

These pinions of light I bring thee, 
And o'er thy own Green Isle 

In fancy let me wing thee. 
Never did Ariel's plume, 

At golden sunset hover 
O'er scenes so full of bloom, 

As I shall waft thee over. 

Fields, where tho Spring delays, 

And fearlessly meets the ardor 
Of the warm Summer's gaze, 

With only her tears to guard her. 
Rocks, through myrtle boughs 

In grace majestic frowning ; 
Like some bold warrior's brows 

That Love hath just been crowning. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



263 



Islets, so freshly fair, 

That never hath bird come nigh them, 
But from his course through air 

He hath been won down by them ; l — 
Types, sweet maid, of thee, 

Whose look, whose blush inviting, 
Never did Love yet see 

From Heav'n, without alighting 
t 
Lakes, where the pearl lies hid, 1 

And caves, where the gem is sleeping*, 
Bright as the tears thy lid 

Lets fall in lonely weeping. 
Glens, 3 where Ocean comes, 

To 'scape the wild wind's rancor, 
And Harbors, worthiest homes, 

Where Freedom's fleet can anchor. 

Then, if, while scenes so grand, 

So beautiful, shine before thee, 
Pride for thy own dear land 

Should haply be stealing o'er thee, 
Oh, let grief come first, 

O'er pride itself victorious — 
Thinking how man hath cursed 

What Heaven had made so glorious ! 



QUICK ! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND. 

Quick ! we have but a second, 

Fill round the cup, while you may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd. 

And we must away, away ! 
Grasp the pleasure that's flying, 

For oh, not Orpheus' strain 
Could keep sweet hours from dying, 
Or charm them to life again. 

Then, quick ! we have but a second, 

Fill round the cup, while you may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away ! 

See the glass, how it flushes, 

Like some young Hebe's lip, 
And half meets thine, and blushes 

That thou shouldst delay to sip. 

i In describing the Skeligs, (islands of the Barony of 
Forth,) Dr. Keating says, " There is a certain attractive vir- 
tue in the soil which draws down all the birds that attempt 
to fly over it, and obliges them to light upon the rock." 

» "Nennius, a British writer of the ninth century, men- 
tions the abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he 
says, hung them behind their ears ; and this we find con- 
firmed by a present made A. C. 1094, by Gilbert, Bishop of 



Shame, oh shame unto thee, 
If ever thou seest that day, 
When a cup or lip shall woo thee, 
And turn untouch'd away ! 

Then, quick ! we have but a second, 

Fill round, fill round, while you may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away ! 



AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS. 

And doth not a meeting like this make amends, 

For all the long years I've been wand'ring away — 
To see thus around me my youth's early friends, 

As smiling and kind as in that happy day ? 
Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine, 

The snow-fall of time may be stealing — what 
then? 
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, 

We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses agala 

What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, 

In gazing on those we've been lost to so long ! 
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, 

Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng, 
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced, 

When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, 
So many a feeling, that long seem'd effaced, 

The warmth of a moment like this brings to light 

And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide, 

To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, 
Thought oft we may see, looking down on the tide, 

The wreck of full many a hope shining through ; 
Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers, 

That once made a garden of all the gay shore, 
Deceived for a moment, we'll think them still ours, 

And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once 
more. 4 

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, 
Is all we can have of the few we hold dear ; 

And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, 

For want of some heart, that could echo it, near. 

Limerick, to Auselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, of a con- 
siderable quantity of Irish pearls."— O'Halloran. 

3 Glengariff. 

* Jours charmans, quand je songe a vos heureux Ik' 'ans, 
Je pense remonter le fleuve de mes ans ; 
Et mon cceur, enchante sur sa rive fleurie, 
Respire encore I'air pur du matin de la vie. 



264 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone, 
To meet in some world of more permanent bliss, 

For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on, 
Is all we enjoy of each other in this. 1 

But, come, the more rare such delights to the heart, 
The more we should welcome and bless them 
the more ; 
They're ours, when we meet, — they are lost when 
we part, 
Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis 
o'er. 
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink, 
Let Sympathy pledge us, thro' pleasure, thro' pain, 
That, fast as a feeling but touches one link, 
Her magic shall send it direct thro' the chain. 



THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE. 

In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, 

A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, 

Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night, 

He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite. 

As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er 
The golden sands of that island shore, 
A foot-print sparkled before his sight — 
'Twas the faiiy foot of the Mountain Sprite ! 

Beside a fountain,, one sunny day, 

As bending over the stream he lay, 

There peep'd down o'er him two eyes of light, 

And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite. 

He turn'd, but, lo, like a startled bird, 

That spirit fled ! — and the youth but heard 

Sweet music, such as marks the flight 

Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite. 

One night, still haunted by that bright look, 

The boy, bewilder'd, his pencil took, 

And, guided only by memory's light, 

Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite. 

" Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried 
A voice, low whisp'ring by his side, 

1 The same thought has been happily expressed by my 
friend Mr. Washington Irving, in his Bracebridge Hall, vol. 
i. p. 213. — The sincere pleasure which I feel in calling this 
gentleman my friend, is much enhanced by the reflection that 
he is too good an American, to have admitted me so readily 
to such a distinction, if he had not known that my feelings 
towards the great and free country that gave him birth, have 
been long such as every real lover of the liberty and happi- 
ness of the human race must entertain. 

* " Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, had acci- 



" Now turn and see," — here the youth's delight 
Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite. 

" Of all the Spirits of land and sea," 

Then rapt he murmur'd, " there's none like thee, 

" And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light 

" In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite !" 



AS VANQUISH'D ERIN. 

As vanquish'd Erin wept beside 

The Boyne's ill-fated river, 
She saw where Discord, in the tide, 

Had dropp'd his loaded quiver. 
'•' Lie hid," she cried, " ye venom'd darts, 

" Where mortal eye may shun you ; 
" Lie hid — the stain of manly hearts, 

" That bled for me, is on you." 

But vain her wish, her weeping vain,— 

As Time too well hath taught her — 
Each year the Fiend returns again, 

And dives into that water ; 
And brings, triumphant, from beneath 

His shafts of desolation, 
And sends them, wing'd with worse than dea'.ti, 

Through all her madd'ning nation. 

Alas for her who sit3 and mourns, 

Ev'n now, beside that river — 
Unwearied still the Fiend returns, 

And stored is still his quiver. 
" When will this end, ye Powers of Good ?" 

She weeping asks forever ; 
But only hears, from out that flood, 

The Demon answer, " Never !" 



DESMOND'S SONG. 9 

By the Feal's wave benighted, 
No star in the skies, 

dentally been so engaged in the chase, that he was benighted 
near Tralce, and obliged to take shelter at the Abbey of 
Feal, in the house of one of his dependents, called Mac 
Cormac. Catherine, a beautiful daughter of his host, in- 
stantly inspired the Earl with a violent passion, which he 
could not subdue. He married her, and by this inferior al- 
liance alienated his followers, whose brutal pride regarded 
this indulgence of his love as an unpardonable degradation 
of his family."— Leland, vol. ii. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



26i 



To thy door by Love lighted, 

I first saw those eyes. 
Some voice whisper'd o'er me, 

As the threshold I cross'd, 
There was ruin before me, 

If I loved, I was lost. 

Love came, and brought sorrow 

Too soon in his train ; 
Yet so sweet, that to-morrow 

'Twere welcome again. 
Though misery's full measure 

My portion should be, 
1 would drain it with pleasure, 

If pour'd out by thee. 

You, who call it dishonor 

To bow to this flame, 
If you've eyes, look but on her, 

And blush while you blame. 
Hath the pearl less whiteness 

Because of its birth ? 
Hath the violet less brightness 

For growing near earth ? 

No — Man for his glory 

To ancestry flies ; 
But Woman's bright story 

Is told in her eyes. 
While the Monarch but traces 

Through mortals his line, 
Beauty, bom of the Graces, $ 

Ranks next to Divine ! 



THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART. 

They know not my heart, who believe there can be 
One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee ; 
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour, 
As pure as the morning's first dew on the flow'r, 
I could harm what I love, — as the sun's wanton 

ray 
But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away. 



i These verses are meant to allude to that ancient haunt 
of superstition, called Patrick's Purgatory. " In the midst of 
these gloomy regions of Donegall (says Dr. Campbell) lay a 
lake, which was to become the mystic theatre of this fabled 
and intermediate state. In the lake were several islands ; 
but one of them was dignified with that called the Mouth 
of Purgatory, which, during the dark ages, attracted the 
notice of all Christendom, and was the resort of penitents 
and pilgrims from almost every country in Europe." 



No — beaming with light as those young features 

are, 
There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier 

far: 
It is not that cheek — 'tis the soul dawning clear 
Thro' its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear ; 
As the sky Ave look up to, though glorious and fair, 
Is look'd up to the more, because Heaven lies there ! 



I WISH I WAS BY THAT DIM LAKE. 

I wish I was by that dim Lake, 1 
Where sinful souls their farewell take 
Of this vain world, and half-way lie 
In death's cold shadow, ere they die. 
There, there, far from thee, 
Deceitful world, my home should be ; 
Where, come what might of gloom and pair , 
False hope should ne'er deceive again. 

The lifeless sky, the mournful sound 

Of unseen waters falling round ; 

The dry leaves, quiv'ring o'er my head, 

Like man, unquiet ev'n when dead ! 

These, ay, these shall wean 

My soul from life's deluding scene, 

And turn each thought, o'ercharged with gloom, 

Like willows, downward tow'rds the tomb. 

As they, who to their couch at night 
Would win repose, first quench the light, 
So must the hopes, that keep this breast 
Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest. 
Cold, cold, this heart must grow, 
Unmoved by either joy or wo, 
Like freezing founts, where all that's thrown 
Within their current turns to stone. 



SHE SUNG OF LOVE. 

She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre 
The rosy rays of evening fell, 



" It was," as the saras writer tells us, " one of the most 
dismal and dreary spots in the North, almost inaccessible, 
through deep glens and rugged mountains, frightful with 
impending rocks, and the hollow murmurs of the western 
winds in dark caverns, peopled only with such fantastic 
beings as the mind, however gay, is, from strange associa- 
tion, wont to appropriate to such gloomy scenes." — Strictures 
on the Ecclesiastical and Literary History of Ireland. 



266 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



As if to feed, with their soft fire, 

The soul within that trembling shell. 

The same rich light hung o'er her cheek, 
And play'd around those lips that sung 

And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak, 
If Love could lend their leaves a tongue. 

But soon the West no longer burn'd, 

Each rosy ray from heav'n withdrew ; 
And, when to gaze again I turn'd, 

The minstrel's form seem'd fading too. 
As if her light and heav'n's were one, 

The glory all had left that frame ; 
And from her glimmering lips the tone, 

As from a parting spirit, came. 1 

Who ever loved, but had the thought 

That he and all he loved must part ? 
Fill'd with this fear, I flew and caught 

The fading image to my heart — 
And cried, " Oh Love ! is this thy doom ? 

" Oh light of youth's resplendent day ! 
" Must ye then lose your golden bloom, 

" And thus, like sunshine, die away ?" 



SING— SING— MUSIC WAS GIVEN. 

Sing — sing — Music was given, 

To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving ; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 

By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. 
Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks, 

But Love from the lips his true archery wings ; 
And she, who but feathers the dart when she 
speaks, 
At once ser.ds it home to the heart when she 
sings. 
Then sing — sing — Music was given, 

To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving ; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 

By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. 

When Love, rock'd by his mother, 

Lay sleeping as calm as slumber could make him, 
" Hush, hush," said Venus, " no other 

" Sweet voice but his own is worthy to wake 
him." 

i The thought here was suggested by some beautiful lines 
in Mr. Rogers's Poem of Human Life, beginning — 

" Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows 
Less and less earthly." 
I would quote the entire passage, did I not fear to put my 
own humble imitation of it out of countenance. 



Dreaming of music he slumber'd the while 

Till faint from his lip a soft melody broke, 
And Venus, enchanted, look'd on with a smile, 
While Love to his own sweet singing awoke. 
Then sing — sing — music was given, 

To brighten the gay, and kindle the lov- 
ing ; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 

By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. 



THOUGH HUMBLE THE BANQUET. 

Though humble the banquet to which I invite 
thee, 
Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can com- 
mand : 
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, 
to light thee, 
And Love serve the feast with his own willing 
hand. 

And though Fortune may seem to have turn'd from 

the dwelling 
* Of him thou regardest her favoring ray, 
Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excel- 
ling, 
Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his way. 

'Tis that freedom of mind, which no vulgar do- 
minion 
Can turn from the path a puro conscience ap- 
proves ; 
Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the 
pinion, 
Holds upwards its course to the light which it 
loves. 

'Tis this makes the pride of his humble retreat, 
And, with this, though of all other treasures be- 
reaved, 
The breezo of his garden to him is more sweet 
Than the costliest incense that Pomp e'er re- 
ceived. 

Then, come, — if a board so untempting hath 
power 
To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be 
thine ; 
And there's one, long the light of the bard's happy 
bower, 
Who, smiling, will blend her bright welcome with 
mine. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



267 



SING, SWEET HARP. 

Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me 

Some song of ancient days, 
Whose sounds, in this sad memory, 

Long buried dreams shall raise ; — 
Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame, 

Whose light once round us shone ; 
Of noble pride, now turn'd to shame, 

And hopes forever gone. — 
Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me ; 

Alike our doom is cast, 
Both lost to all but memory, 

We live but in the past 

How mournfully the midnight air 

Among thy chords doth sigh, 
As if it sought some echo there 

Of voices long gone by ; — 
Of Chieftains, now forgot, wko seem'd 

The foremost then in fame ; 
Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd, 

Now sleep without a name. — 
In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air 

Among thy chords doth sigh ; 
In vain it seeks an echo there 

Of voices long gone by. 

Couldst thou but call those spirits round, 

Who once, in bower and hall, 
Sat listening to thy magic sound, 

Now mute and mould'ring all ; — 
But, no ; they would but wake to weep 

Their children's slavery ; 
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep, 

The dead, at least, are free ! — 
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone, 

That knell of Freedom's day ; 
Or, listening to its death-like moan, 

Let me, too, die away. 



SONG OF THE BATTLE EVE. 

Time— the Ninth Century. 

To-morrow, comrade, we 
On the battle-plain must be, 

There to conquer, or both lie low ! 
The morning star is up, — 
But there's wine still in the cup, 

And we'll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, 

go; 

We'll take another quaff, ere we go. 



'Tis true, in manliest eyes 
A passing tear will rise, 

When we think of the friends we leave lone ; 
But what can wailing do ? 
See, our goblet's creeping too ! 

With its tears \m\l chase away our own, boy, 
our own ; 

With its tears we'll chase away our own. 

But daylight's stealing on ; — 
The last that o'er us shone 

Saw our children around us play ; 
The next — ah ! where shall we 
And those rosy urchins be ? 

But — no matter — grasp thy sword and away, 
boy, away ; 

No matter — grasp thy sword and away ! 

Let those, who brook the chain 
Of Saxon or of Dane, 

Ignobly by their firesides stay ; 
One sigh to home be given, 
One heartfelt prayer to heaven, 

Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra ! 
hurra ! hurra ! 

Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra ! 



THE WANDERING BARD. 

What life like that of the bard can be, — 
The wandering bard, who roams as free 
As the mountain lark that o'er him sings, 
And, like that lark, a music brings 
Within him, where'er he comes or goes, — 
A fount that forever flows ! 
The world's to him like some play-ground, 
Where fairies dance their moonlight round ; 
If dimm'd the turf where late they trod, 
The elves but seek some greener sod ; 
So, when less bright his scene of glee, 
To another away flies he ! 

Oh, what would have been young Beauty's doom, 

Without a bard to fix her bloom ? 

They tell us, in the moon's bright round, 

Things lost in this dark world are found ; 

So charms, on earth long pass'd and gone, 

In the poet's lay live on. — 

Would ye have smiles that ne'er grow dim ? 

You've only to give them all to him, 

Who, with but a touch of Fancy's wand, 

Can lend them life, this life beyond, 

And fix them high, in Poesy's sky, — 

Young stars that never die ! 



268 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Thc:.j welcome the bard wheie'er he comes,- 
For, though he hath countless airy homes, 
To which his wing excursive roves, 
Yet still, from time to time, he loves 
To light upon earth and fhjd such cheer 
As brightens our banquet here. 
No matter how far, how fleet he flies, 
You've only to light up kind young eyes, 
Such signal-fires as here are given, — 
And down he'll drop from Fancy's heaven, 
The minute such call to love or mirth 
Proclaims he's wanting on earth ! 



ALONE UN CROWDS TO WANDER ON. 

Alone in crowds to wander on, 

A.nd feel that all the charm is gone 

Which voices dear and eyes beloved 

Shed round us once, where'er we roved — 

This, this the doom must be 

Of all who've loved, and lived to see 

The few bright things they thought would stay 

Forever near them, die away. 

Tho' fairer forms around us throng, 

Their smiles to others all belong, 

And want that charm which dwells alone 

Round those the fond heart calls its own. 

Where, where the sunny brow ? 

The long-known voice — where are they now ? 

Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain, 

The silence answers all too plain. 

Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth, 

If all her art cannot call forth 

One bliss like those we felt of old 

From lips now mute, and eyes now cold ? 

No, no, — her spell is vain, — 

As soon could she bring back again 

Those eyes themselves from out the grave, 

As wake again one bliss they gave. 



I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE 

I've a secret to tell thee, but hush ! not here, — 
Oh ! not where the world its vigil keeps : 

i The God of Silence, thus pictured by the Egyptians. 
a " Milesius remembered the remarkable prediction of the 
principal Druid, who foretold that the posterity of Gadelus 



I'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear, 

Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps ; 
Where summer's wave unmurm'ring dies, 

Nor fay can hear the fountain's gush ; 
Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs, 

The rose saith, chidingly, " Hush, sweet, hush !" 

There, amid the deep silence of that hour, 

When stars can be heard in ocean dip, 
Thyself shall, under some rosy bower, 

Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip : 
Like him, the boy, 1 who born among 

The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush, 
Sits ever thus, — his only song 

To earth and heaven, " Hush, all, h"«k '" 



SONG OF INNISFAIL. 

They came from a land beyond the sea, 

And now o'er the western main 
Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly, 

From the sunny land of Spain. 
" Oh, where's the Isle we've seen in dreams, 

" Our destined home or grave ?" a 
Thus sung they as, by the morning's beams, 

They swept the Atlantic wave. 

And, lo, where afar o'er ocean shines 

A sparkle of radiant green, 
As though in that deep lay emerald mines, 

Whose light through the wave was seen. 
" 'Tis Innisfail 3 — 'tis Innisfail !" 

Rings o'er the echoing sea ; 
While, bending to heav'n, the warriors hail 

That home of the brave and free. 

Then turn'd they unto the Eastern wave, 

Where now their Day-God's eye 
A look of such sunny omen gave 

As lighted up sea and sky. 
Nor frown was seen through sky or sea, 

Nor tear o'er leaf or sod, 
When first on their Isle of Destiny 

Our great forefathers trod. 



should obtain the possession c* a Western Island, (which 
was Ireland,) and there inhabit." — Keating. 

3 The Island of Destiny one of the ancient names of Ire- 
land 



IRISH MELODIES. 



269 



THE NIGHT DANCE. 

Strike the gay harp ! see the moon is on high, 

And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean, 
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her 
eye, 
Obey the mute call, and heave into motion. 
Then, sound notes — the gayest, the lightest, 

That ever took wing, when heav'n look'd bright- 
est! 

Again ! Again ! 
Oh ! could such heart-stirring music be heard 

In that City of Statues described by romancers, 
So wak'ning its spell, even stone would be stirr'd, 
And statues themselves all start into dancers ! 

Why then delay, with such sounds in our ears, 

And the flower of Beauty's own garden before us, — 
While stars overhead leave the song of their spheres, 

And list'ning to ours, hang wondering o'er us ? 
Again, that strain ! — to hear it thus sounding 

Might set even Death's cold pulses bounding — 
Again ! Again ! 
/h, what delight when the youthful and gay, 

Each with eye like a sunbeam and foot like a 
feather, 
Thus dance, like the Hours to the music of May, 

And mingle sweet song and sunshine together ! 



THERE ARE SOUNDS OF MIRTH. 

There are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing, 

And lamps from every casement shown ; 
While voices blithe within are singing, 

That seem to say " Come," in every tone. 
Ah ! once how light, in Life's young season, 

My heart had leap'd at that sweet lay ; 
Nor paused to ask of greybeard Reason 

Should I the syren call obey. 

And, see — the lamps still livelier glitter, 

The syren lips more fondly sound ; 
No, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter 

To sink in your rosy bondage bound. 



i The Rocking Stones of the Druids, some of which no 
force is able to dislodge from their stations. 

2 " The inhabitants of Arranmore are still persuaded that, 
in a clear day, they can see from this coast Hy Brysail, or 



Shall a bard, whom not the world in arms 
Could bend to tyranny's rude control, 

Thus quail, at sight of woman's charms, 
And yield to a smile his freeborn soul ? 

Thus sung the sage, while, slyly stealing, 

The nymphs their fetters around him cast, 
And, — their laughing eyes, the while, concealing, — 

Led Freedom's Bard their slave at last. 
For the Poet's heart, still prone to loving, 

Was like that rock of the Druid race, 1 
Which the gentlest touch at once set moving, 

But all earth's power couldn't cast from its base. 



OH ! ARRANMORE, LOVED ARRANMC/kE. 

Oh ! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, 

How oft I dream of thee, 
And of those days when, by thy shore, 

I wander'd young and free. 
Full many a path I've tried, since then 

Through pleasure's flowery maze, 
But ne'er could find the bliss again 

I felt in those sweet days. 

How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs 

At sunny morn I've stood, 
With heart as bounding as the skiffs 

That danced along thy flood ; 
Or, when the western wave grew bright 

With daylight's parting wing, 
Have sought that Eden in its light 

Which dreaming poets sing f — 

That Ecren where th' immortal brave 

Dwell in a land serene, — 
Whose bow'rs beyond the shining wave, 

At sunset, oft are seen. 
Ah dream too full of sadd'ning truth ! 

Those mansions o'er the main 
Are like the hopes I built in youth, — 

As sunny and as vain ! 



the Enchanted Island, the Paradise of the Pagan Irish, and 
concerning which they relate a number of romantic stories." 
— Beaufort's Ancient Topography of Ireland. 



270 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE. 

Lay his sword by his side, 1 it hath served him too 
well 

Not to rest near his pillow below ; 
To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell, 

Its point was still turn'd to a flying foe. 
Fellow-lab'rers in life, let them slumber in death, 

Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave, — 
That sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath, 

And himself unsubdued in his grave. 

Yet pause — for, in fancy, a still voice I hear, 

As if breathed from his brave heart's remains ; — 
Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear, 

Once sounded the war-word, " Burst your chains !" 
And it cries, from the grave where the hero lies deep, 

" Tho' the day of your Chieftain forever hath set, 
" O leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep, — 

" It hath victory's life in it yet ! 

" Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield, 

" Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword, 
" Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman seal'd, 

" Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord. 
" But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath learn'd the 
proud use 

" Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain, — 
" Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose, 

" Leap forth from thy dark sheath again !" 



OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD 
OF OURS. 

Oh, could we do with this world of ours 
As thou dost with thy garden bowers, 
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers, 

What a heaven on earth we'd make it ! 
So bright a dwelling should be our own, 
So warranted free from sigh or frown, 
That angels soon would be coming down, 

By the week or month to take it. 

i It was the custom of the ancient Irish, in f.he manner of 
the Scythians, to bury the favorite swords of their heroes 
along with them. 

a The Palace of Fin Mac-Cumhal (the Fingal of Mac- 
pher.son) in Leinster. It was built on the top of the hill, 
which has retained from thence the name of the Hill of Allen, 



Like those gay flies that wing through air, 
And in themselves a lustre bear, 
A stock of light, still ready there, 

Whenever they wish to use it ; 
So, in this world I'd make for thee, 
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be, 
And the flash of wit or poesy 

Break forth whenever we choose it 

While ev'iy joy that glads our sphere 
Hath still some shadow hov'ring near, 
In this new world of ours, my dear, 

Such shadows will all be omitted : — 
Unless they're like that graceful one, 
Which, when thou'rt dancing in the sun, 
Still near thee, leaves a charm upon 

Each spot where it hath flitted ! 



THE WINE-CUP IS CIRCLING. 

The wine-cup is circling in Almhin's hall,' 
And its Chief, 'mid his heroes reclining, 
Looks up, with a sigh, to the trophied wall, 
Where his sword hangs idly shining 

When, hark ! that shout 

From the vale without, — 
" Arm ye quick, the Dane, the Dane is nigh !" 

Ev'ry Chief starts up 

From his foaming cup, 
And " To battle, to battle !" is the Finian's cry. 

The minstrels have seized their harps of gold, 

And they sing such thrilling numbers, — 
'Tis like the voice of the Brave, of old, 

Breaking forth from their place of slumbers ! 
Spear to buckler rang, 
As the minstrels sang, 
And the Sun-burst 3 o'er them floated wide ; 
While rememb'ring the yoke 
Which their fathers broke, 
" On for liberty, for liberty !" the Finians cried. 

Like clouds of the night the Northmen came, 
O'er the valley of Almhin lowering ; 

While onward moved, in the light of its fame, 
That banner of Erin, towering. 

in the county of Kildare. The Finians, or Fenii, were the 
celebrated National Militia of Ireland, which this Chief 
commanded. The introduction of the Danes in the above 
song is an anachronism common to most of the Finian and 
Ossianic legends, 
s The name given to the banner of the Irish. 



IRISH MELODIES. 271 


With the mingling shock 


Though the sea, where thou embarkest, 


Rung cliff and rock, 


Offers now a friendly shore, 


While, rank on rank, the invaders die : 


Light may come where all looks darkest, 


And the shout, that last 


Hope hath life, when life seems o'er 


O'er the dying pass'd, 


And, of those past ages dreaming, - 


Was " Victory ! victory !" — the Finian's cry. 


When glory deck'd thy brow, 




Oft I fondly think, though seeming 




So fall'n and clouded now, 




Thou'lt again break forth, all beaming, — 
None 60 bright, so blest as thou ! 




THE DREAM OF THOSE DAYS. 




The dream of those days when first I sung thee is 
_» 




o er, 
Thy triumph hath stain'd the charm thy sorrows 


SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS. 1 


then wore ; 




And ev'n of the light which Hope once shed o'er 


Silence is in our festal halls, — 


thy chains, 


Sweet Son of Song ! thy course is o'er ; 


Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains. 


In vain on thee sad Erin calls, 




Her minstrel's voice responds no more ; — 


Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in thy heart, 


All silent as th' Eolian shell 


That still the dark brand is there, though chainless 


Sleeps at the close of some bright day, 


thou art ; 


When the sweet breeze, that waked its swell 


And Freedom's sweet fruit, for which thy spirit long 


"At sunny morn, hath died away. 


burn'd, 




Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath turn'd ? 


Yet, at our feasts, thy spirit long, 




Awaked by music's spell, shall rise ; 


Up Liberty's steep by Truth and Eloquence led, 


For, name so link'd with deathless song 


With eyes on her temple fix'd, how proud was thy 


Partakes its charm and never dies: 


tread ! 


And ev'n within the holy fane, 


Ah, better thou ne'er hadst lived that summit to 


When music wafts the soul to heaven, 


gain, 


One thought to him, whose earliest strain 


Or died in the porch, than thus dishonor the fane. 


Was echoed there, shall long be given. 




But, where is now the cheerful day, 




The social night, when, by thy side, 






He, who now weaves this parting lay, 




His skillcss voice with thine allied ; 


FROM THIS HOUR THE PLEDGE IS 


And sung those songs whose every tone, 


GIVEN. 


When bard and minstrel long have past, 




Shall still, in sweetness all their own, 


From this hour the pledge is given, 


Embalm'd by fame, undying last 


From this hour my soul is thine : 




Come what will, from earth or heaven, 


Yes, Erin, thine alone the fame, — 


Weal or wo, thy fate be mine. 


Or, if thy bard have shared the crown, 


When the proud and great stood by thee, 


From thee the borrow'd glory came, 


None dared thy rights to spurn ; 


And at thy feet is now laid down. 


And if now they're false and fly thee, 


Enough, if Freedom still inspire 


Shall I, too, basely turn? 


His latest song, and still there be, 


No ; — whate'er the fires that try thee, 


As evening closes round his lyre, 


hi the same this heart shall burn. 


One ray upon its chords from thee. 


i It is .hardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the reader. 


to the memory of an old and valued colleague in this work, 


that these lines are meant as a tribute of sincere friendship 


Sir John Stevenson. 



272 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



APPENDIX: 

CONTAINING 

THE ADVERTISEMENTS 

ORIGINALLY PREFIXED TO THE DIFFERENT NUMBERS, 
AND 

THE PREFATORY LETTER ON IRISH MUSIC. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

PREFIXED 

TO THE FIRST AND SECOND NUMBERS. 

Power takes the liberty of announcing to the 
Public a Work which has long been a Desideratum 
in this country. Though the beauties of the Na- 
tional Music of Ireland have been very generally 
felt and acknowledged, yet it has happened, through 
the want of appropriate English words, and of the 
arrangement necessary to adapt them to the voice, 
that man/ of the most excellent compositions have 
hitherto remained in obscurity. It is intended, 
therefore, to form a Collection of the best Original 
Irish Melodies, with characteristic Symphonies and 
Accompaniments; and with Words containing, as 
frequently as possible, allusions to the manners and 
history of the country. Sir John Stevenson has 
very kindly consented to undertake the arrange- 
ment of the Airs ; and the lovers of Simple National 
Music may rest secure, that, in such tasteful hands, 
the native charms of the original melody will not be 
sacrificed to the ostentation of science. 

In the Poetical Part, Power has had promises of 
assistance from several distinguished Literary Char- 
acters ; particularly from Mr. Moore, whose lyrical 
talent is so peculiarly suited to such a task, and 
whoso zeal in the undertaking will be best under- 
stood from the following Extract of a Letter which 
he has addressed to Sir John Stevenson on the 
subject : — 

" I feel very anxious that a work of this kind 
should be undertaken. We have too long neglected 
the only talent for which our English neighbors 
ever deigned to allow us any credit. Our National 
Music has never been properly collected ;* and, 
while the composers of the Continent have en- 
riched their Operas and Sonatas with melodies 
borrowed from Ireland, — very often without even 
the honesty of acknowledgment, — we have left 
these treasures, in a great degree, unclaimed and 

i The writer forgot, when he made thi3 assertion, that 
the public are indebted to Mr. Bunting for a very valuable 



fugitive. Thus our Airs, like too many of our 
countrymen, have, for want of protection at home, 
passed into the service of foreigners. But we are 
come, I hope, to a better period of both Politics 
and Music ; and how much they are connected, in 
Ireland, at lea^t, appears too plainly in the tone of 
sorrow and depression which characterizes most of 
our early Songs. 

" The task which you propose to me, of adapt- 
ing words to these airs, is by no means easy. The 
Poet who would follow the various sentiments 
which they express, must feel and understand that 
rapid fluctuation of spirits, that unaccountable mix- 
ture of gloom and levity, which composes the 
character of my countrymen, and has deeply tinged 
their Music. Even in their liveliest strains we 
find some melancholy note intrude, — some minor 
Third or flat Seventh. — which throws its shade as 
it passes, and makes even mirth interesting. If 
Burns had been an Irishman, (and I would willingly 
give up all our claims upon Ossian for him,) his 
heart would have been proud of such music, and his 
genius would have made it immortal. 

" Another difficulty (which is, however, purely 
mechanical) arises from the irregular structure of 
many of those airs, and the lawless kind of metre 
which it will in consequence be necessary to adapt 
to them. In these instances the Poet must write, 
not to the eye, but to the ear ; and must be content 
to have his verses of that description which Cicero 
mentions, ' Quos si cardu spoliaveris nuda remanehit 
oratio.' That beautiful Air, ' The Twisting of the 
Rope,' which has all the romantic character of the 
Swiss Ranz des Vaches, is one of those wild and 
sentimental rakes which it will not be veiy easy to 
tie down in sober wedlock with Poetry. However, 
notwithstanding all these difficulfies, and the very 
moderate portion of talent which I can bring to 
surmount them, the design appears to me so truly 
National, that I shall feel much pleasure in giving 
it all the assistance in my power. 
" Leicestershire, Feb. 1807." 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE THIRD NUMBER 

In presenting the Third Number of this work to 
the Public, Power begs leave to offer his acknow- 

collectlon of Irish Music ; and that the patriotic genius of Miss 
Owenson has been employed upon some of our finest airs. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



273 



ledgments for the very liberal patronage with which 
it has been honored ; and to express a hope that the 
unabated zeal of those who have hitherto so admi- 
rably conducted it, will enable him to continue it 
through many future Numbers with equal spirit, 
variety, and taste. The stock of popular Melodies 
is far from being exhausted ; and there is still in 
reserve an abundance of beautiful Airs, which call 
upon Mr. Moore, in the language he so well under- 
stands, to save them from the oblivion to which they 
are hastening. 

Power respectfully trusts he will not be thought 
presumptuous in saying, that he feels proud, as an 
Irishman, in even the very subordinate share which 
he can claim, in promoting a Work so creditable to 
the talents of the Country, — a Work which, from 
the spirit of nationality it breathes, will do more, he 
is convinced, towards liberalizing the feelings of 
society, and producing that brotherhood of sentiment 
which it is so much our interest to cherish, than 
could ever be effected by the mere arguments of 
well-intentioned but uninteresting politicians. 



LETTER 

TO 

THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OP DONEGAL, 

PREFIXED TO 

THE THIRD NUMBER. 

While the publisher of these Melodies very prop- 
erly inscribes them to the Nobility and Gentry of 
Ireland in general, I have much pleasure in select- 
ing one from that number, to whom my share of 
the Work is particularly dedicated. I know that, 
though your Ladyship has been so long absent from 
Ireland, you still continue to remember it well and 
warmly, — that you have not suffered the attractions 
of English society to produce, like the taste of the 
lotus, any forgetfulness of your own country, but 
that even the humble tribute which I offer derives 
its chief claim upon your interest and sympathy 



1 A phrase which occurs in a Letter from the Earl of Des- 
mond to the Earl of Ormond, in Elizabeth's time.— Scrinia 
Sacra, as quoted by Curry. 

a There are some gratifying accounts of the gallantry of 
these Irish auxiliaries in " The complete History of the Wars 
! in Scotland under Montrose," (16G0.) See particularly, for 
the conduct of an Irishman at the battle of Aberdeen, chap. vi. 
p. 49 : and for a tribute to the bravery of Colonel O'Kyan, 
chap. vii. 55. Clarendon owns that the Marquis of Montrose 
was indebted for much of his miraculous success to the 
small band of Irish heroes under Macdonnell. 



from the appeal which it makes to your patriotism. 
Indeed, absence, however fatal to some affections of 
the heart, rather tends to strengthen our love for the 
land where we were born ; and Ireland is the 
country, of all others, which an exile from it must 
remember with most enthusiasm. Those few 
darker and less amiable traits with which bigotry 
and misrule have stained her character, and which 
are too apt to disgust us upon a nearer intercourse, 
become at a distance softened, or altogether invisi- 
ble. Nothing is remembered but her virtues and 
her misfortunes, — the zeal with which she has al- 
ways loved liberty, and the barbarous policy which 
has always withheld it from her, — the ease with 
which her generous spirit might be conciliated, and 
the cruel ingenuity which has been exerted to 
" wring her into undutifulness." 1 

It has been often remarked, and still oftener felt, 
that in our music is found the truest of all com- 
ments upon our history. The tone of defiance, suc- 
ceeded by the languor of despondency, — a burst of 
turbulence dying away into softness, — the sorrows 
of one moment lost in the levity of the next, — and 
all that romantic mixture of mirth and Badness, 
which is naturally produced by the efforts of a lively 
temperament to shake off, or forget, the wrongs 
which lie upon it. Such are the features of our 
history and character, which we find strongly and 
faithfully reflected in our music ; and there are 
even many airs, which it is difficult to listen to, 
without recalling some period or event to which their 
expression seems applicable. Sometimes, for in- 
stance, when the strain is open and spirited, yet 
here and there shaded by a mournful recollection, 
we can fancy that we behold the brave allies of 
Montrose, 2 marching to the aid of the royal cause, 
notwithstanding all the perfidy of Charles and his 
ministers, and remembering just enough of past suf- 
ferings to enhance the generosity of their present 
sacrifice. The plaintive melodies of Carolan take 
us back to the times in which he lived, when our 
poor countrymen were driven to worship their God 
in caves, or to quit forever the land of their birth, — 
like the bird that abandons the nest which human 
touch has violated. In many of these mournful 
songs we seem to hear the last farewell of the exile, 3 



3 The associations of the Hindu music, though more obvi- 
ous and defined, were far less touching and characteristic. 
They divided their songs according to the seasons of the 
year, by which (says Sir William Jones) " they were able t« 
recall the memory of autumnal merriment, at the close of 
the harvest, or of separation and melancholy duriug the cold 
months," &c— Asiatic Transactions, vol. iii. on the Musical 1 
Modes of the Hindus.— What the Abbe du Bos says of tho 
symphonies of Lully, may be asserted, with much more 
probability, of our bold and impassioned airs:— "Elles au- 
roient produit de ces effets, qui nous paroissent fabuleux dans 



274 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



mingling regret for the ties which he leaves at 
home, with sanguine hopes of the high honors that 
await him abroad, — such honors as were won on 
the field of Fontenoy, where the valor of Irish 
Catholics turned the fortune of the day, and extorted 
from George the Second that memorable exclama- 
tion, "Cursed be the laws which deprive me of such 
subjects !" 

Though much has been said of the antiquity of 
our music, it is certain that our finest and most 
popular airs are modern ; and perhaps we may look 
no further than the last disgraceful century for the 
origin of most of those wild and melancholy strains, 
which were at once the offspring and solace of grief, 
and were applied to the mind as music was formerly 
to the body, " decantare loca dolentia." Mr. Pin- 
kerton is of opinion 1 that none of the Scotch popular 
airs are as old as the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
tury.; and though musical antiquaries refer us, for 
some of our melodies, to so early a period as the 
fifth century, I am persuaded that there are few, of 
a civilized description, (and by this I mean to ex- 
clude all the savage Ceanans, Cries, 2 &c.,) which 
can claim quite so ancient a date as Mr. Pinkerton 
allows to the Scotch. But music is not the only 
subject upon which our taste for antiquity has been 
rather unreasonably indulged ; and, however hereti- 
cal it may be to dissent from these romantic specu- 
lations, I cannot help thinking that it is possible to 
love our country very zealously, and to feel deeply 



le recit des anciens, si on les avoit fait entendre & des 
hommes d'un naturel aussivif que les Atheniens." — Reflex, 
sur la Peinturc, &c. torn. i. sect. 45. 

1 Dissertation prefixed to the 2d volume of his Scottish 
Ballads 

a Of which some genuine specimens may be found at the 
end of Mr. Walker's Work upon the Irish bard3. Mr. Bunt- 
ing has disfigured his last splendid volume by too many of 
these barbarous rhapsodies. , 

3 See Advertisement to the Transactions of the Gaelic So- 
ciety of Dublin. 

* O'Halloran, vol. i. part iv. chap. vii. 

6 Id. ib. chap. vi. 

« It is a'.s., supposed, but with as little proof, that they un- 
derstood the diesis, or enharmonic interval. — The Greeks 
seem to have formed their ears to this delicate gradation of 
sound ; and, whatever difficulties or objections may lie in 
.the way of its practical use, we must agree with Mersenne, 
(I > r61udes de l'Harmonie, Quest. 7,) that the theory of Music 
would be imperfect without it. Even in practice, too, as 
Tosi, among others, very justly remarks, (Observations on 
Florid Song, chap. i. sect. 16,) there is no good performer on 
the violin who does not make a sensible difference between 
D sharp and E flat, though, from the imperfection of the in- 
strument, they are the same notes upon the piano-forte. 
The effect of modulation by enharmonic transitions is also 
very striking and beautiful. 

7 The words iroiKiXta and IrepoQwvia, in a Passage of Plato, 
and some expressions of Cicero, in Fragment, lib. ii. de Re- 

I publ., induced the Abbe Fraguier to maintain that the an- 



interested in her honor and happiness, without be- 
lieving that Irish was the language spoken in Para- 
dise, 3 that our ancestors were kind enough to take 
the trouble of polishing the Greeks, 4 or that Abaris, 
the Hyperborean, was a native of the North of 
Ireland. 5 

By some of these zealous antiquarians it has been 
imagined that the Irish were early acquainted with 
counter-point ;° and they endeavor to support this 
conjecture by a well-known passage in Giraldus, 
where he dilates, with such elaborate praise, upon 
the beauties of our national minstrelsy. But the 
terms of this eulogy are much too vague, too defi- 
cient in technical accuracy, to prove that even 
Giraldus himself knew any thing of the artifice of 
counter-point. There are many expressions in the 
Greek and Latin writers which might be cited, with 
much more plausibility, to prove that they under- 
stood the arrangeme: jt of music in parts ; 7 and it is 
in general now conceded, I believe, by the learned, 
that, however grand and pathetic the melody of the 
ancients may have been, it was reserved for the in- 
genuity of modern Science to transmit the " light of 
Song" through the variegating prism of Harmony. 

Indeed, the irregular scale of the early Irish (in 
which, as in the music of Scotland, the interval of 
the fourth was wanting 8 ) must have furnished 
but wild and refractory subjects to the harmonist. 
It was only when the invention of Guido began to 
be known, and tho powers of the brrp 9 were en- 



cients had a knowledge of counterpoint. M. rfurelte, how- 
ever, has answered him, I think, satisfactorily. (Examen 
d'un Passage de Platon, in the 3d vol. of Histoire de l'Acad.) 
M. Huet is of opinion, (Pensees Diverses,) that what Cicero 
says of the music of the spheres, in his dream of Scipio, is 
sufficient to prove an acquaintance with harmony ; but one 
of the strongest passages, which I recollect, in favor of this 
supposition, occurs in the Treatise (Uspi Koapiuv) attributed 
to Aristotle — Moucti/oj 6e o\eii a/xa Kai fiapas, k. r. X 

8 Another lawless peculiarity of our music is the frequent 
occurrence of what composers call consecutive fifths ; but 
this, I must say, is an irregularity which can hardly be avoid- 
ed by persons not conversant with all the rules of composition. 
If I may venture, indeed, to cite my own wild attempts in 
this way, it is a fault which I find myself continually com- 
mitting, and which has even, at times, appeared so pleasing to 
my ear, that I have surrendered it to the critic with no small 
reluctance. May there not be a little pedantry in adhering too 
rigidly to this rule 1 — I have been told that there are instances 
in Haydn, of an undisguised succession of fifths ; and Mr. 
Shield, in his Introduction to Harmony, seems to intimate that 
Handel has been sometimes guilty of the same irregularity. 

9 A singular oversight occurs in an Essay upon the Irish 
Harp, by Mr. Beauford, which is inserted in the Appendix to 
Walker's Historical Memoirs :— " The Irish, (says he.) ac- 
cording to Bromton, in the reign of Henry II. had two kinds 
of Harps, ' Hibernici tamen in duobus musici generis instra- 
mentis, quamvis pnecipitem et velocem, suavem tamen et ju- 
cundum : the one greatly bold and quick, the other soft and 
pleasing.'— How a man of Mr. Beauford's learning could so 



IRISH MELODIES. 



275 



larged by additional strings, that our airs can be sup- 
posed to have assumed the sweet character which 
interests us at present ; and while the Scotch perse- 
vered in the old mutilation of the scale, 1 our music 
became by degrees more amenable to the laws of 
harmony and counterpoint. 

While profiting, however, by the improvements of 
the modems, our style still keeps its original charac- 
ter sacred from their refinements ; and though Car- 
olan, it appears, had frequent opportunities of hear- 
ing the works of Geminiani and other great masters, 
we but rarely find him sacrificing his native sim- 
plicity to any ambition of their ornaments, or affecta- 
tion of their science. In that curious composition, 
indeed, called his Concerto, it is evident that he la- 
bored to imitate Corelli ; and this union of manners, 
so very dissimilar, produces the same kind of uneasy 
sensation which is felt at a mixture of different styles 
of architecture. In general, however, the artless 
flow of our music has preserved itself free from all 
tinge of foreign innovation f and the chief corrup- 
tions of which we have to complain arise from the 
unskilful performance of our own itinerant musicians, 
from whom, too frequently, the airs are noted down, 
encumbered by their tasteless decorations, and 
responsible for all their ignorant anomalies. Though 
it be sometimes impossible to trace the original 
strain, yet, in most of them,"auri per ramos aura 
refulget," 3 the pure gold of the melody shines 
through the ungraceful foliage which surrounds it, 
— and the most delicate and difficult duty of a 
compiler is to endeavor, by retrenching these in- 
elegant superfluities, and collating the various meth- 
ods of playing or singing each air, to restore the 
regularity of its form, and the chaste simplicity of its 
character. 

I must again observe, that in doubting the anti- 
quity of our music, my skepticism extends but to 
those polished specimens of the art, which it is 



mistake the meaning, and mutilate the grammatical con- 
struction of this extract, is unaccountable. The following is 
the passage as I find it entire in Bromton ; and it requires 
but little Latin to perceive the injustice which has been done 
to the words of the old Chronicler:— "Et cum Scotia, hujus 
terrae filia, utatur lyra, tympano et choro, acWallia cithara, 
tubis et choro Hibernici tamen in duobus musici generis in- 
strumentis, quamvis prcecipitem ei velocem, suavem tamen et 
jucundam, crispatis modulis et intricatis notulis, efficiunt 
harmoitiam^—nist. Anglic. Script, page 1075. I should not 
have thought this error worth remarking, but that the com- 
piler of the Dissertation on the Harp, prefixed to Mr. Bunt- 
ing's last Work, has adopted it implicitly. 

1 The Scotch lay claim to some of our best airs, but there 
are strong traits of difference between their melodies and 
ours. They had formerly the same passion for robbing us of 
our Saints, and the learned Dempster was for this offence 
called "The Saint Stealer." It must have been some Irish- 
man, I suppose, who, by way of reprisal, stole Dempster's 



dSmeuIt to conceive anterior to the dawn of modern 
improvement ; and that I would by no means inval- 
idate the claims of Ireland to as early a rank in the 
annals of minstrelsy, as the most zealous antiquary 
may be inclined to allow her. In addition, indeed, 
tc the power which music must always have pos- 
sessed over the minds of a people so ardent and sus- 
ceptible, the stimulus of persecution was not want- 
ing to quicken our taste into enthusiasm ; the charms 
of song were ennobled with the glories of martyrdom, 
and the acts against minstrels, in the reigns of Henry 
VIII. and Elizabeth, were as successful, I doubt not, 
in making my countrymen musicians, as the penal 
laws have been in keeping them Catholics. 

With respect to the verses which I have written 
for these melodies, as they are intended rather to 
be sung than read, I can answer for their sound 
with somewhat more confidence than for their 
sense. Yet it would be affectation to deny that I 
have given much attention to the task, and that it 
is not through any want of zeal or industry, if I un- 
fortunately disgrace the sweet airs of my country by 
poetry altogether unworthy of their taste, their en- 
ergy, and their tenderness. 

Though the humble nature of my contributions 
to this work may exempt them from the rigors of 
literary criticism, it was not to be expected that 
those touches of political feeling, those tones of 
national complaint, in which the poetry sometimes 
sympathizes with the music, would be suffered to 
pass without censure or alarm. It has been accord- 
ingly said, that the tendency of this publication is 
mischievous, 4 and that I have chosen these airs but 
as a vehicle of dangerous politics, — as fair and pre- 
cious vessels, (to borrow an image of St. Augustine, 5 ) 
from which the wine of error might be adminis- 
tered. To those who identify nationality with 
treason, and who see, in every effort for Ireland, 
a system of hostility towards England, — to those, 



beautiful wife from him at Pisa. — See this anecdote in the 
Pinacotkeca of Erythneus, part i. page 25. 

2 Among other false refinements of the art, our music 
(with the exception perhaps of the air called "Mamma, 
Mamma," and one or two more of the same ludicrous de- 
scription) has avoided that puerile mimicry of natural noises, 
motions, &c, which disgraces so often the works of even 
Handel himself. D'Alembert ought to have had better taste 
than to become the patron of this imitative affectation. — 
Disccurs Preliminaire de V Encyclopedic The reader may- 
find some good remarks on the subject in Avison upon Mu- 
sical Expression ; a work which, though under the name of 
Avison, was written, it is said, by Dr. Brown. 

3 Virgil, ^Eneid, lib. vi. verse 204. 

4 See Letters, under the signatures of Timccus, &c, in the 
Morning Post, Pilot, and other papers. 

5 " .Non accuso verba, quasi vasa electa atque pretiosa; 
sed vinum erroris quod cum eis nobis propinatur." — Lib. i. 
Confess, chap. xvi. 



276 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



too, who, nursed in the gloom of prejudice, jft-e 
alarmed by the faintest gleam of liberality that 
threatens to disturb their darkness, — like that Demo- 
phon of old, who, when the sun shone upon him, 
shivered, 1 — to such men I shall not condescend to 
offer an apology for the too great warmth of any 
political sentiment which may occur in the course 
of these pages. But as there are many, among the 
more wise and tolerant, who, with feeling enough to 
mourn over the wrongs of their country, and sense 
enough to perceive all the danger of not redressing 
them, may yet be of opinion that allusions, in the 
least degree inflammatory, should be avoided in a 
publication of this popular description — I beg of these 
respected persons to believe, that there is no one who 
more sincerely deprecates than I do, any appeal to 
the passions of an ignorant and angry multitude ; 
but that it is not through that gross and inflammable 
region of society, a work of this nature could ever 
have been intended to circulate. It looks much 
higher for its •audience and readers, — it is found 
upon the piano-fortes of the rich and the educa- 
ted, — of those who can afford to have their na- 
tional zeal a little stimulated, without exciting much 
dread of the excesses into which it may hurry 
them ; and of many whose nerves may be, now and 
then, alarmed with advantage, as much more is to 
be gained by their fears, than could ever be expect- 
ed from their justice. 

Having thus adverted to the principal objection 
which has been hitherto made to the poetical part 
of this work, allow me to add a few words in de- 
fence of my ingenious coadjutor, Sir John Steven- 
son, who has been accused of having spoiled the 
simplicity of the airs by the chromatic richness of 
his symphonies, and the elaborate variety of his 
harmonies. We might cite the example of the 
admirable Haydn, who has sported through all the 
mazes of musical science, in his arrangement of 
the simplest Scottish melodies ; but it appears to 
me, that Sir John Stevenson has brought to this 
task an innate and national feeling, which it would 
be vain to expect from a foreigner, however tcsteful 
or judicious. Through many of his own composi- 
tions we trace a vein of Irish sentiment, which 
points him out as peculiarly suited to catch the 
spirit of his country's music ; and, far from agree- 
ing with those fastidious critics who think that his 
symphonies have nothing kindred with the airs 
which they introduce, I would say that, on the 
contrary, they resemble, in general, those illumi- 
nated initials of old manuscripts, which are of the 



1 This, emblem of modern bigots was head-butler (Tparrs- 
gonoios) to Alexander the Great. — Sczt. Empir. Pyrrh. 
Hypotk. Lib. i. 



same character with the writing which follows, 
though more highly colored and more curiously or- 
namented. 

In those airs which he has arranged for voices, 
his skill has particularly distinguished itself, and, 
though it cannot be denied that a single melody 
most naturally expresses the language of feeling 
and passion, yet often, when a favorite strain has 
been dismissed, as having lost its charm of novelty 
for the ear, it returns, in a harmonized shape, with 
new claims on our interest and attention ; and to 
those who study the delicate artifices of composition, 
the construction of the inner parts of these pieces 
must afford, I think, considerable satisfaction. 
Every voice has an air to itself, a flowing succes- 
sion of notes, which might be heard with pleasure, 
independently of the rest ; — so artfully has the har- 
monist (if I may thus express it) gavelled the mel- 
ody, distributing an equal portion of its sweetness to 
every part. 

If your Ladyship's love of Music were not well 
known to mc, I should not have hazarded so long 
a letter upon the subject ; but as, probably, I may 
have presumed too far upon your partiality, the 
best revenge you now can take is to write me just 
as long a letter upon Painting ; and I promise to 
attend to your theory of the art, with a pleasure 
only surpassed by that which I have so often de- 
rived from your practice of it. — May the mind 
which such talents adorn, continue calm as it is 
bright, and happy as it is virtuous ! 

Believe me, your Ladyship's 

Grateful Friend and Servant, 

Thomas Moore. 



ADVERTISEMENT 
TO THE FOURTH NUMBER. 

This Number of the Melodies ought to have ap- 
peared much earlier ; and the writer of the words 
is ashamed to confess, that the delay of its publica- 
tion must be imputed chiefly, if not entirely, to him. 
He finds it necessary to make this avowal, not only 
forthe purpose of removing all blame from the Pub- 
lisher, but in consequence of a rumor which has 
been circulated industriously in Dublin, that the 
Irish Government had interfered to prevent the con- 
tinuance of the Work. 

This would be, indeed, a revival of Henry the 
Eighth's enactments against Minstrels, and it is 
flattering to find that so much importance is at- 






IRISH MELODIES. 



277 



tached to our compilation, even by such persons as 
the inventors of the report. Bishop Lowth, it is 
true, was of opinion, that one song, like the Hymn 
to Harmodius, would have done more towards 
rousing the spirit of the Romans, than all the Phi- 
lippics of Cicero. But we live in wiser and less 
mu»Bical times ; ballads have long lost their revolu- 
tionary powers, and we question if even a " Lilli- 
bullero" would produce any very serious conse- 
quences at present. It is needless, therefore, to add, 
that there is no truth in the report ; and we trust 
that whatever belief it obtained was founded more 
upon the character of the Government than of the 
Work. 

The Airs of the last Number, though full of ori- 
ginality and beauty, were, in general, perhaps, lCO 
curiously selected to become all at once as popular 
as, we think, they deserve to be. The public are 
apt to be reserved towards new acquaintances in 
music, and this, perhaps, is one of the reasons why 
many modern composers introduce none but old 
friends to their notice. It is, indeed, natural that 
persons who love music only by association, should 
be somewhat slow in feeling the charms of a new 
and strange melody ; while those, on the other hand, 
who have a quick sensibility for this enchanting art, 
will as naturally seek and enjoy novelty, because in 
every variety of strain they find a fresh combination 
of ideas ; and the sound has scarcely reached the 
ear, before the heart has as rapidly rendered it into 
imagery and sentiment. After all, however, it can- 
not be denied that the most popular of our National 
Airs are also the most beautiful ; and it has been our 
wish, in the present Number, to select from -those 
Melodies only which have long been listened to and 
admired. The least known in the collection is the 
Air ef " Love's Young Dream ;" but it will be 
found, I think, one of those easy and artless 
strangers whose merit the heart instantly acknow- 
ledges. 

T. M 

Bury Street, St. James's 
Nov. 1811. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE FIFTH NUMBER. 

It is but fair to those who take an interest in this 
Work, to state that it is now very near its termi- 



1 Among these is Savourna Dcelish, which I have been 
hitherto only withheld from selecting by the diffidence I feel 
in treading upon the same ground wiih Mr. Campbell, whose 
beautiful words to this fine Air have taken too strong pos- 



nation, and that the Sixth Number, which shall 
speedily appear, will, most probably, be the last of 
the series. Three volumes will then have been 
completed, according to the original plan, and the 
Proprietors desire me to say that a List of Sub- 
scribers will be published with the concluding 
Number. 

It is not so much, I must add, from a want of 
materials, and still less from any abatement of 
zeal, or industry, that we have adopted the resolu- 
tion of bringing our task lo a close ; but we feel 
so proud, still more for our country's sake than 
our own, of the general interest which this purely 
Irish Work has excited, and so anxious lest a par- 
ticle of that interest should be lost by too long a 
protraction of its existence, that we think it wiser 
to take away the cup from the lip, while its flavor 
is yet, we trust, fresh and sweet, than to risk any 
further trial of the charm, or give so much as not 
to leave some wish for mtare In speaking thus, I 
allude entirely to the Airs, which are, of course, 
the main attraction of these Volumes ; and though 
we have still a great many popular and delightful 
Melodies to produce, 1 it cannot be denied that 
we should soon experience considerable difficulty 
in equalling the richness and novelty of the earlier 
numbers, for which, as we had the choice of all 
before us, we naturally selected only the most rare 
and beautiful. The Poetry, too, would be sure to 
sympathize with the decline of the Music ; and, 
however feebly my words have kept pace with the 
excellence of the Airs, they would follow their fall- 
ing off, I fear, with wonderful alacrity. Both pride 
and prudence, therefore, counsel us to come to a 
close, while yet cur Work is, we believe, flourishing 
and attractive, and thus, in the imperial attitude, 
" stantes nwri," before we incur the charge either 
of altering for the worse, or, what is equally unpar- 
donable, continuing too long the same. 

We beg to say, however, that it is enly in the 
event of our failing to find Airs as good as most 
of those we have given, that we mean thus to an- 
ticipate the natural period of dissolution, (like 
those Indians who, when their relatives become 
worn out, put them to death :) and they who are 
desirous of retarding this Euthanasia of the Irish 
Melodies, cannot better effect their wish than by 
contributing to our collection, — not what are called 
curious Airs, for we have abundance of such, and 
they are, in general, only curious, — but any real 
sweet and expressive Songs of our Country, which 



session of all ears and hearts, for me to think of follow 
his footsteps with any success. I suppose, however, as a 
matter of duty, I must attempt the air for our next Num- 
ber. 



278 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



either chance or research may have brought into 
their hands. 

T. M. 

Mayfield Cottage, Jlshbourne, 
December, 1813. 



ADVERTISEMENT 
TO THE SIXTH NUMBER. 

In presenting this Sixth Number to the Public as 
our last, and bidding adieu to the Irish Harp forever, 
we shall not answer very confidently for the strength 
of our resolution, nor feel quite sure that it may not 
turn out to be one of those eternal farewells which a 
lover takes occasionally of his mistress, merely to en- 
hance, perhaps, the pleasure of their next meeting. 
Our only motive, indeed, for discontinuing the Work 
was a fear that our treasures were nearly exhausted, 
and a natural unwillingness to descend to the gath- 
ering of mere seed-pearl, after the really precious 
gems it has been our lot to string together. The 
announcement, however, of this intention, in our 
Fifth Number, has excited a degree of anxiety in 
the lovers of Irish Music, not only pleasant and flat- 
tering, but highly useful to us ; for the various con- 
tributions we have received in consequence, have 
enriched our collection with so many choice and 
beautiful Airs, that should we adhere to our present 
resolution of publishing no more, it would certainly 
furnish an instance of forbearance unexampled in the 
history of poets and musicians. To one gentleman 
in particular, who has been for many years resident 
in England, but who has not forgot, among his va- 
rious pursuits, either the language or the melodies of 
his native country, we beg to offer our best thanks 
for the many interesting communications with which 
he has favored us. We trust that neither he nor 
any other of our kind friends will relax in those ef- 
forts by which we have been so considerably assisted ; 
for, though our work must now be looked upon as 
defunct, yet — as Reaumur found out the art of ma- 
king the cicada sing after it was dead — it is just pos- 
sible that we may, some time or other, try a similar 
experiment upon the Irish Melodies. 

T. M. 

Mayfield, .Ashbourne, 
March, J 815. 



1 One gentleman, in particular, whose name I shall feel 
happy in being allowed to mention, has not only sent us 
nearly forty ancient airs, but has communicated many curi- 
ous fragments of Irish poetry, and some interesting traditions 



ADVERTISEMENT 
TO THE SEVENTH NUMBER. 

Had I consulted only my own judgment, this 
Work would not have extended beyond the Six 
Numbers already published ; winch contain the flow- 
er, perhaps, of our national melodies, and have now 
attained a rank in public favor, of which I would 
not willingly risk the forfeiture, by degenerating, in 
any way, from those merits that were its source. 
Whatever treasures of our music were still in reserve, 
(and it will be seen, I trust, that they are numerous 
and valuable,) I would gladly have left to future 
poets to glean, and, with the ritual words " tibi 
trado" would have delivered up the torch into other 
hands, before it had lost much of its light in my own. 
But the call for a continuance of the work has been, 
as I understand from the Publisher, so general, and 
we have received so many contributions of old and 
beautiful airs, 1 — the suppression of which, for the en- 
hancement of those we have published, would too 
much resemble the policy of the Dutch in burning 
their spices, — that I have been persuaded, though 
not without much diffidence in my success, to com- 
mence a new series of the Irish Melodies. 

T. M. 



DEDICATION 



THE MARCHIONESS OF HEADFORT, 

PREFIXED 
TO THE TENTH NUMBER. 

It is with a pleasure, not unmixed with melan- 
choly, that I dedicate the last Number of the Irish 
Melodies to your Ladyship ; nor can I have any 
doubt that the feelings with which you receive the 
tribute will be of the same mingled and saddened tone. 
To you, — who, though but little beyond the season 
of childhood when the earlier numbers of this work 
appeared, — lent the aid of your beautiful voice, 
and, even then, exquisite feeling for music, to the 
happy circle who met, to sing them together, under 
your father's roof, the gratification, whatever it may 
be, which this humble offering brings, cannot be 
otherwise than darkened by the mournful reflection, 



current in the country where he resides, illustrated by 
sketches of the romantic scenery to which they refer ; ah cif 
which, tfcongh too late for the present Number, will be of 
infinite service to us in the prosecution of our task 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



279 



how many of the voices, which then joined with 
ours, are now silent in death ! 

I am not without hope that, as far as regards 
the grace and spirit of the Melodies, you will find 
this closing portion of the work not unworthy of 
what has preceded it. The Sixteen Airs of which 
the Number and the Supplement consists, have 
been selected from the immense mass of Irish music, 
which has been for years past accumulating in my 
hands ; and it was from a desire to include all that 
appeared most worthy of preservation, that the four 



supplementary songs, which follow this Tenth Num- 
ber, have been added. 

Trusting that I may yet again, in remembrance 
of old times, hear our voices together in some of the 
harmonized airs of this Volume, I have the honor to 
subscribe myself, 

Your Ladyship's 

faithful Friend and Servant, 

Thomas Moorb. 
Sloperton Cottage, 
May, 1834. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It is Cicero, I believe, who says, " natura ad modos 
ducimur;" and the abundance of wild, indigenous 
airs, which almost every country, except England, 
possesses, sufficiently proves the truth of his asser- 
tion. The lovers of this simple, but interesting kind 
of music, are here presented with the first number 
of a collection, which, I trust, their contributions will 
enable us to continue. A pretty air without words 
resembles one of those half creatures of Plato, which 
are described as wandering in search of the re- 
mainder of themselves through the world. To supply 
this other half, by uniting with congenial words the 
many fugitive melodies which have hitherto had 
none, — or only such as are unintelligible to the 
generality of their hearers, — is the object and am- 
bition of the present work. Neither is it our inten- 
tion to confine ourselves to what are strictly called 
National Melodies, but, wherever we meet with any 
wandering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not 
yet assigned a worthy home, we shall venture to 
claim it as an estray swan, and enrich our humble 
Hippocrene with its song. 

* * * * * 

T. M. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSH P.* 

(Spanish Air.; 

" A Temple to Friendship." said Laura, enchanted, 

" I'll build in this garden, — the thought is:divine!" 
Her temple was built, and she now only wanted 

An image of Friendship to place on the shrine. 
She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her 

A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent ; 
But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer 

Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant 

" Oh ! never," she cried, " could I think of en- 
shrining 
" An image, whose looks are so joyless and dim ; — 
" But yon little god, upon roses reclining, 

" We'll make, if you please, Sir, a Friendship of 
him." 
So the bargain was struck ; with the little god laden 

She joyfully flew to her shrine hi the grove : 
" Farewell," said the sculptor, " you're not the first 
maiden 
" Who came but for Friendship and took away 
Love." 



i The thought is taken from a song by Le Prieur. called 
" La Statue de l'Amitie." 



280 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER. 

(Portuguese Air.) 

Flow on, thou shining river ; 

But, ere thou reach the sea, 
Seek Ella's bower, and give her 

The wreaths I fling o'er thee. 
And tell her thus, if she'll be mine, 

The current of our lives shall be, 
With joys along their course to shine, 

Like those sweet flowers on thee. 

Bat if, in wand'ring thither, 

Thou find'st she mocks ray prayer, 
Then leave those wreaths to wither 

Upon the cold bank there ; 
And tell her thus, when youth is o'er, 

Her lone and loveless charms shall be 
Thrown by upon life's weedy shore, 

Like those sweet flowers from thee. 



ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE. 

(Indian Air.) 

All. that's bright must fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest ; » 
All that's sweet was made, 

But to be lost when sweetest. 
Stars that shine and fall ; — 

The flower that drops in springing ; — 
These, alas ! are types of all 

To which our hearts are clinging. 
All that's bright must fade. — 

The brightest still the fleetest , 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest ! 

Who would seek or prize 

Delights that end in aching ? 
Who would trust to ties 

That every hour are breaking? 
Better far to be 

In utter darkness lying, 
Than to be bless'd with light and see 

That light forever flying. 
All that's bright must fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest ! 



SO WARMLY WE MET. 

(Hungarian Air.) 

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted, 

That which was the sweeter ev'n I could not 
tell,— 
That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, 

Or that tear of passion, which bless'd our fare- 
well. 
To meet was & heaven, and to part thus another, — 

Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss ; 
Oh ! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other 

In smiles and in tears, Lhan that moment to this. 

The first was like daybreak, new, sudden, deli- 
cious, — 
The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet ; 
The last like the farewell of daylight, more precious, 

More glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set. 
Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow 

To think that such happiness could not remain ; 
While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to- 
morrow 
Would bring back the bless'd hour of meeting 
again. 



THOSE EVENING BELLS. 

(Air. — The Bells of St. Petersburgh.) 

Those evening bells ! those evening bell3 ! 
How many a tale their music tells, 
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time, 
When last I heard their soothing chime. 

Those joyous hours are pass'd away ; 
And many a heart, that then was gay, 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 'twill be when I am gone ; 
That tuneful peal will still ring on, 
While other bards shall walk these dells, 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells . 



NATIONAL AIRS 



281 



SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES. 

(Portuguese Air.) 

Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee, 1 

Which now so sweetly thy heart employ ; 
Should the cold world come to wake thee 

From all thy visions of youth and joy ; 
Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst 
banish 

Him who once thought thy young heart his own, 
All, like spring birds, falsely vanish, 

And leave thy winter unheeded and lone ; — 

Oh ! 'tis then that he thou hast slighted 

Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er ; 
Then the truant, lost and blighted, 

Would to his bosom be taken once more. 
Like that dear bird we both can remember, 

Who left us while summer shone round, 
But, when chill'd by bleak December, 

On our threshold a welcome still found. 



REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY. 

(Italian Air.) 

Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they say, 
Went on a party of pleasure one day : 

Folly play'd 

Around the maid, 
The bells of his cap rung merrily out ; 

While Reason took 

To his sermon -book — 
Oh ! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, 
Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt- 
Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage, 
Turn'd for a moment to Reason's dull page, 

Till Folly said, 

" Look here, sweet maid !" — 
The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; 

While Reason read 

His leaves of lead, 
With n one to mind him, poor sensible elf ! 
No, — ni one to mind him, poor sensible elf ! 

Then R ason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap ; 
Had he that oa, he her heart might entrap — 

i This is one of the many instances among my lyrical 
poems, — though the above, it must be owned, is an extreme 



" There it is," 

Quoth Folly, " old quiz !" 
(Folly was always good-natured, 'tis said,) 

" Under the sun 

" There's no such fun, 
" As Reason with my cap and bells on his head, 
" Reason with my cap and bells on his head !" 

But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, 
That Beauty now liked him still less than before ; 

While Folly took 

Old Reason's book, 
And twisted the leaves in a cap of such ton, 

That Beauty vow'd 

(Though not aloud,) 
She liked him still better in that than his own, 
Yes, — liked him still better in that than his own. 



FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE ! 

(Sicilian Air.) 

Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 
Thy words, whate'er their fiatt'ring spell, 

Could scarce have thus deceived ; 
But eyes that acted truth so well 

Were sure to be believed. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 



Yet those eyes look constant still, 

True as stars they keep their light ; 
Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil 

Of blushing always bright. 
'Tis only on thy changeful heart 

The blame of falsehood lies ; 
Love lives in every other part, 

But there, alas ! he dies. 
Then, fare thee well, tluu lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 



case,— where the metre has been necessarily sacrificed to 
the structure of the air. 



282 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



DOST THOU REMEMBER. 

(Portuguese Air.) 

Dost thou remember that place so lonely, 
A place for lovers, and lovers only, 

Where first I told thee all my secret sighs ? 
When, as the moonbeam, that trembled o'er thee, 
Illumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee, 

And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes ? 
Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart, 
Love bound us — never, never more to part ! 

And when I call'd thee by names the dearest 1 
That love could fancy, the fondest, nearest, — 

" My life, my only life !" among the rest ; 
In those sweet accents that still enthral me, 
Thou saidst, " Ah ! wherefore thy life thus call me ? 

" Thy soul, thy soul's the name that I love best ; 
" For life soon passes, — but how bless'd to be 
" That Soul which never, never parts from thee !" 



So, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight s«a 



OH, COME TO ME WHEN DAYLIGHT 

SETS. 
(Venetian Air.) 

Oh, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 
When Mirth's awake, and Love begins, 

Beneath that glancing ray, 
With sound of lutes and mandolins, 

To steal young hearts away. 
Then, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 

Oh, then's the hour for those who love, 

Sweet ! like thee and me ; 
When all's so calm below, above, 

In heav'n and o'er the sea. 
When maidens sing sweet barcarolles' 

And Echo sings again 
So sweet, that all with ears and souls 

Should love and listen then. 

i The thought in this verse is borrowed from the original 
Portuguese words. 
9 Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue Venitienne, que 



OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT 

(Scotch Air.) 

Oft, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me ; 
The smiles, the tears, 
Of boyhood's years, 
The words of love then spoken ; 
The eyes that shone, 
Now dimm'd and gone, 
The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
Thus, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

When I remember all 

The friends, so link'd together, 
I've seen around me fall, 

Like leaves in wintry weather ; 
I feel like one, 
Who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted. 
Whose lights are fled, 
Whose garland's dead, 
And all but he departed ! 
Thus, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 



HARK! THE VESPER HYMN IS STEAL- 
ING. 

(Russian Air.) 

Hark ! the vesper hymn is stealing 
O'er the waters soft and clear ; 

chantent le3 gondoliers a Venise. — Rousseau, Dictionnairt 
de Musique. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 283 


Nearer yet and nearer pealing, 




And now burets upon the ear: 


THERE COMES A TIME. 


Jubilate, Amen. 


(German Air.) 


Farther now, now farther stealing, 




Soft it fades upon the ear : 


There comes a time, a dreary time, 


Jubilate, Amen. 


To him whose heart hath flown 




O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime, 


Now, like moonlight waves retreating 


And made each flower its own. 


To the shore, it dies along ; 


'Tis when his soul must first renounce 


Now, like angry surges meeting, 


Those dreams so bright, so fond ; 


Breaks the mingled tide of song : 


Oh ! then's the time to die at once, 


Jubilate, Amen. 


For life has naught beyond. 


Hush ! again, like waves, retreating 




To the shore, it dies along : 


When sets the sun on Afric's shore, 


Jubilate, Amen. 


That instant all is night ; 




And so should life at once be o'er, 




When Love withdraws his light ; — 


' 


Nor, like our northern day, gleam on 


LOVE AND HOPE. 


Through twilight's dim delay, 
The cold remains of lustre gone, 


(Swiss Air.) 


Of fire long pass'd away. 


At morn, beside yon summer sea, 




Young Hope and Love reclined ; 
But scarce had noontide come, when he 






Into his bark leap'd smilingly, 




And left poor Hope behind. 


MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING 




THEME. 


" I go/' said Love, " to sail awhile 


(Swedish Air.) 


" Across this sunny main ;" 




And then so sweet his parting smile, 


My harp has one unchanging theme, 


That Hope, who never dream'd of guile, 


One strain that still comes o'er 


Believed he'd come again. 


Its languid chord, as 'twere a dream 




Of joy that's now no more. 


She iinger'd there till evening's beam 


In vain I try, with livelier air, 


Along the waters lay ; 


To wake the breathing string ; 


And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream, 


That voice of other times is there, 


Oft traced his name, which still the stream 


And saddens all I sing. 


As often wash'd away. 






Breathe on, breathe on, thou languid strain, 


At length a sail appears in sight, 


Henceforth be all my own ; 


And tow'rd the maiden moves ! 


Though thou art oft so full of pain 


'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright, 


Few hearts can bear thy tone. 


His golden bark reflects the light, 


Yet oft thou'rt sweet, as if the sigh, 


But ah ! it is not Love's. 


The breath that. Pleasure's wings 




Gave out, when last they wanton'd by, 


Another sail — 'twas Friendship show'd 


Were still upon thy strings. 


Her night-lamp o'er the sea ; 




And calm the light that lamp bestow'd ; 




But Love had lights that warmer glow'd, 




And where, alas ! was he ? 






OH, NO— NOT EV'N WHEN FIRST WE 


Now fast around the sea and shore 


LOVED. 


Night threw her darkling chain ; 


(Cashmerian Air.) 


The sunny sails were seen no more, 




Hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'er, — 


Oh, no — not ev'n when first we loved, 


Love never came again. 


Wert thou as dear as now thou art ; 



284 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Thy beauty then my senses moved, 
But now thy virtues bind my heart 

What was but Passion's sigh before, 
Has since been turn'd to Reason's vow ; 

And, though I then might love thee more, 
Trust me, I lovo thee better now. 

Although my heart in earlier youth 

Might kindle with more wild desire, 
Believe me, it has gain'd in truth 

Much more than it has lost in fire. 
The flame now warms my inmost core, 

That then but sparkled o'er my brow, 
And, though I seem'd to love thee more, 

Yet, oh, I love thee better now. 



PEACE BE AROUND THEE. 

(Scotch Air.1 

Peace be around thee, wherever thou rovest ; 

May life be for thee one summer's day, 
And all that thou wishest, and all that thou Iovest, 

Come smiling around thy sunny way ! 
If sorrow e'er this calm should break, 

May even thy tears pass off so lightly, 
Like spring-showers, they'll only make 

The smiles that follow shine more brightly 

May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all, 

And daily dooms some joy to death, 
O'er thee let years so gently fall, 

They shall not crush one flower beneath 
As half in shade and half in sun 

This world along its path advances, 
May that side the sun's upon 

Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances ! 



COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS 

(French Air.) 

While I touch the string, 

Wreath my brows with laurel, 
For the tale I sing 

Has, for once, a moral. 
Common Sense, one night, 

Though not used to gambols, 
Went out by moonlight, 

With Genius, on his rambles. 

While I touch the string, &c. 



Common Sense went on, 

Many wise things saying ; 
While the light that shone 

Soon set Genius straying 
One his eye ne'er raised 

From the path before him ; 
T'other idly gazed 

On each night-cloud o'er him 

While I touch the string, &c 

So they came, at last, 

To a shady river ; 
Common Sense soon pass'd, 

Safe, as he doth ever ; 
While the boy, whose look 

Was in Heaven that minute, 
Never saw the brook, 

But tumbled headlong in it ! 

While I touch the string, &c. 

How the Wise One smiled, 

When safe o'er the torrent, 
At that youth, so wild, 

Dripping from the current ! 
Sense went home to bed ; 

Genius, left to shiver 
On the bank, 'tis said, 

Died of that cold river ! 

While I touch the string, &c 



THEN, FARE THEE WELL. 

(Old English Air.) 

Tjien, fare thee well, my own dear love, 

This world has now for us 
No greater grief, no pain above 

The pain of parting thus, 
Dear love ! 

The pain of parting thus. 

Had we but known, since first we met, 
Some few short hours of bliss, 

We might, in numb'ring them, forget 
The deep, deep pain of this, 

Dear love ! 
The deep, deep pain of this. 

But no, alas, we've never seen 
One glimpse of pleasure's ray, 

But still there came some cloud between, 
And chased it all away, 

Dear love ! 
And chased it all away 



NATIONAL AIRS. 285 


Yet, ev'n could those sad moments last, 


In vain conceal'd they lie — 


Far dearer to my heart 


Love tracks them everywhere ; 


Were hours of grief, together pass'd, 


In vain aloft they fly — 


Thau years of mirth apart, 


Love shoots them flying there. 


Dear love ! 




Than years of mirth apart. 


But 'tis his joy most sweet, 




At early dawn to trace 


Farewell ! our hope was born in fears, 


The print of Beauty's feet, 


And nursed 'mid vain regrets ; 


And give the trembler chase. 


Like winter suns, it rose in tears, 


And if, through virgin snow, 


Like them in tears it sets, 


He tracks her footsteps fair, 


Dear love ! 


How sweet for Love to know 


Like them in tears it sets. 


None went before him there. 


GAYLY SOUNDS THE CASTANET 






COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR 


(Maltese Air.) 


AWAY. 


Gayly sounds the castanet, 


(French Air.) 


Beating time to bounding feet, 


When, after daylight's golden set, 


Come, chase that starting tear away, 


Maids and youths by moonlight meet 


Ere mine to meet it springs ; 


Oh, then, how sweet to move 


To-night, at least, to-night be gay, 


Through all that maze of mirth, 


Whate'er to-morrow brings. 


Led by light from eyes we love 


Like sunset gleams, that linger late 


Beyond all eyes on earth. 


When all is dark'ning fast, 




Are hours like these we snatch from Fate — 


Then, the joyous banquet spread 


The brightest, and the last. 


On the cool and fragrant ground, 


Then, chase that starting tear, &c 


With heav'n's bright sparklers overhead, 




And still brighter sparkling round 


To gild the deep'ning gloom, if Heaven 


Oh, then, how sweet to say 


But one bright hour allow, 


Into some loved one's ear, 


Oh, think that one bright hour is given 


Thoughts reserved through many a day 


In all its splendor, now. 


To be thus whisper' d here. 


Let's live it out — then sink in night, 




Like waves that from the shore 


When the dance and feast are done, 


One minute swell, are touch'd with light, 


Arm ha arm as home we stray, 


Then lost for evermore ! 


How sweet to see the dawning sun 


Come, chase that starting tear, &c. 


O'er her cheek's warm blushes play ! 




Then, too, the farewell kiss — 
The words, whose parting tone 






Lingers still in dreams of bliss, 




That haunt young hearts alone. 




JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING! 




(Portuguese Air.) 
Wiiisp'rings, heard by wakeful maids, 




LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY. 


To whom the night-stars guide us ; 


(Languedoctan Air) 


Stolen walks through moonlight slides, 




With those we love beside u? 


Love is a hunter-boy, 


Hearts beating, 


Who makes young hearts his prey ; 


At meeting ; 


And, in his nets of joy, 


Tears starting, 


Ensnares them night and day. 


At parting ; 



286 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades ! 
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting ! 

Wand'rings far away from home, 

With life all new before us ; 
Greetings warm, when home we come, 
From hearts whose prayers watch'd o'er us. 
Tears starting, 
At parting ; 
Hearts beating, 
At meeting ; 
Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some ! 
To some, how bright and fleeting ! 



HEAR ME BUT ONCE. 

(French Air.) 

Hear me but once, while o'er the grave, 
In which our Love lies cold and dead, 

I count each flatt'ring hope he gave 
Of joys, now lost, and charms now fled. 

Who could have thought the smile he wore, 
When first we met, would fade away ? 

Or that a chill would e'er come o'er 

Those eyes so bright through many a day ? 
Hear me but once, &c 



WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD. 

(Swedish Air.) 

When Love was a child, and went idling round, 
'Mong flowers, the whole summer's day, 

One morn in the valley a bower he found, 
So sweet, it allured him to stay. 

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair, 

A fountain ran darkly beneath ; — 
'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow'rets there ; 

Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath. 

But Love didn't know — and, at his weak years, 
What urchin was likely to know ? — 

That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears 
The fountain that murmur'd below. 

He caught at the wreath — but with too much haste, 

As boys when impatient will do — 
It fell in those waters of briny taste, 

And the flowers were all wet through. 



This garland he now wears night and day ; 

And, though it all sunny appears 
With Pleasure's own light, each leaf, they say, 

Still tastes oi the Fountain of Tears 



SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO- 
DAY? 

(Sicilian Air.) 

Say, what shall be our sport to-day? 

There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air, 
Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay, 

For spirits like mine to dare ! 
'Tis like the returning bloom 

Of those days, alas, gone by, 
When I loved, each hour — I scarce knew whom — 

And was bless' d — I scarce knew why. 

Ay — those were days when life had wings, 

And flew, oh, flew so wild a height, 
That, like the lark which sunward springs, 

'Twas giddy with too much light. 
And, though of some plumes bereft, 

With that sun, too, nearly set, 
I've enough of light and wing still left 

For a few gay soarings yet 



BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS. 

(Welsh Air.) 

Bright be thy dreams — may all thy weeping 
Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping. 
May those by death or seas removed, 
The friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee, 

All, thou hast ever prized or loved, 
In dreams come smiling to thee ! 

There may the child, whose love lay deepest, 
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest ; 
Still as she was — no charm forgot — 
No lustre lost that life had given ; 

Or, if changed, but changed to what 
Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven ! 



NATIONAL AIRS. 287 




And, though we find no treasure there, 


GO, THEN— 'TIS VAIN. 


We bless the rose that shines so fair. 


(Sicilian Air.) 


O'er mountains bright 




With snow and light, 


Go, then — 'tis vain to hover 


We Crystal-Hunters speed along ; 


Thus round a hope that's dead; 


While rocks and caves, 


At length my dream is over ; 


And icy waves, 


'Twas sweet — 'twas false — 'tis fled ! 


Each instant echo to our song. 


Farewell ! since naught it moves thee, 




Such truth as mine to see — 
Some one, who far less loves thee, 






Perhaps more bless'd will be. 






ROW GENTLY HERE. 


Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness 




New life around me shed ; 


(Venetian Air.) 


Farewell, false heart, whose lightness 
Now leaves me death instead. 


Row gently here, 
My gondolier, 


Go, now, those charms surrender 


To some new lover's sigh — 

One who, though far less tender. 

May be more bless'd than I. 


So softly wake the tide, 
That not an ear, 
On earth, may hear, 


But hers to whom we glide. 




Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well 




As starry eyes to see, 
Oh, think what tales 'twould have to tell 






Of wandering youths like me ! 


THE CRYSTAL-HUNTERS 






Now rest thee here, 


(Swiss Air.) 


My gondolier ; 




Hush, hush, for up I go, 


O'er mountains bright 
With snow and light, 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along ; 


To climb yon light 
Balcony's height, 
While thou keep'st watch below. 


While rocks and caves, 


Ah ! did we take for Heaven above 


And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song ; 


But half such pains as we 
Take, day and night, for woman's love, 
What Angels we should be ! 


And, when we meet with store of gems, 
' We grudge not kings their diadems. 


O'er mountains bright 




With snow and light, 


- —— ■ ~ ~ ~ ■ 


We Crystal-Hunters speed along ; 




While grots and caves, 


OH, DAYS OF YOUTH. 


And icy waves, 


(French Air.) 


Each instant echo to our song. 






Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded, 


Not half so oft the lover dreams 


Why thus forever haunt my view ? 


Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, 


When in the grave your light lay shrouded, 


As we of those refreshing gleams 


Why did not Memory die there too ? 


That tell where deep the crystal lies ; 


Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me, 


Though, next to crystal, we too grant, 


Telling of joys that yet remain — 


That ladies' eyes may most enchant. 


No, never more can this life bring me 


O'er mountains bright, &c. 

• 


One joy that equals youth's sweet pain. 


Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose 


Dim lies the way to death before me, 


The golden sunset leaves its ray, 


Ccld winds of Time blow round my brow ; 


So like a gem the fiow'ret glows, 


Sunshine of youth ! that once fell o'er me, 


We thither bend our headlong way ; 


Where is your warmth, your glory now ? 



288 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



' Tis not that then no pain could sting me ; 

'Tis not that now no joys remain ; 
Oh, 'tis that life no more can bring me 

One joy so sweet as that worst pain. 



WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE. 

(Venetian Am.) 

When first that smile, like sunshine, Mesa'd my 
sight, 

Oh what a vision then came o'er mo ! 
Long years of love, of calm and pure delight, 

Seem'd in that smile to pass before me. 
Ne'er did the peasant dream of summer skies, 

Of golden fruit, and harvests springing, 
With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes, 

And of the joy their light was bringing. 

Where now are all those fondly promised hours? 

Ah ! woman's faith is like her brightness — 
Fading as fast as rainbows, or day-flowers, 

Or aught that's known for grace and lightness. 
Short as the Persian's prayer, at close of day, 

Should be each vow of Love's repeating ; 
Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray — 

Even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting ! 



PEACE TO THE SLUMB'RERS ! 

(Catalonian Air.) 

Peace to the slumb'rers! 

They lie on the battle-plain, 
With no shroud to cover them ; 

The dew and the summer rain 
Are all that weep over them. 

Peace to the slumb'rers ! 



Vain was their brav'ry ! — 

The fallen oak lies where it lay 

Across the wintry river ; 

But brave hearts, once swept away, 

Are gone, alas ! forever. 

Vain was their brav'ry 1 

Wo to the conq'ror ! 

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us, 

Ere wo forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance they have left us ! 
Wo to the conq'ror ! 



WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER. 

(Sicilian Air.) 

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light 
We used to gaze on so many an eve, 

When love was new and hope was bright, 
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive — 

Oh, then, rememb'ring how swift went by 

Those hours of transport, even thou mayst sigh. 

Yes, proud one ! even thy heart may own 
That love like ours was far too sweet 

To be, like summer garments, thrown 
Aside, when pass'd the summer's heat ; 

And wish in vain to know again 

Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then. 



WHO'LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS? 

(Portuguese Air.) 

Hymen, late, his love-knots selling, 
Call'd at many a maiden's dwelling, 
None could doubt, who saw or knew them, 
Hymen's call was welcome to them. 

" Who'll buy my love-knots ? 

" Who'll buy my love-knots?" 
Soon as that sweet cry resounded, 
How his baskets were surrounded ! 

Maids, who now first dream'd of trying 
These gay knots of Hymen's tying ; 
Dames, who long had sat to watch him 
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him ; 

" Who'll buy my love-knots ? 

" Who'll buy my love-knots?" — 
All at that sweet cry assembled ; 
Some laugh'd, some blush'd, and some trembled. 

" Here are knots," said Hymen, taking 
Some loose flowers, " of Love's own making ; 
" Here are gold ones — you may trust 'em" — 
(These, of course, found ready custom,) 

" Come, buy my love-knots ! 

" Come, buy my love-knots ! 
" Some are labell'd ' Knots to tie men — 
" Love the maker — Bought of Hymen.' " 

Scarce their bargains were completed, 
When the nymphs all cried, " We're cheated ! 
" See these flowers — they're drooping sadly ; 
" This gold-knot, too, ties but badly — 



NATIONAL AIRS. 289 


n Who'd buy such love -knots ? 


Then listen, maids, come listen, while 


"Who'd buy such love-knots? 


Your needle's task you ply ; 


" Even this tie, with Love's name round it — 


At what I sing there's some may smile, 


'■' All a sham — He never bound it." 


While some, perhaps, will sigh. 


Love, who saw the whole proceeding, 


Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves, 


Would have laugh'd, but for good-breeding ; 


Such nets had learned to frame, 


While Old Hymen, who was used to 


That none, in all our vales and groves, 


Cries like that these dames gave loose to — 


E'er caught so much small game : 


" Take back our love-knots ! 


But gentle Sue, less giv'n to roam, 


" Take back our love-knots !" 


While Cloe's nets were taking 


Coolly said, " There's no returning 


Such lots of Loves, sat still at home, 


" Wares on Hymen's hands — Good morning !" 


One little Love-cage making. 




Come, listen, maids, &c. 




Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task ; 




But mark how things went on : 


SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN. 


These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask 




Their name and age, were gone ! 
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove, 


(To an Air. sung at Rome, on Christmas Eve.^ 


See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking 


That, though she charm'd into them 


O'er our sight, 


New game each hour, the youngest Love 


And Earth, from sin awaking, 


Was able to break through them. 


Hails the light ! 


Come, listen, maids, &c. 


See those groups of angels, winging 




From the realms above, 


Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought 


On their brows, from Eden, bringing 


Of bars too strong to sever, 


Wreaths of Hope and Love. 


One Love with golden pinions caught, 




And caged him there forever ; 


Hark, their hymns of glory pealing 


Instructing, thereby, all coquettes, 


Through the air, 


Whate'er their looks or ages, 


To mortal ears revealing 


That, though 'tis pleasant weaving Nets, 


Who lies there ! 


'Tis wiser to make Cages. 


In that dwelling, dark and lowly, 




Sleeps the Heavenly Son, 


Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile 


He, whose home's above, — the Holy, 


The task your fingers ply. — 


Ever Holy One ! 


May all who hear like Susan smile, 




And not, like Cloe, sigh ! 


i 
NETS AND CAGES. 1 






WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZETTA 


(Swedish Air.) 






(Venetian Air.) 


Come, listen to my story, while 




Your needle's task you ply ; 


When through the Piazetta 


At what I sing some maids will smile, 
While some, perhaps, may sigh. 


Night breathes her cool air, 


Then, dearest Ninetta, 


Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames 


I'll come to thee there. 


Such florid songs as ours, 


Beneath thy mask shrouded, 


Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern dames, 


I'll know thee afar, 


Can speak her thoughts by flowers. 


As Love knows, though clouded, 
His own Evening Star. 


* Suggested by the following remark of Swift: — "The 
reason why so few marriages are happy, is, because young 


In garb, then, resembling 


ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making cages." 


Some gay gondolier, 



19 



290 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



I'll whisper thee, trembling, 
" Our bark, love, is near : 

" Now, now, while there hover 
" Those clouds o'er the moon, 

" 'Twill waft thee 6afe over 
" Yon silent Lagoon." 



GO, NOW, AND DREAM. 

(Sicilian Air.) 

Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumber — 
Moments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number. 
Of Pain's bitter draught the flavor ne'er flies, 
While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it dies. 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 

That moon, which hung o'er your parting, so splen- 
did, 
Often will shine again, bright as she then did — 
But, never more will the beam she saw burn 
In those happy eyes, at your meeting, return. 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 



TAKE HENCE THE BOWL. 

(Neapolitan Air.) 

Take hence the bowl ; — though beaming 

Brightly as bowl e'er shone, 
3h, it but sets me dreaming 

Of happy days now gone. 
There, in its clear reflection, 

As in a wizard's glass, 
Lost hopes and dead affection, 

Like shades, before me pass. 

Each cup I drain brings hither 

Some scenes of bliss gone by ;— 
Bright lips, too bright to wither, 

Warm hearts, too warm to die. 
Till, as the dream comes o'er me 

Of those long-vanish'd years, 
Alas, the wine before me 

Seems turning all to tears ! 



FAREWELL, THERESA! 

(Venetian Air.) 

Farewell, Theresa ! yon cloud that over 

Heaven's pale night-star gath'ring we see, 
Will scarce from that pure orb have pass'd, ere thy 
lover 
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee 

\ 

Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee, 

Dark'ning thy prospects, sadd'ning thy brow ; 
With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found 
thee ; 
Oh, think how changed, love, how changed art 
thou now ! 

But here I free thee : like one awaking 

From fearful slumber, thou break'st the spell ; 

'Tis over — the moon, too, her bondage is break- 
ing- 
Past are the dark clouds ; Theresa, farewell ! 



HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING STARS. 

(Savoyard Air.) 

Oft, when the watching stars grow pale, 

And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, 
To hear a flute through yonder vale 

I from my casement lean. 
" Come, come, my love !" each note then seems to 

say, 
" Oh, come, my love ! the night wears fast away !" 
Never to mortal ear 

Could words, though warm they be, 
Speak Passion's language half so clear 
As do those notes to me ! 

Then quick my own light lute I seek, 

And strike the chords with loudest swell ; 
And, though they naught to others speak, 

He knows their language well. 
" I come, my love !" each note then seems to say, 
" I come, my love ! — thine, thine till break of day." 
Oh, weak the power of words, 

The hues of painting dim, 
Compared to what those simple chords 
Then say and paint to him ! 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



291 



WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE. 

(German Air.) 

When the first summer bee 

O'er the young rose shall hover, 
Then, like that gay rover, 
I'll come to thee. 
He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brim — 
What a meeting, what a meeting for me and for 
liim! 
When the first summer bee, &c. 

Then, to every bright tree 
In the garden he'll wander ; 
While I, oh, much fonder, 
Will stay with thee. 
In search of new sweetness through thousands he'll 

run, 
While I find the sweetness of thousands in one. 
Then, to every bright tree, &c. 



THOUGH 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM. 

(French Air.) 

Though 'tis all but a dream at the best, 
And still, when happiest, soonest o'er, 
Yet, even in a dream, to be bless'd 
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. 

The bosom that opes 

With earliest hopes, 
The soones: finds those hopes untrue ; 

As flower* that first 

In spring-time burst 
The earliest wither too ! 

Ay — 'tis all but a dream, &c 

Though by Friendship we oft are deceived, 

And find Love's sunshine soon o'ercast, 
Yet Friendship will still be believed, 
And Love trusted on to the last. 

The web 'mong the leaves 

The spider weaves 
Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men J 

Though often she sees 

'Tis broke by the breeze, 
She spins the bright tissue again. 

Ay — 'tis all but a dream, &a 



WHEN THE WINE-CUP IS SMILING. 

(Italian Air.) 

When the wine-cup is smiling before us, 

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, 
true, 
Then the sky of this life opens o'er us, 

And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. 
Talk of Adam in Eden reclining, 

We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus ; 
For him but two bright eyes were shining — 

See, what numbers are sparkling for us . 

When on one side the grape-juice is dancing, 

While on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams, 
'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing, 

To disturb ev'n a saint from his dreams. 
Yet, though life like a river is flowing, 

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on. 
So the grape on its bank is still growing, 

And Love lights the waves as they run. 



WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME? 

(Neapolitan Air.) 

Where shall we bury our shame ? 

Where, in what desolate place, 
Hide the last wreck of a name 

Broken and stain'd by disgrace ? 
Death may dissever the chain, 

Oppression will cease when we're gone ; 
But the dishonor, the stain, 

Die as we may, will live on. 

Was it for this we sent out 

Liberty's ciy from our shore ? 
"Was it for this that her shout 

Thrill'd to the world's very core ? 
Thus to live cowards and slaves ! — 

Oh, ye free hearts that lie dead, 
Do you not, ev'n in your graves, 

Shudder, as o'er you we tread ? 



NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOM V 
SCHOOLS. 

(Mahratta Air.) 

Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools ; 
Give me the sage who's able 



292 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



To draw his moral thoughts and rules 
From the study of the table ;— 

Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass 
This world and all that's in it, 

From the bumper that but crowns his glass, 
And is gone again next minute ! 

The diamond sleeps within the mine, 

The pearl beneath the water ; 
While Truth, more precious, dwells in wine, 

The grape's own rosy daughter. 
And none can prize her charms like him, 

Oh, none like him obtain her, 
Who thus can, like Leander, swim 

Through sparkling floods to gain her ! 



HERE SLEEPS THE BARD. 

(Highland Air.) 

Here sleeps the Bard who knew so well 
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell ; 
Whether its music roll'd like torrents near, 
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear. 
Sleep, sleep, mute bard ; alike unheeded now 
The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow ; — 
That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay ; 
That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away ! 



DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING. 

Do not say that life is waning, 
Or that Hope's sweet day is set ; 

While I've thee and love remaining, 
Life is in th' horizon yet. 

Do not think those charms are flying, 
Though thy roses fade and fall ; 

Beauty hath a grace undying, 
Which in thee survives them all. 

Not for charms, the newest, brightest, 
That on other cheeks may shine, 

Would I change the least, the slightest, 
That is ling'ring now o'er thine. 



THE GAZELLE. 

Dost thou not hear the silver bell, 
Through yonder lime-trees ringing? 

'Tis my lady's light gazelle, 

To me her love thoughts bringing, — 

All the while that silver bell 
Around his dark neck ringing. 

See, in his mouth he bears a wreath, 
My love hath kiss'd in tying ; 

Oh, what tender thoughts beneath 
Those silent flowers are lying,— 

Hid within the mystic wreath, 
My love hath kiss'd in tying ! 

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, 

And joy to her, the fairest, 
Who thus hath breathed her soul to me, 

In every leaf thou bearest ; 
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, 

And joy to her, the fairest ! 

Hail ye living, speaking flowers, 
That breathe of her who bound ye ; 

Oh, 'twas not in fields, or bowers, 
'Twas on her lips, she found ye ; — 

Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 
'Twas on her lips she found ye. 



NO— LEAVE MY HEART TO REST. 

No — leave my heart to rest, if rest it may, 

When youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd away. 

Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled, 

To some poor leaf that's fall'n and dead, 

Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed ? 

No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, 

When youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd away. 

Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright, 

Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light ; 

But now thou com'st like sunny skies, 

Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes, 

When wreck'd and lost his bark before him lies ! 

No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, 

Since youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd away. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 293 




And though, as Time gathers his clouds o'er our 


WHERE ARE THE VISIONS. 


head, 




A shade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread, 


" Where are the visions that round me once hover'd, 


Transparent, at least, be the shadow they cast, 


" Forms that shed grace from their shadows 


So that Love's soften'd light may shine through to 


alone ; 


the last. 


•' Looks fresh as light from a star just discover'd, 




" And voices that Music might take for her own ?" 
Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er 






me, 


SLUMBER, OH SLUMBER. 


Heard me say, " Where are those visions, oh 




where ?" 


" Slumber, oh slumber ; if sleeping thou mak'st 


And pointing his wand to the sunset before me, 


" My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wak'st." 


Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, " There." 


Thus sung I to a maiden, 




Who slept one summer's day, 


Fondly I look'd, when the wizard had spoken, 


And, like a flower o'erladen 


And there, mid the dim shining ruins of day, 


With too much sunshine, lay. 


Saw, by their light, like a tatisman broken, 


Slumber, oh slumber, &c. 


The last golden fragments of hope melt away. 






" Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her 




cheeks ; 
" If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she 






speaks." 


WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY. 


Thus sing I, while, awaking, 




She murmurs words that seem 


Wind thy horn, my hunter boy, 


As if her lips were taking 


And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs ; 


Farewell of some sweet dream. 


Hunting is the hero's joy, 


Breathe not, oh breathe not, &c 


Till war his nobler game supplies. 




Hark ! the hound-bells ringing sweet, 
While hunters shout, and the woods repeat, 






Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho! 






BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDS 


Wind again thy cheerful horn, 


HITHER. 


Till echo, faint with answ'ring, dies : 
Bum, bright torches, burn till morn, 




Bring the bright garlands hither, 


And lead us where the wild boar lies. 


Ere yet a leaf is dying ; 


Hark •, the cry, " He's found, he's found," 


If so soon they must wither, 


Whil« iill and valley our shouts resound, 


Ours be their last sweet sighing. 


Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho 


Hark, that low dismal chime ! 




'Tis the dreary voice of Time. 




Oh, bring beauty, bring roses, 
Bring all that yet is ours ; 






Let life's day, as it closes, 


OH, GUARD OUR AFFECTION. 


Shine to the last through flowers. 


Oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel 


Haste, ere the bowl's declining, 


The blight that this world o'er the warmest will 


Drink of it now or never ; 


steal : 


Now, while Beauty is shining, 


While the faith of all round us is fading or past, 


Love, or she's lost forever. 


Let our&, ever green, keep its bloom to the last 


Hark ! again that dull chime, 




'Tis the dreary voice of Time. 


Far safer for Love 'tis to wake and to weep, 


Oh, if life be a torrent, 


As he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep ; 


Down to oblivion going, 


For death on his slumber, cold death follows fast, 


Like this cup be its current, 


While the love that is wakeful lives on to the last. 

• 


Bright to the last drop flowing ! 



294 MOORE'S WORKS. 


IF IN LOVING, SINGING. 


But where's the light like thine, 




In sun or shade to shine ? 


If in loving, singing, night and day 


No — no, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, 


We could trifle merrily life away, 


Nothing like thee. 


Like atoms dancing in the beam, 




Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream, 


Oft, of old, without farewell or warning, 


Or summer blossoms, bom to sigh 


Beauty's self used to steal from the skies ; 


Their sweetness out, and die — 


Fling a mist round her head, some fine morning, 


How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side, 


And post down to earth in disguise ; 


Thou and I could make our minutes glide ! 


But, no matter what shroud 


No atoms ever glanced so bright, 


Around her might be, 


No day-flies ever danced so light, 


Men peep'd through the cloud, 


Nor summer blossoms mix'd their sigh, 


And whisper'd " 'Tis She." 


So close, as thou and I ! 


So thou, where thousands are, 




Shin'st forth the only star — 




Yes, yes, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, 




Nothing like thee. 


THOU LOV'ST NO MORE. 




Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken, 




Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er ; 


KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURELY MINE. 


Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken, 




Thou lov'st no more — thou lov'st no more. 


Keep those eyes still purely mine, 




Though far off I be: 


Though kindly still those eyes behold me, 


When on others most they shine, 


The smile is gone, which once they wore • 


Then think they're turn'd on me. 


Though fondly still those arms enfold me, 




'Tis not the same — thou lov'st no more. 


Should those lips as now respond 




To sweet minstrelsy, 


Too long my dream of bliss believing, 


When their accents seem most fond, 


I've thought thee all thou wert before ; 


Then think they're breathed for me. 


But now — alas ! there's no deceiving, 




'Tis all too plain, thou lov'st no more. 


Make what hearts thou wilt thy own, 




If when all on thee 


Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, 


Fix their charmed thoughts alone, 


As lost affection's life restore, 


Thou think'st the while on me. 


Give peace to her that is forsaken, 




Or bring back him who loves no more. 






HOPE COMES AGAIN. 


WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD 


Hope comes again, .to this heart long a stranger, 




Once more she sings me her flattering strain ; 


When abroad in the world thou appearest, 


But hush, gentle syren — for, ah, there's less danger 


And the young and the lovely are there, 


In still suff'ring on, than in hoping again. 


To my heart while of all thou'rt the dearest, 




To my eyes thou'rt of all the most fair. 


Long, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining, 


They pass, one by one, 


Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain ; 


Like waves of the sea, 


And joy coming now, like a sudden light shining 


That say to the Sun, 


O'er eyelids long darken'd, would bring me but 


" Seo, how fair we can be." 


pain. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 295 


Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o'er 


His looks, as soft 


me ; 


As lightning in May, 


Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest 


Though dangerous oft, 


Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's before me, 


Ne'er wound but in play: 


But, ah — in forgetting how once I was blest. 


And oh, when his wings 




Have brush'd o'er my lyre, 




You'd fancy its strings 
Were turning to fire. 






Guess who he is, 




Name but his name, 


SAY, THOU BEST AND BRIGHTEST. 


And his best kiss, 




For reward, you may claim. 


O say, thou best and brightest, 


My first love and my last, 




When he. whom now thou slightest, 




From life's dark scene hath pass'd, 




Will kinder thoughts then move thee ? 




Will pity wake one thrill 


LIKE ONE WHO, DOOM'D. 


For him who lived to love thee, 






Like one who, doom'd o'er distant seas 


And dying, loved thee still ? 






His weary path to measure, 


If when, that hour recalling 
From which he dates his woes, 


When home at length, with fav'ring breeze, 


He brings the far-sought treasure ; 


Thou feel'st a tear-drop falling, 
Ah, blush not while it flows : 


His ship, in sight of shore, goes down, 


But, all the past forgiving 

Bend gently o'er his shrine, 
And say, " This heart, when living, 


That shore to which he hasted ; 
And all the wealth he thought his own 


Is o'er the waters wasted. 


•' With all its faults, was mine." 






Like him, this heart, thro' many a track 




Of toil and sorrow straying, 




One hope alone brought fondly back, 
Its toil and grief repaying. 




WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE HOUR, 


Like him, alas, I see that ray 




Of hope before me perish, 


When night brings the hour 


And one dark minute sweep away 


Of starlight and joy, 


What years were given to cherish. 


There comes to my bower 




A fairy -wing'd boy ; 




With eyes so bright, 






Si^ full of wild arts, 




Like i-ets of light, 




To tangle young hearts ; 


FEAR NOT THAT, WHILE AROUND 


With lips, in whose keeping 


THEE. 


Love's secret may dwell, 




Like Zephyr asleep in 


Fear not that, while around thee 


Some rosy sea-shell. 


Life's varied blessings pour, 


Guess who he is, 


One sigh of hers shall wound thee, 


Name but his name, 


Whose smile thou seek'st no more. 


And his best kiss, 


No, dead and cold forever 


For reward, you may claim. 


Let our past love remain ; 




Once gone, its spirit never 


Where'er e'er the ground 


Shall haunt thy rest again. 


He prints his light feet, 




The flow'rs there are found 


May the new ties that bind thee 


Most shining and sweet : 


Far sweeter, happier prove, 



296 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Nor e'er of me remind thee, 


Where ling'ring full oft through a summer-night's 


But by their truth and love. 


moon, 


Think how, asleep or waking, 


Our partings, though late, appear'd always too soon. 


Thy image haunts me yet ; 




But, how this heart is breaking 


The rest were all cull'd from the banks of that 


For thy own peace forget. 


glade, 




Where, watching the sunset, so often we've stray'd, 




And mourn'd, as the time went, that Love had no 
power 






To bind in his chain even one happy hour. 


WHEN LOVE IS KIND. 




When Love is kind, 





Cheerful and free, 




Love's sure to find 
Welcome from me 


HOW SHALL I WOO ? 




If I speak to thee in Friendship's nam«, 


But when Love brings 


Thou think'st I speak too coldly ; 


Heartache or pang, 


If I mention Love's devoted flame, 


Tears, and such things- 


Thou say'st I speak too boldly. 


Love may go hang ! 


Between these two unequal fires, 




Why doom me thus to hover ? 


If Love can sigh 


I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires, 


For one alone, 


If more thou seek'st, a lover. 


Well pleased am I 


Which shall it^j? How shall I woo? 
Fair one, choose between the two. 


To be that one. 


But should I see 


Tho' the wings of Love will brightly play, 


Love giv'n to rove 


When first he comes to woo thee, 


To two or three, 


There's a chance that he may fly away 


Then — good-by, Love ! 


As fast as he flies to thee. 




While Friendship, though on foot she come, 


Love must, in short, 


No flights of fancy trying, 


Keep fond and true, 


Will, therefore, oft be found at home, 


Through good report, 


When Love abroad is flying. 


And evil too. 


Which shall it be ? How shall I woo ? 




Dear one, choose between the two. 


Else, here I swear, 




Young Love may go, 


If neither feeling suits thy heart, 


For aught I care — 


Let's see, to please thee, whether * 


To Jericho. 


We may not learn some precious art 




To mix their charms together ; 




One feeling, still more sweet, to form 
From two so sweet already — 






A friendship that like love is warm, 


THE GARLAND I SEND THEE. 


A love like friendship steady. 




Thus let it be, thus let me woo, 


The Garland I send thee was cull'd from those 


Dearest, thus we'll join the two. 


bowers 




Where thou and I wander'd in long vanish'd hours ; 
Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays, 






But bears some remembrance of those happy days. 






SPRING AND AUTUMN. 


The roses were gather'd by that garden gate, 




Where our meetings, though early, seem'd always too 


Ev'ry season hath its pleasures ; 


late; 


Spring may boast her flow'ry prime, 



SACRED SONGS. 



297 



Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures 
Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time. 

So Life's year begins and closes ; 

Days, though short'ning, still can shine 

What though youth gave love and roses, 
Age still leaves us friends and wine. 

Phillis, when she might have caught me, 

All the Spring look'd coy and shy, 
Yet herself in Autumn sought me, 

When the flowers were all gone by 
Ah, too late ; — she found her lover 

Calm and free beneath his vine, 
Drinking to the Spring-time over 

In his best autumnal wine. 

Thus may we, as years are flying, 
To their flight our pleasures suit, 

Nor regret the blossoms dying, 
While we still may taste the fruit 

Oh, while days like this are ours, 
Where's the lip that dares repine ? 



Spring may take our loves and flow'rs, 
So Autumn leaves us friends and wine. 



LOVE ALONE. 

If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes, 
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies : 
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne, 
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone. 

What would the rose with all her pride be worth, 
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth ? 
Maidens,. unloved, like flowers in darkness thrown, 
Wait but that light, which comes from Love alone. 

Fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear, 

Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to yeai . 

Wouldst thou they still should shine as first they 

shone, 
Go, fix thy mirror in Love's eyes alone. 



SACRED SONGS. 



EDWARD TUITE DALTON, ESQ. 

THIS FIRST NUMBER OF SACRED SONGS IS INSCRIBED, 

BY HJS SINCERE AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 

THOMAS MOORE. 

Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne, May, 1816. 



THO .' ART, OH GOD. 

(Air. — Unknown. 1 ) 

" The day is thine, the night also is thine : thou hast pre- 
pared the light and the sun. 

" Thou hast set all the borders of the earth : thou hast 
made summer and winter." — Psalm Ixxiv. 1(5, 17. 

Thou art, O God, the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world we see ; 

Its glow by day, its smile by night, 
Are but reflections caught from Thee. 

Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 

Ati all things fair and bright are Thine ! 

1 1 have heard that this air is by the late Mrs. Sheridan. 
It is sung to the beautiful old words, " I do confess thou'rt 
smooth and fair." 



When Day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the op'ning clouds of Even, 

And we can almost think we gaze 
Through golden vistas into Heaven — 

Those hues that make the Sun's decline 

So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. 

When Night, with wings of starry gloom, 
O'ershadows all the earth and skies, 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes — 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 

So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine. 

When youthful Spring around us breathes, 
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 



298 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And every flower the Summer wreaths 

Is born beneath that kindling eye. 
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 
And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 



THE BIRD, LET LOOSE. 

(Air. — Beethoven.) 

The bird, let loose in eastern skies, 1 

When hast'ning fondly home, 
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 

Where idle warblers roam. 
But high she shoots through air and light, 

Above all low delay, 
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 

Nor shadow dims her way. 

So grant me, God, from every care 

And stain of passion free, 
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, 

To hold my course to Thee ! 
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 

My Soul, as home she springs ; — 
Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, 

Thy Freedom in her wings ! 



FALLEN IS THY THRONE. 

(Am. — Martini.) 

Fall'n is thy Throne, oh Israel ! 

Silence is o'er thy plains ; 
Thy dwellings all lie desolate, 

Thy children weep in chains. 
Where are the dews that fed thee 

On Etham's barren shore ? 
That fire from Heaven which led thee, 

Now lights thy path no more. 

* The carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated,, 
pitch, in order to surmount every obstacle between her and 
the plnce to which she is destined. 

2 " i have left mine heritage ; I have given the dearly 
beloved of my soul into the hands of her enemies." — Jere- 
miah, xii. 7. 

s » Do not disgrace the throne of thy glory."— Jer. 
xiv. 21. 

* "The Lord called thy name a green olive-tree ; fair, and 
of goodly fruit," &c — Jer. xi. 16. 

6 " For he shall be like the heath in the desert."— Jer. 
xvii. G. 



Lord ! thou didst love Jerusalem — 

Once she was all thy own ; 
Her love thy fairest heritage, 3 

Her power thy glory's throne.' 
Till evil came, and blighted 

Thy long-loved olive tree ; 4 — 
And Salem's shrines were lighted 

For other gods than Thee. 

Then sunk the star of Solyma— 

Then pass'd her glory's day, 
Like heath that, in the wilderness, 9 

The wild wind whirls away. 
Silent and waste her bowers, 

Where once the mighty trod, 
And sunk those guilty towers, 

While Baal reign'd as God. 

" Go" — said the Lord — " Ye Conquerore 

" Steep in her blood your swords, 
44 And raze to earth her battlements,* 

44 For they are not the Lord's. 
" Till Zion's mournful daughter 

44 O'er kindred bones shall tread, 
44 And Hinnom's vale of slaughter 7 

44 Shall hide but half her dead !* 



WHO IS THE MAID? 

st. Jerome's love. 8 
(Air.— Beethoven.) 

Who is the Maid my spirit seeks, 

Through cold reproof and slander's blight ? 
Has she Love's roses on her cheeks ? 

Is hers an eye of this world's light ? 
No — wan and sunk with midnight prayer 

Are the pale looks of her I love ; 
Or if, at times, a light be there, 

Its beam is kindled from above. 

I chose not her, my heart's elect, 

From those who seek their Maker's shrine 

6 "Take away her battlements; for they are not the 
Lord's."— Jer. v. 10. 

' " Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that 
it shall no more be called Tophet, nor the Valley of the Son 
of Hinnom, but the Valley of Slaughter; for they shall bury 
in Tophet till there be no place."— Jer. vii. 32: 

8 These lines were suggested by a passage in one of St. 
Jerome's Letters, replying to some calumnious remarks that 
had been circulated respecting his intimacy with the matron 
Paula: — "Numquid me vestes sericae, nitentes gemma?, picta 
facies, aut auri rapuit' ambitio ? Nulla fuit alia Romje ma- 
tronarum, quae meam possit edomare mentem, nisi lugens 
atque jejunans, fletu pene ca:cata."— Epist. " Si tibi putem." 



SACRED SONGS. 



299 



In gems and garlands proudly deck'd, 
As if themselves were things divine. 

No — Heaven but faintly warms the breast 
That beats beneath a broider'd veil ; 

And she who comes in glitt'ring vest 
To mourn her frailty, still is frail. 1 

Not so the faded form I prize 

And love, because its bloom is gone ; 
The glory in those sainted eyes 

Is all the grace her brow puts on. 
And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, 

So touching as that form's decay, 
Which, like the altar's trembling light, 

In holy lustre wastes away. 



THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING 
SHOW. 

(Air.— Stevenson.) 

This world is all a fleeting show, 

For man's illusion given ; 
The smiles of Joy, the tears of Wo, 
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow — 

There's nothing true, but Heaven • 

And false the light on Glory's plume, 

As fading hues of Even ; 
And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, 
Are blossoms gather' d for the tomb — 

There's nothing bright, but Heaven ! 

Poor wand'rers of a stormy day ! 

From wave to wave we're driven, 
And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray, 
Serve but to light the troubled way — 

There's nothing calm, but Heaven ! 



OH, THOU! WHO DRY'ST THE 
MOURNER'S TEAR. 

(Air. — Haydn.) 

" He healeth the broken in heart, and bindoth up their 
wounds."— Psalm cxlvii. 3. 

Oh, Thou ! who dry'st the mourner's tear, 
How dark this world would be, 

1 Ou yap Kpovo<popciv rrjv StiKpvovcav 6ei. — Chrysost. Horn- 
il. 8, in Epist. ad Tim. 

2 This second verse, which I wrote long after the first, al- 
ludes to the fate of a very lovely and amiable girl, the daughter 
of the late Colonel Ba'mbrigge.who was married in Ashbourne 
church, October 31, 1815, and died of a fever in a few weeks 
after: the sound of her marriage-bells seemed scarcely out 



If, when deceived and wounded here, 

We could not fly to Thee ! 
The friends, who in our sunshine live, 

When winter comes, are flown ; 
And he who has but tears to give, 

Must weep those tears alone. 
But thou wilt heal that broken heart, 

Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 

Breathes sweetness out of wo. 

When joy no longer sooths or cheers, 

And e'en the hope that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, 

Is dimm'd and vanish'd too, 
Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, 

Did not thy Wing of Love 
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 

Our Peace-branch from above? 
Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright 

With more than rapture's ray ; 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We never saw by day ! 



WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. 

Air. — Avison. 

Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 

In life's happy morning, bath hid from our eyes, 
Ere sin threw a bl'ght o'er the spirit's young bloom, 
Or earth had profaned what was born for the 
skies. 
Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had 
stain'd it ; 
'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, 
And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has 
unchain'd it, 
To water that Eden where first was its source. 
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 

In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, 
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, 
Or earth had profaned what was bora for the 
skies. 

Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale, 2 
Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now, 

of our ears when we heard of her death. During her last 
delirium she sung several hymns, in a voice even clearer 
and sweeter than usual, and among them were some from 
the present collection, (particularly, "There's nothing bright 
but Heaven,") which this very interesting girl had often 
heard me sing during the summer. 





300 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale, 


There's nothing dark, below, above, 


And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her 


But in its gloom I trace thy Love, 


brow. 


And meekly wait that moment, when 


On, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying 


Thy touch shall turn all bright again ! 


From this gloomy world, while its gloom was 




unknown — 


• 


And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in 


/ 


/ 


dying, 


v 


Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own. 


Y 


Weep not for her — in her spring-time she flew 


SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL. 


To that land where the wings of the soul are 


ft 

MIRIAMS SONG. 


unf url'd ; 




And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, 


(Air. — Avison. 2 ) 


Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world. 


" And Miriam the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a 




timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went out after her 




with timbrels and with dances."— Exod. xv. 20. 
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 




THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT 


Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free. 


SHRINE. 


Sing — for the pride of the Tyrant is broken, 


(Air. — Stevenson.) 


His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and 




brave — 


The turf shall be my fragrant shrine ; 


How vain was their boast, for the Lord hath but 


My temple, Lord ! that Arch of thine ; 


spoken, 


My censer's breath the mountain airs, 


And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the 


! And silent thoughts my only prayers. 1 


wave. 




Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ; 


My choir shall be the moonlight waves, 


Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free. 


When murm'ring homeward to their caves, 




Or when the stillness of the sea, 


Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord ! 


E'en more than music, breathes of Thee . 


His word was our arrow, his breath was our 




sword. — 


I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown, 


Who shall return to tell Egyp': \i ? story 


All light and silence, like thy Throne ; 


Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? 


And the pale stars shall be, at night, 


For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of 


The only eyes that watch my rite. 


glory> 3 




And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the 


Thy Heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, 


tide. 


Shall be my pure and shining book, 


Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ; 


Where I shall read, in words of flame, 


Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free ! 


The glories of thy wondrous name. 
Ill read thy anger in the rack 






That clouds awhile the day-beam's track ; 




Thy mercy in the azure hue 




Of sunny brightness, breaking through. 


GO, LET ME WEEP. 




(Air. — Stevenson.) 


There's nothing bright, above, below, 




From flowers that bloom to stars that glow, 


Go, let me weep — there's bliss in tears, 


But in its light my soul can see 


When he who sheds them inly feels 


Some feature of thy Deity. 


Some ling'ring stain of early years 




Effaced by every drop that steals. 


1 Pii orant tacite. 




a I have so much altered the character of this air, which is 


3 " And it came to pass, that, in the morning watch the 


from the beginning of one of Avison's old-fashioned concertos, 


Lord looked unto the host of the Egyptians, through the 


that, without this acknowledgment, it could hardly, I think, 


pillar of fire and of the cloud, and troubled the host of the 


be recognised. 


Egyptians."— Exod. xiv. 24. 



SACRED 


J 

SONGS. 301 


The fruitless showers of worldly wo 


When, bringing every balmy sweet 


Fall dark to earth and never rise ; 


Her day of luxury stored, 


While tears that from repentance flow, 


She o'er her Saviour's hallow'd feet 


In bright exhalement reach the skies. 


The precious, odors pour'd ; — 


Go, let me weep. 






And wiped them with that golden hair, 


Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew 


Where once the diamond shone ; 


More idly than the summer's wind, 


Though now those gems of grief were there 


And, while they pass'd, a fragrance threw, 


Which shine for God alone ! 


But left no trace of sweets behind. — 




The warmest sigh that.pleasure heaves 


Were not those sweets, so humbly shed — 


Is cold, is faint to those that swell 


That hair — those weeping eyes — 


The heart, where pure repentance grieves 


And the sunk heart, that inly bled — 


• O'er hours of pleasure, loved too well. 


Heaven's noblest sacrifice ? 


Leave me to sigh. 






Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep, 




Oh, wouldst thou wake in lle&ven, 
Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, 






" Love much" 2 and be forgiven ! 


COME NOT, OH LORD. 

(Air. — Haydn.) 






Come not, oh Lord, in the dread robe of splendor 


AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS. 


Thou wor'st on the Mount, in the day of thine 




ire; 


(Air. — Haydn.) 


Come veil'd in those shadows, deep, awful, but 


As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean, 


tender, 


Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, 


Which Mercy flings over thy features of fire ! 


So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, 




Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, 


Lord, thou rememb'rest the night, when thy Na- 


My God ! silent, to Thee, 


tion 1 


Pure, warm, silent, to Thee. 


Stood fronting her Foe by the red-rolling stream ; 




O'er Egypt thy pillar shed dark desolation, 


As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, 


While Israel bask'd all the night in its beam. 


The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, 




So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, 


So, when the dread clouds of auger enfold Thee, 


The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, 


From us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove ; 


My God ! trembling, to Thee — 


While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold Thee, 


True, fond, trembling, to Thee. 


Oh, turn upon us the mild light of thy Love ! 






BUT WHO SHALL SEE. 


WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY'S TEARS. 


(Air.— Stevenson.) 


(Air. — Stevenson.) 


But who shall see the glorious day 




When, throned on Zion's brow, 


Were not the sinful Mary's tears 


The Lord shall rend that veil away 


An offering worthy Heaven, 


Which hides the nations now ? 3 


When, o'er the faults of former years, 


When earth no more beneath the fear 


She wept — and was forgiven ? 


Of his rebuke shall lie ; 4 


i " And it came between the camp of the Egyptians and 


3 " And he will destroy, in this mountain, the face of the 


the camp of Israel ; and it was a cloud and darkness tc ihem, 


covering cast over all people, and the veil that is spread over 


but it gave light by night to these."— Exod. xiv. 20. 


all nations." — Isaiah, xxv. 7. 


1 a " Her sins, which are many, are forgiven ; for she loved 


4 "The rebuke of his people shall he take away fr in off 


. much."— Luke, vii. 47. 


all the earth."— Isaiah, xxv. 8. 







302 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



When pain shall cease, and every tear, 
Be wiped from ev'ry eye. 1 

Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn 

Beneath the heathen's chain ; 
Thy days of splendor shall return, 

And all be new again. 3 
The Fount of Life shall then be quafFd 

In peace, by all who come ; 3 
And every wind that blows shall waft 

Some long-lost exile home. 



ALMIGHTY GOD! 

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. 

(Air. — Mozart.) 

Almighty God ! when round thy shrine 
The Palm-tree's heavenly branch we twine,* 
(Emblem of Life's eternal ray, 
And Love that " fadeth not away,") 
We bless the flowers, expanded all, 5 
We bless the leaves that never fall, 
And trembling say, — " In Eden thus 
" The Tree of Life may flower for us !" 

When round thy Cherubs — smiling calm, 
Without their flames 6 — we wreath the Palm, 
0]i Goo ! we feel the emblem true — 
Thy Mercy is eternal too. 
Those Cherubs, with their smiling eyes, 
That crown of Palm which never dies, 
Are but the types of Thee above — 
Eternal Life, and Peace, and Love ! 



1 "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; 
.... neither shall there be any more pain." — Rev. xxi. 4. 

2 "And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make 
all things new." — Rev. xxi. 5. 

3 "And whosoever will, let him take the water of life 
freely." — Rev. xxii. 17. 

< "The Scriptures having declared that the Temple of 
Jerusalem was a type of the Messiah, it is natural to con- 
clude, that the Palms, which made so conspicuous a figure 
in that structure, represented that Life and Immortality 
which were brought to light by the Gospel." — Observations 
on the Palm, as a Sacred Emblem, by W. Tighe. 

6 "And he carved all the walls of the house round about 
with carved figures of cherubims, and palm-trees, and open 
flowers."— 1 Kings, vi. 29. 

e " When the passover of the tabernacles was revealed to 



OH FAIR ! OH PUREST . 

SAINT AUGUSTINE TO HIS SISTER. 7 

(Air. — Moore.) 

Oh fair ! oh purest ! be thou the dove 
That flies alone to some sunny grove, 
And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, 
All vestal white, in the limpid spring. 
There, if the hov'ring hawk be near, 
That limpid spring, in its mirror clear, 
Reflects him, ere he reach his prey, 
And warns the timorous bird away. 

Be thou this dove ; 
Fairest, purest, be thou this dove. 

The sacred pages of God's own book 
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook 
In whose holy mirror, night and day, 
Thou'lt study Heaven's reflected >-ay ; — 
And should the foes of virtue dare, 
With gloomy wing, to seek thee there, 
Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie 
Between Heaven and thee, and trembling lly ! 

Be thou that dove ; 
Fairest, purest, be thou that dove. 



ANGEL OF CHARITY. 

(Air. — Handel.) 

Angel of Charity, who, from above, 

Comest to dwell a pilgrim here, 
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, 

And Pity's soul is in thy tear. 
When on the shrine of God were laid 

First-fruits of all most good and fair, 
That ever bloom'd in Eden's shade, 

Thine was the holiest offering there. 



the great lawgiver in the mount, then the cherubic images 
which appeared in that structure were no longer surrounded 
by flames ; for the tabernacle was a type of the dispensa- 
tion of mercy, by which Jeiiovah confirmed his gracious 
covenant to redeem mankind." — Observations on the Palm, 
i In St. Augustine's Treatise upon the advantages of a 
solitary life, addressed to his sister, there is the following 
fanciful passage, from which, the reader will perceive, the 
thought of this song was taken : — u Te, soror, nunquam 
nolo esse securam, sed timere semperque tuam fragilitatem 
habere suspectam, ad instar pavidje coluinbae frequentare 
rivos aqnarum et quasi in speculo accipitris cernere snper- 
volantis efngiem et cavere. Rivi aquarum sententue sunt 
scripturarum, quae de limpidissimo sapientis fonte prcflu 
entes " &c, &c. — De Vit. Eremit. ad Sororcm. 



SACRED SONGS. 



303 



Hopo and her sister, Faith, were given 

But as our guides to yonder sky ; 
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven, 

There, lost in perfect bliss, they die. 1 
But, long as Love, Almighty Love, 

Shall on his throne of thrones abide, 
Thou, Charity, shait dwell above, 

Smiling forever by His side ! 



BEHOLD THE SUN. 

(Air. — Lord Mornington.) 

Be mold the Sun, how bright 

From yonder East he springs, 
As if the soid of life and light 

Were breathing from his wings. 

So bright the Gospel broke 

Upon the souls of men ; 
So fresh the dreaming world awoke 

In Truth's full radiance then. 

Before yon Sun arose, 

Stars cluster d through the sky — 
But, oh, how dim ! how pale were those, 

To His one burning eye ! 

So Truth lent many a ray, 

To bless the Pagan's night — 
But, Lord, how weak, how cold were they 

To Thy One glorious Light ! 



This sinfid world, with hand to heav'n extended, 
And hear him swear by Thee that Time's no 
more 1" 
When Earth shall feel thy fast consuming ray — 
Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day ? 



LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT DAY. 

(Air.— Dr. Botce.) 

Loud, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid, 
When we shall see thy Angel, hov'ring o'er 

i "Then Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall die. 
One lost in certainty, and one in joy."— Prior 

a " And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and upon 
the earth, lifted up his hand to heaven, and sware by Him 
that livefh forever and ever, .... that there should be 
time no longer." — Rcc. x. 5, 6. 
3 " Awake, ye Dead, and come to judgment." 
* "They shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds of 
heaven — and all the angels with him." — Matt. xxiv. 30, and 
xxv. 31. 



the world thy awful call hath 
ye Dead, to judgment wake, ye 



When through 
sounded- 
"Wake, all 
Dead!" 3 
And from the clouds, by seraph eyes surrounded, 
The Saviour shall put forth his radiant head ;* 
While Earth and Heav'n before Him pass away — 9 
Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day ? 

When, with a glance, th' Eternal Judge shall sever 
Earth's evil spirits from the pure and bright, 

And say to those, " Depart from me forever !" 
To these, " Come, dwell with me in endless light ! >!B 

When each and all in silence lake their way — 

Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day ? 



OH, TEACH ME TO LOVE THEE. 
(Air.— Haydn.) 

On, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art, 
Till,*fiH'd with the one sacred image, my heart 

Shall all other passions disown ; 
Like some pure temple, that shines apart, 

Reserved for Thy worship alone. 

In joy and in sorrow, through praise and through 

blame, 
Thus still let me, living and dying the same, 

In Thy service bloom and decay — 
Like some lone altar, whose votive flame 

In holiness wasteth away. 

Though born in this desert, and doom'd by my birth 
To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth, 

On Thee let my spirit rely — 
Like some rude dial, that, fix'd on earth, 

Still looks for its light from the sky. 

s " From whcse face the earth and the heaven fled away." 
Rev. xx. 11. 

s " And before Him shall be gathered all nations, and He 
shall separate them one from another 

"Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, 
Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared 
fur you, &c 

"Then shall He say also unto them on the left hand, De 
part from me, ye cursed, &c. 

" And these shall go away into everlasting punishment ; 
but the righteous into life eternal."— .Matt- xxv. 3-2, et scq. 



304 MOORE'S WORKS. 




Till David touch'd his sacred lyre, 


WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL. 


In silence lay th' unbreathing wire ; 


(Air. — Stevenson.) 


But when he swept its chords along, 




Ev'n Angels stoop'd to hear that song. 


Weep, weep for him, the Man of God 1 — 




In yonder vale he sunk to rest ; 


So sleeps the soul, till Thou, oh Lord, 


But none of earth can point the sod 2 


Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord — 


That flowers above his sacred breast 


Till, waked by Thee, its breath shall rise 


Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 


In music, worthy of the skies ! 


His doctrine fell like Heaven's rain, 8 

His words refresh'd like Heaven's dew — 






Oh, ne'er shall Israel see again 




A Chief, to God and her so true. 


COME, YE DISCONSOLATE. 


Weep, children of Israel, weep I 


(Air.— German.) 


Remember ye his parting gaze, 


Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, 


His farewell song by Jordan's tide, 


Come, at God's altar fervently kneel ; 


When, full of glory and of days, 


Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your an- 


He saw the promised land — and died. 4 


guish — 


Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 


Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal. 


Yet died he not as men who sink, 


Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, 


Before our eyes, to soulless clay ; 


Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, 


But, changed to spirit, like a wink 


Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name saying— 


Of summer lightning, pass'd away. 5 


" Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure." 


Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 






Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us, 




What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, 


% 


Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us — 




" Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal." 


LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY 




BREEZE. 


AWAKE, ARISE, THY LIGHT IS COME 


(Air. — Beethoven.) 


(Air.— Stevenson.) 


Like morning, when her early breeze 


Awake, arise, thy light is come ; 6 


Breaks up the surface of the seas, 


The nations, that before outshone thee, 


That, in those furrows, dark with night, 


Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb — 


Her hand may sow the seeds of light — 


The glory of the Lord is on thee ! 


Thy Grace can send its breathings o'er 


Arise — the Gentiles to thy ray, 


The Spirit, dark and lost before, 


From ev'iy nook of earth shall cluster ; 


And, fresh'ning all its depths, prepare 


And kings and princes haste to pay 


For Truth divine to enter there. 


Their homage to thy rising lustre. 7 


i " And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains 


was still discoursing with them, a cloud stood over him on 


of Moab." — Deut. xxxiv. 8. 


the sudden, and he disappeared in a certain valley, although 


a " And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab ; 


he wrote in the Holy Books that he died, which was done 


.... but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." 


out of fear, lest they should venture to say that, because of 


— Ibid. ver. 6. 


his extraordinary virtue, he went to God." — Josephus, book 


3 " My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall 


iv., chap. viii. 


distil as the dew." — Moses' Song, Deut. xxxii. 2. 


6 " Arise, shine ; for thy light is come, and the glory of the 


* " I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou 


Lord is risen upon thee." — Isaiah, lx. 


shalt not go over thither."— Deut. xxxiv. 4. 


? " And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to 


6 " As he was going to embrace Eleazer and Joshua, and 


the brightness of thy rising."— lb. 



SACRED SONGS. 



305 



Lift up thine eyes around, and see, 

O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters, 

Thy exiled sons return to thee, 

To thee return thy home -sick daughters. 1 

And camels rich, from Midian's tents, 

Shall lay their treasures down before thee ; 
And Saba bring her gold and scents, 
To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee. 2 

See, who are these that, like a cloud, 3 
Are slathering from all earth's dominions, 

Like doves, long absent, when allow'd 

Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions. 

Surely the isles shall wait for me, 4 

The ships of Tarshish round will hover. 

To bring: thy sons across the sea, 
And waft their gold and silver over. 

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace 5 — 
The fir, the pine, the palm victorious 

Shall beautify our Holy Place, 

And make the ground I tread on glorious, 

Xo more shall Discord haunt thy ways, 8 
Xor ruin waste thy cheerless nation ; 

But thou shalt call thy portals, Praise, 

And thou shalt name thy walls, Salvation. 

The sun no more shall make thee bright, 7 
Xor moon shall lend her lustre to thee ; 

But God, Himself, shall be thy Light, 
And flash eternal glory through thee. 

Thy sun shall never more go down : 

A ray, from Heav'n itself descended, 
Shall light thy everlasting crown — 

Thy days of mourning all are ended. 8 

My own, elect, and righteous Land ! 

Ti:e Branch, forever green and vernal, 
Which I have planted with this hand — 

Live thou shalt in Life Eternal. 9 



i •• Lift up thine eyes round about, and see ; all they gather 
themselves together, they come to thee : thy sons shall come 
from afar, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side." — 
Isaiak. lx. 

- "The multitude of camels shall cover thee ; the drome- 
daries of Midian and Ephah ; all they from Sheba shall 
come ; they shall bring gold and incense."— lb. 

3 "Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to 
their windows V — lb. 

' - Surely the isles shall wait for me. and the ships of 
Tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and 
their gold with them."— lb. 

5 "The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee: the fir- 
tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the 
place of my sanctuary ; and I will make the place of my 
feet glorious." — lb. 



THERE IS A BLEAK DESERT. 

(Air.— Crescentini.) 

There is a bleak Desert, where daylight grows 

weary 
Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary — 

What may that desert be ? 
'Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few joys that 

come 
Are lost like that daylight, for 'tis not their hom9. 

There is a lone Pilgrim, before whose faint eyes 
The water he pants for but sparkles and flies — 

Who may that Pilgrim be ? 
'Tis Man, hapless Man, through this life tempted on 
By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone. 

There is a bright Fountain, through that Desert 

stealing 
To pure lips alone its refreshment revealing — 

What may that Fountain be ? 
'Tis Truth, holy Truth, that, like springs under 

ground, 
By the girted of Heaven alone can be found. 10 

There is a fair Spirit, whose wand hath the spell 
To point where those waters in secrecy dwell — 

Who may that Spirit be ? 
'Tis Faith, humble faith, who hath learn'd that, 

where'er 
Her wand bends to worship, the Truth must be 

there ! 



SINCE FIRST THY WORD. 

(Air.— Nicholas Freeman.) 

Since first Thy Word awaked my heart, 
Like new life dawning o'er me, 



s •• Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting 
nor destruction within thy borders ; but thou shalt call thy 
walls, Salvation, and thy gates, Praise."— Isaiah, lx. 

7 " Thy sun shall be no more thy light by day : neither for 
brightness shall the moon give light unto thee : but the 
Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God 
thy glory-"— lb. 

8 " Thy sun shall no more go down ; .... for the Lord 
shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourn- 
ing shall be ended." — lb. 

9 "Thy people also shall be all righteous ; they shall in- 
herit the land forever, the branch of my planting, the work 
of my hands."— lb. 

10 In singing, the following line had better be adopted :— 

" Can but by the gifted of Heaven be found." 



•20 



306 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Where'er I turn mine eyes, Thou art, 


Who the same kingdom inherits ? 


All light and love before me. 


Breathes there a soul that may dare 


Naught else I feel, or hear or see — 


Look to that world of Spirits, 


All bonds of earth I sever — 


Or hope to dwell with you there ? 


Thee, God, and only Thee 




I live for, now and ever. 


Sages ! who, ev'n in exploring 




Nature through all her bright ways, 


Like him whose fetters dropp'd away 


Went, like the Seraphs, adoring, 


When light shone o'er his prison, 1 


And veil'd your eyes in the blaze — 


My spirit, touch'd by Mercy's ray, 


Martyrs ! who left for our reaping 


Hath from her chains arisen. 


Truths you had sown in your blood — ■ 


And shall a soul Thou bidd'st be free, 


Sinners ! whom long years of weeping 


Return to bondage ? — never ! 


Chasten'd from evil to good — 


Thee, God, and only Thee 




I live for, now and ever. 


Maidens ! who, like the young Crescent, 




Turning away your pale brows 




From earth, and the light of the Present, 




Look'd to your Heavenly Spouse — 






Say, through what region enchanted, 




Walk ye, in Heaven's sweet air? 


HARK! 'TIS THE BREEZE. 


Say, to what spirits 'tis granted, 


(Air.— Rousseau.) 


Bright souls, to dwell with you there ? 


Hark ! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling 




Earth's weary children to repose ; 




While, round the couch of Nature falling, 






Gently the night's soft curtains close. 




Soon o'er a world, in sleep reclining, 




Numberless stars, through yonder dark, 




Shall look, like eyes of Cherubs shining 


HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MUSE'S 


From out the veils that hid the Ark. 


WING. 




(Air.— Anonymous.) 


Guard us, oh Thou, who never sleepest, 




Thou who, in silence throned above, 


How lightly mounts the Muse's wing, 


Throughout all time, unwearied, keepest 


Whose theme is in the skies — 


Thy watch of Glory, Pow'r, and Love. 


Like morning larks, that sweeter sing 


Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely, 


The nearer Heav'n they rise. 


Oar souls, awhile from life withdrawn, 




May, in their darkness, stilly, purely, 


Though Love his magic lyre may tune, 


Like " sealed fountains," rest till dawn. 


Yet ah, the flow'rs he round it wreaths, 




Were pluck'd beneath pale Passion's moon, 




Whose madness in their odor breathes. 
How purer far the sacred lute, 






Round which Devotion ties 


WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE 


Sweet flow'rs that turn to heav'nly fruit, 


SAINTED? 


And palm that never dies. 


(Air.— Hasse.) 


Though War's high-sounding harp may be 


Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted ? 
Through what Elysium more bright 


Most welcome to the hero's ears, 
Alas, his chords of victory 

Are wet, all o'er, with human tears. 


Than fancy or hope ever painted, 




Walk ye in glory and light? 


How far more sweet their numbers run, 


1 'And, behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, 


Who hymn, like Saints above, 


and a light shined in the prison, .... and his chains fell 


No victor, but th' Eternal One, 


off from his hands."— Acts, xii. 7. 


No trophies but of Love ! 



SACRED SONGS. 



307 



GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT. 

(Air. — Stevenson.) 

Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch 

home, 1 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 
From that time, Q when the moon upon Ajalon's 

vale, 
Looking motionless down, 3 saw the kings of the 

earth, 
In the presence of God's mighty Champion, grow 

pale — 
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth ! 
Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch 

home, 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 

Bring myrtle and palm — bring the boughs of each 

tree 
That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free. 4 
From that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone, 
With a light not their own, through the Jordan's 

deep tide, 
Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided 

on 5 — 
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such pride ! 
Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch 

home, 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 



IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HERE- 
AFTER. 

(Air.— Haydn.) 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 
When the Spirit leaves this sphere, 

Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her 
To those she long hath mourn'd for here ? 

Hearts, from which 'twas death to sever, 

Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, 
There, as warm, as bright as ever, 

Shall meet us and be lost no more. 

1 " And that they should publish and proclaim in all their 
cities, and in Jerusalem, saying, Go forth unto the mount, 
and fetch olive-branches," &c, &c. — Neh. viii. 15. 

2 " For since the days of Jeshua the son of Nun unto that 
day had not the children of Israel done so : and there was 
very great gladness."— JVeA. viii. 17. 

3 " Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon ; and thou, Moon, 
in the valley of Ajalon."— Josh. x. 12. 

* "Fetch olive-branches, and pine-branches, and myrtle- 
branches, and palm-branches, and branches of thick trees, 
to make booths." — JVeA. viii. 15. 

5 " And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the 



When wearily we wander, asking 
Of earth and heav'n where are they, 

Beneath whose smile we once lay basking, 
Bless'd, and thinking bliss would stay ? 

Hope still lifts her radiant finger 

Pointing to th' eternal Home, 
Upon whose portal yet they linger, 

Looking back for us to come. 

Alas, alas — doth Hope deceive us ? 

Shall friendship — love — shall all those ties 
That bind a moment, and then leave us, 

Be found again where nothing dies ? 

Oh, if no other boon were given, 

To keep our hearts from wrong and siaki, 
Who would not try to win a Heaven 

Where all we love shall live again ? 



the 



WAR AGAINST BABYLON. 

(Air.— Novello.) 

" War against Babylon !" shout we around, 8 

Be our banners through earth unfurl'd : 
Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound 7 — 

" War against Babylon !" shout through 
world ! 
Oh thou, that dwellest on many waters, 8 

Thy day of pride is ended now ; 
And the dark curse of Israel's daughters 

Breaks, like a thunder-cloud, over thy brow ! 
War, war, war against Babylon ! 



Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields, 9 

Set the standard of God on high ; 
Swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields, 

" Zion" our watchword, and " vengeance" our 
cry! 
Wo ! wo ! — the time of thy visitation 10 

Is come, proud Land, thy doom is cast — 
And the black surge of desolation 

Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last ! 

War, war, war against Babylon ! 

Lord stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and 
all the Israelites passed over on dry ground." — Josh. iii. 17. 

6 " Shout against her round about." — Jcr. 1. 15. 

7 "Set ye up a standard in the land, blow the trumpet 
among the nations, prepare the nations against her, call to- 
gether against her the kingdoms," &c, &c. — Jcr. li. 27. 

8 " Oh thou that dwellest upon many waters, .... thine 
end is come." — Jer. li. 13. 

9 " Make bright the arrows ; gather the shields .... set 
up the standard upon the walls of Babylon."— -Jer. U 11, 12. 

w "Wo unto them" for their day is come, the time of 
their visitation !" — Jer. 1. 27. 



308 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



THE SUMMER FETE 



THE HONORABLE MRS. NORTON. 

For the groundwork of the following Poem I am 
indebted to a memorable Fete, given some years 
since, at Boyle Farm, the seat of the late Lord 
Henry Fitzgerald. In commemoration of that 
evening — of which the lady to whom these pages 
are inscribed was, I well recollect, one of the most 
distinguished ornaments — I was induced at the 
time to write some verses, which were afterwards, 
however, thrown aside unfinished, on my discover- 
ing that the same task had been undertaken by a 
noble poet, 1 whose playful and happy jeu-d' esprit 
on the subject has since been published. It was 
but lately, that, on finding the fragments of my 
own sketch among my papers, I thought of founding 
on them such a description of an imaginary Fete as 
might furnish me with situations for the introduction 
of music. 

Such is the origin and object of the following 
Poem, and to Mrs. Norton it is, with every feeling 
of admiration and regard, inscribed by her father's 
warmly attached friend, 

THOMAS MOORE. 

Sloperton Cottage, 
November, 1831. 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



" Where are ye now, ye summer days, 

" That once inspired the poet's lays 1 

" Bless'd time ! ere England's nymphs and swains, 

" For lack of sunbeams, took to coals — 
" Summers of light, undimm'd by rains, 
" Whose only mocking trace remains 

" In watering-pots and parasols." 

Thus spoke a young Patrician maid, 
As, on the morning of that Fete 

i Lord Francis Egerton. 



Which bards unborn shall celebrate, 
She backward drew her curtain's shade, 
And, closing one half-dazzled eye, 
Peep'd with the other at the sky — 
Th' important sky, whose light or gloom 
Was to decide, this day, the doom 
Of some few hundred beauties, wits. 
Blues, Dandies, Swains, and Exquisites. 

Faint were her hopes ; for June had now 

Set in with all his usual rigor ! 
Young Zephyr yet scarce knowing how 
To nurse a bud, or fan a bough, 

But Eurus in perpetual vigor ; 
And, such the biting summer air, 
That she, the nymph now nestling there — 
Snug as her own bright gems recline, 
At night, within their cotton shrine — 
Had, more than once, been caught of late 
Kneeling before her blazing grate, 
Like a young worshipper of fire, 

With hands uplifted to the flame, 
Whose glow, as if to woo them nigher, 

Through the white fingers flushing came 

But oh ! the light, th' unhoped-for light, 
That now illumed this morning's heaven ! 

Up sprung Iiinthe at the sight, 

Though — hark ! — the clocks but strike eleven, 

And rarely did the nymph surprise 

Mankind so early with her eyes. 

Who now will say that England's sun 

(Like England's self, these spendthrift days) 

His stock of wealth hath near outrun, 
And must retrench his golden rays — 

Pay for the pride of sunbeams past, 

And to mere moonshine come at last ? 

" Calumnious thought !" Ianthe cries, 

While coming mirth lit up each glance, 
And, prescient of the ball, her eyes 

Already had begun to dance : 
For brighter sun than that which now 

Sparkled o'er London's spires and towers, 
Had never bent from heaven his brow 

To kiss Firenze's City of Flowers. 



THE SUMMER FETE. * 309 


What must it be — if thus so fair 


No star for London's feasts to-day, 


'Mid the smoked groves of Grosvenor Square — 


No moon of beauty, new this May, 


What must it be where Thames is seen 


To lend the night her crescent ray ; — 


Gliding between his banks of green, 


Nothing, in short, for ear or eye, 


While rival villas, on each side, 


But veteran belles, and wits gone by, 


Peep from their bowers to woo his tide, 


The relics of a past beau-monde, # 


And, like a Turk between two rows 


A world, like Cuvier's, long dethroned ! 


Of Harem beauties, on he goes — 


Ev'n Parliament this evening nods 


A lover, loved for ev'n the grace 


Beneath th' harangues of minor gods, 


With which he slides from their embrace. 


On half its usual opiate's share ; 




The great dispensers of repose, 


In one of those enchanted domes, 


The first-rate furnishers of prose 


One, the most flow'ry, cool, and bright 


Being all call'd to — prose elsewhere. 


Of all by which that river roams, 




The Fete is to be held to-night — 


Soon as through Grosvencr's lordly square 8 — 


That Fete already link'd to fame, 


That last impregnab-e redoubt, 


Whose cards, in many a fair one's sight 


Where, guarded with Patrician care 


(When look'd for long, at last they came,) 


Primeval Error still holds out — 


Seem'd circled with a fairy light ; — 


Where never gleam of gas must dare 


That Fete to which the cull, the flower 


'Gainst ancient Darkness to revolt, 


Of England's beauty, rank and power, 


Nor smooth Macadam hope to spare 


From the young spinster, just come out, 


The dowagers one single jolt ; — 


To the old Premier, too long in — 


Where, far too stately and sublime 


From legs of far descended gout, 


To profit by the lights of time, 


To the Ifst new-moustachio'd chin — 


Let Intellect march how it will, 


All were convoked by Fashion's spells 


They stick to oil and watchmen still : — 


To the small circle where she dwells, 


Soon as through that illustrious square 


Collecting nightly, to allure us, 


The first epistolary bell, 


Live atoms, which, together hurl'd, 


Sounding by fits upon the air, 


She, like another Epicurus, 


Of parting pennies rung the knell ; 


Sets dancing thus, and calls " the World." 


Wam'd by that telltale of the hours, 




And by the daylight's westering beam, 


Behold how busy in those bowers 


The young liinthe, who, with flowers 


(Like May -flies, in and out of flowers,) 


Half-crown'd, had sat in idle dream 


The eountless menials swarming run, 


Before her glass, scarce knowing where 


To furnish forth, ere set of sun, 


Her fingers roved through that bright hair, 


The banquet-table richly laid 


While, all capriciously, she now 


Beneath yon awning's lengthen'd shade, 


Dislodged some curl from her white brow, 


Where fruits shall tempt, and wines entice, 


And now again replaced it there ; — 


And Luxury's self, at Gunter's call, 


As though her task was meant to be 


Breathe from her summer-throne of ice 


One endless change of ministry — 


A spirit of coolness over all. 


A routing-up of Loves and Graces, 




But to plant others in their places. 


And now th' important hour drew nigh, 




When, 'neath the flush of evening's sky, 


Meanwhile — what strain is that which floats 


The west end " world" for mirth let loose, 


Through the small boudoir near — like notes 


And moved, as he of Syracuse 1 


Of some young bird, its task repeating 


Ne'er dreamt of moving worlds, by force 


For the next linnet music-meeting? 


Of four-horse power, had all combined 


A voice it was, whose gentle sounds 


Through Grosvenor Gate to speed their course, 


Still kept a modest octave's bounds, 


Leaving that portion of mankind, 


Nor yet had ventured to exalt 


Whom they call " Nobody," behind ; — 


Its rash ambition to B alt, 


1 Archimedes. 


the time when the above lines were written, they still obsti- 


2 I am not certain whether the Dowagers of this Square 


nately persevered in their old rigime; and would not suffer 


have yet yielded to the innovations of Gas and Police, but at 


themselves to be either well guarded or well lighted. 

r 



310 * MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


That point towafds which when ladies rise, 




The wise man takes his hat and — flies. 


SONG. 


Tones of a harp, too, gently play'd, 




Came with this youthful voice communing, 


Array thee, love, array thee, love, 


Tones true, for once, without the aid 


In all thy best array thee ; 


Of that inflictive process, tuning — 


The sun's below — the moon's above — 


A process which must oft have given 


And Night and Bliss obey thee. ; 


Poor Milton's ears a deadly wound ; 


Put on thee all that's bright and rare, 


So pleased, among the joys of Heav'n, 


The zone, the wreath, the gem, 


He specifies " harps ever tuned." 1 


Not so much gracing charms so fair, 


She who now sung this gentle strain 


As borrowing grace from them. 


"Was our young nymph's still younger sister — 


Array thee, love, array thee, love, 


Scarce ready yet for Fashion's train 


In all that's bright array thee ; 


In their light legions to enlist her, 


The sun's below — the moon's above — 


But counted on, as sure to bring 


And Night and Bliss obey thee. 


Her force into the field next spring. 






Put on the plumes thy lover gave, 


The song she thus, like Jubal's shell, 


The plumes, that, proudly dancing, 


Gave forth " so sweetly and so well," 


Proclaim to all, where'er they wave, 


Was one in Morning Post much famed, 


Victorious eyes advancing. 


From a divine collection, named, 


Bring forth the robe, whose hue of heaven 


" Songs of the toilet" — every Lay 


From thee derives such light, 


Taking for subject of its Muse, 


That Iris would give all her seven 


Some branch of feminine array, 


To boast but one so bright. 


Some item, with full scope, to choose, 


Array thee, love, array thee, love, 


From diamonds down to dancing shoes ; 


&c. &c. &c. 


From the last hat that Herbault's hands 




Bequeath'd to an admiring world, 


Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, 


Down to the latest flounce that stands 


Through Pleasure's circles hie thee, 


Like Jacob's Ladder — or expands , 


And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move, 


Far forth, tempestuously unfurl' d. 


Will beat, when they come nigh thee. 


• 


Thy every word shall be a spell, 


Speaking of one of these new Lays, 


Thy every look a ray, 


The Morning Post thus sweetly says : — 


And tracks of wond'ring eyes shall tell 


" Not all that breathes from Bishop's lyre, 


The glory of thy way ! 


" That Barnett dreams, or Cooke conceives, 


Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, 


" Can match for sweetness, strength, or fire, 


Through Pleasure's circles hie thee, 


" This fine Cantata upon Sleeves. 


And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move, 


" The very notes themselves reveal 


Shall beat when they come nigh the* 


" The cut of each new sleeve so well ; 




" Aflat betrays the Imbecilles, 2 

" Light fugues the flying lappets tell ; 






" While rich cathedral chords awake 


Now in his Palace of the West, 


" Our homage for the Munches d'Eveque." 


Sinking to slumber, the bright Day, 




Like a tired monarch fann'd to rest, 


'Twas the first op'ning song — the Lay 


Mid the cool airs of Evening lay ; 


Of all least deep in toilet-lore, 


While round his couch's golden rim 


That the young nymph, to while away 


The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept — 


The tiring hour, thus warbled o'er : — 


Struggling each other's light to dim, 




And catch his last smile ere he slept. 




How gay, as o'er the gliding Thames 




The golden eve its lustre pour'd, 
Shone out the high-born knights and dames 






Now group'd around that festal board ; 


i " their golden harps they took— 


2 The name given to those large sleeves that hang loosely. 


Harps ever tuned." Paradise Lost, book iii. 








THE SUMMER FETE. 



311 



A living mass of plumes and flowers, 

As though they'd robb'd both birds and bowers — 

A peopled rainbow, swarming through 

With habitants of every hue ; 

While, as the sparkling juice of France 

High in the crystal brimmers flow'd, 

Each sunset ray that mix'd by chance 
With the wine's sparkles, show'd 

How sunbeams may be taught to dance 

If not in written form express'd, 
'Twas known, at least, to every guest, 
That, though not bidden to parade 
Their scenic powers in masquerade, 
(A pastime little found to thrive 

In the bleak fog of England's skies, 
WTiere wit's the thing we best contrive, 

As masqueraders, to disguise,) 
It yet was hoped — and well that hope 

Was answer'd by the young and gay — 

That, in the toilet's task to-day, 
Fancy should take her wildest scope ; — 
That the rapt milliner should be 
Let loose through fields of poesy, 
The tailor, in inventive trance, 

Up to the heights of Epic clamber, 
And all the regions of Romance 

Be ransack'd by the femme de chambre. 

Accordingly, with gay Sultanas, 
Rebeccas, Sapphos, Roxalanas — 
Circassian slaves whom Love would pay 

Half his maternal realms to ransom ; — 
Young nuns, whose chief religion lay 

In looking most profanely handsome ; — 
Muses in muslin — pastoral maids 
With hats from the Arcade-ian shades, 
And fortune -tellers, rich, 'twas plain, 
As fortune-/^72ifers form'd their train. 

With these, and more such female groups, 

Were mix'd no less fantastic troops 

Of male exhibiters — all willing 

To look, ev'n more than usual, killing ; — 

Beau tyrants, smock-faced braggadocios, 

And brigands, charmingly ferocious ; — 

M. P.'s turn'd Turks, good Moslems then, 

Who, last night, voted for the Greeks ; 
And Friars, stanch No-Popery men, 

In close confab with Wing Caciques. 

But where is she — the nymph, whom late 

We left before her glass delaying, 
Like Eve, when by the lake she sate. 

In the clear wave her charms surveying, 
And saw in that first glassy mirror 
The firsl fair face that lured to error. 



" Where is she," ask'st thou ? — watch all looks 

As cent'ring to one point they bear, 
Like sun-flowers by the sides of brooks, 
Turn'd to the sun — and she is there. 
Ev'n in disguise, oh never doubt 
By her own fight you'd track her out : 
As when the moon, close shawl'd in fog, 
Steals, as she thinks, through heaven incog, 
Though hid herself, some sidelong ray, 
At every step, detects her way. 

But not in dark disguise to-night 

Hath our young heroine veil'd her light ; — 

For see, she walks the earth, Love's own, 

His wedded bride, by holiest vow 
Pledged in Olympus, and made anown 
To mortals by the type which now 
Hangs glitt'ring on her snowy brow, 
That butterfly, mysterious trinket, 
Which means the Soul, (iho' few would think it,) 
And sparkling thus on brow so white, 
Tells us we've Psyche here to-night ! 

But hark ! some song hath caught her ears — 

And, lo, how pleased, as though she'd ne'er 
Heard the Grand Opera of the Spheres, 

Her goddess-ship approves the air ; 
And to a mere terrestrial strain, 
Inspired by naught but pink champagne, 

Her butterfly as gayly nods 
As though she sat with all her train 

At some great Concert of the Gods, 
With Phoebus, leader — Jove director 
And half the audience drunk with nectar. 

From a male group the carol came — 

A few gay youths, whom round the board 

The last-tried flask's superior fame 
Had lined to taste the tide it pour'd ; 

And one, who, from his youth and lyre, 

Seem'd grandson to the Teian sire, 

Thus gayly sung, while, to his song, 

Replied in chorus the gay throng : — 



SONG. 



Some mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine, 
As in evenings like this no enjoyment to see ; 

But, as Tm not particular — wit, love, and wine, 
Are for one night's amusement sufficient lor rue. 

Nay — humble and strange as my tastes may appear — 
If driv'n to the worst, I could manage., thank 
Heaven, 



r ~~ — — — — .< 

312 MOORE'S WORKS. 


To put up with eyes such as beam round me hero, 


Such was th' effect of twilight's hour 


Aud such wine as we're sipping, six days out of 


On the fair groups that, round and round, 


seven. 


From glade to grot, from bank to bow'r, 


So pledge me a bumper — your sages profound 


Now wander'd through this fairy ground ; 


May be blest, if they will, on their own patent 


And thus did Fancy — and champagne — 


plan: 


Work on the sight their dazzling spells, 


But as we are not sages, why — send the cup 


Till nymphs that look'd, at noonday, plain, 


round — 


Now brighten'd, in the gloom, to belles ; 


We must only be happy the best way we can. 


And the brief interval of time, 




'Twixt after dinner and before, 


A reward by some king was once offer'd, we're told, 


To dowagers brought back their prime, 


To whoe'er could invent a new bliss for mankind ; 


And shed a halo round two-score. 


But talk of new pleasures ! — give me but the old, 




And I'll leave your inventors all new ones they 


Meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye, 


find. 


The ear, the fancy, quick succeed ; 


Or should I, in quest of fresh realms of bliss, 


And now along the waters fly 


Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy some day, 


Light gondoles, of Venetian breed, 


Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this, 


With knights and dames, who, calm reclined, 


And such eyes as we've here be the stars of my 


Lisp out love -sonnets as they glide — 


way! 


Astonishing old Thames to find 


In the mean time, a bumper — your Angels, on high, 


Such doings on his mortal tide. 


May have pleasures unknown to life's limited 




span ; 


So bright was still that tranquil river, 


But, as we are not Angels, why — let the flask fly — 


With the last shaft from Daylight's quiver, 


We must only be happy all ways that we can. 


That many a group, in turn, were seen 




Embarking on its wave serene ; 




And, 'mong the rest, in chorus gay, 




A band of mariners, from th' isles 
Of sunny Greece, all song and smiles, 






As smooth they floated, to the play 


Now nearly fled was sunset's light, 


Of their oar's cadence, sung this lay : — 


Leaving but so much of its beam 
As gave to objects, late so bright, 






The coloring of a shadowy dream ; 




And there was still where Day had set 


TRIO. 


A flush that spoke him loath to die — 


Our home is on the sea, boy, 
Our home is on the sea ; 


A last link of his glory yet, 


Binding together earth and sky. 


When Nature gave 
The ocean-wave, 


Say, why is it that twilight best 


Becomes even brows the loveliest ? 


She mark'd it for the Free. 


That dimness, with its soft'ning touch, 


Whatever storms befall, boy, 
Whatever storms befall, 


Can bring out grace, unfelt before, 


And charms we ne'er can see too much, 


The island bark 


When seen but half enchant the more ? 


Is Freedom's ark, 


Alas, it is that every joy 

In fulness finds its worst alloy, 


And floats her safe through all. 


And half a bliss, but hoped or guess'd, 


Behold yon sea of isles, boy, 


Is sweeter than the whole possess'd ; — 


Behold yon sea of isles, 


That Beauty, when least shone upon, 


Where ev'ry shore 


A creature most ideal grows ; 


Is sparkling o'er 


And there's no light from moon or sun 


With Beauty's richest smiles. 


Like that Imagination throws ; — 


For us hath Freedom claim'd, boy, 


It is, alas, that Fancy shrinks 


For us hath Freedom claim'd 


Ev'n from a bright reality, 


Those ocean-nests 


And turning inly, feels and thinks 


Where Valor rests 


Far heav'nlier things than e'er will be. 


His eagle wing untamed. 



THE SUMMER FETE. 313 


\nd shall the Moslem dare, boy, 


(Such as in Russian ball-rooms sheds 


And shall the Moslem dare, 


Its glory o'er young dancers' heads) — 


While Grecian hand 


Quadrille performs her mazy rites, 


Can wield a brand, 


And reigns supreme o'er slides and capers ; — 


To plant his Crescent there ? 


Working to death each opera strain, 


No — by our fathers, no, boy, 


As, with a foot that ne'er reposes, 


No, by the Cross we show — > 


She jigs through sacred and profane, 


From Maina's rills 


From " Maid and Magpie" up to " Moses ;' u — 


To Thracia's hills 


Wearing out tunes as fast as shoes, 


All Greece re-echoes " No !" 


Till fagg'd Rossini scarce respires ; 




Till Mayerbeer for mercy sues, 





And Weber at her feet expires. 


Like pleasant thoughts that o'er the mind 


And now the set hath ceased — the bows 


A minute come, and go again, 


Of fiddlers taste a brief repose, 


Ev'n so, by snatches, in the wind, 


While light along the painted floor, 


Was caught and lost that choral strain, 


Arm within arm, the couples stray, 


Now full, now faint upon the ear, 


Talking their stock of nothings o'er, 


As the bark floated far or near. 


Till — nothing's left, at last, to say. 


At length when, lost, the closing note 


When, lo ! — most opportunely sent — 


Had down the waters died along, 


Two Exquisites, a he and she, 


Forth from another fairy boat, 


Just brought from Dandyland, and meant 


Freighted with music, came this song : — 


For Fashion's grand Menagerie, 




Enter'd the room — and scarce were there 




When all fiock'd round them, glad to stare 
At any monsters, any where. 




SONG. 


Some thought them perfect, to their tastes ; 


Smoothly flowing through verdant vales, 


While others hinted that the waists 


Gentle river, thy current runs, 


(That in particular of the he thing) 


Shelter'd safe from winter gales, 


Left far too ample room for breathing : 


Shaded cool from summer suns. 


Whereas, to meet these critics' wishes, 


Thus oujr Youth's sweet moments glide, 


The isthmus there should be so small, 


Fenced with flow'ry shelter round ; 


That Exquisites, at last, like fishes, 


No rude tempest wakes the tide, 


Must manage not to breathe at all. 


All its path is fairy ground. 


The female (these same critics said,) 




Though orthodox from toe to chin, 


But, fair river, the day will come, 


Yet lack'd that spacious width of head 


When, woo'd by whisp'ring groves in vain, 


To hat of toadstool much akin — 


Thou'lt leave those banks, thy shaded home, 


That build of bonnet, whose extent 


To mingle with the stormy main. 


Should, like a doctrine of dissent, 


And thou, sweet Youth, too soon wilt pass 


Puzzle church-doors to let it in. 


Into the world's unshelter'd sea, 




Where, once thy wave hath mix'd, alas, 


However — sad as 'twas, no doubt, 


All hope of peace is lost for thee. 


That nymph so smart should go about, 




With head unconscious of the place 




It ought to fill in Infinite Space — 
Yet all allow'd that, of her kind, 






A prettier show 'twas hard to find ; 


Next turn we to the gay saloon 


While of that doubtful genus, " dressy men," 


Resplendent as a summer noon, 


The male was thought a first-rate specimen. 


Where, 'neath a pendent wreath of lights, 


Such Savans, too, as wish'd to trace 


A Zodiac of flowers and tapers — 


The manners, habits, of this race — 


1 In England the partition of this opera of Rossini was 


&c. to the dances selected from it (as was done in Paris) has 


transferred to the story of Peter the Hermit ; by which means 


been avoided. 


the indecorum of giving such names as " Mo'ise," *' Pharaon," 

1 





314 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



To know what rank (if rank at all) 

'Mong reas'ning things to them should fall — 

What sort of notions heaven imparts 

To high-built heads and tight -laced hearts, 

And how far Soul, which, Plato says, 

Abhors restraint, can act in stays — 

Might now, if gifted with discerning, 

Find opportunities of learning : 

As these two creatures — from their pout 

And frown, 'twas plain — had just fall'n out ; 

And all their little thoughts, of course, 

Were stirring in full fret and force ; — 

Like mites, through microscope espied, 

A world of nothings magnified. 

But mild the vent such beings seek, 
The tempest of their souls to speak : 
As Opera swains to fiddles sigh, 
To fiddles fight, to fiddles die, 
Even so this tender couple set 
Their well-bred woes to a Duet. 



WALTZ DUET. 1 



Long as I waltz'd with only thee, 

Each blissful Wednesday that went by, 
Nor stylish Stultz, nor neat Nugee 
Adorn'd a youth so blest as I. 
Oh! ah! ah! oh! 
Those happy days are gone — heigho 



Long as with thee I skimm'd the ground 

Nor yet was scorn'd for Lady Jane, 
No blither nymph tetotum'd round 
To Collinet's immortal strain. 
Oh! ah! &c. 
Those happy days are gone — heigho ! 



With Lady Jane now whirl'd about, 

I know no bounds of time or breath ; 
And, should the charmer's head hold out, 
My heart and heels are hers till death. 
' Oh! ah! &c. 

Still round and round through life we'll go. 



To Lord Fitznoodle's eldest son, 

A youth renown'd for waistcoats smart, 

i It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that this 
Duet is a parody of the often-translated and parodied ode of 
Horace, " Donee gratus eram tibi," &c. 



I now have given (excuse the pun) 
A vested interest in my heart. 
Oh! ah! &c. 
Still round and round with him I'll go. 

HE. 

What if, by fond remembrance led 
Again to wear our mutual chain, 
For me thou cutt'st Fitznoodle dead, 
And I levant from Lady Jane. 
Oh! ah! &c. 
Still round and round again we'll go. 

SHE. 

Though he the Noodle honors give, 

And thine, dear youth s ^re not so high, 
With thee in endless waltz i'd live, 

With thee, to Weber's Stop-Waltz, die ! 
Oh ! ah . &c. 

Thus round and round through life we'll go. 
[Exeunt waltzing. 



While thus, like motes that dance away 

Existence in a summer ray, 

These gay things, bom but to quadrille, 

The circle of their doom fulfil — 

(That dancing doom, whose law decrees 

That they should live, on the alert toe, 
A life of ups-and-downs, like keys 

Of Broadwood's in a long concerto : — ) 
While thus the fiddle's spell, within, 

Calls up its realm of restless sprites, 
Without, as if some Mandarin 

Were holding there his Feast of Lights, 
Lamps of all hues, from walks and bowers, 
Broke on the eye, like kindling flowers, 
Till, budding into light, each tree 
Bore its full fruit of brilliancy. 

Here shone a garden — lamps all o'er, 

As though the Spirits ot the Air 
Had tak'n it in their heads to pour 

A shower of summer meteors there ; — 
While here a lighted shrubb'iy led 

To a small lake that sleeping lay, 
Cradled in foliage, but, o'erhead, 

Open to heaven's sweet breath and ray ; 
While round its rim there burning stood 

Lamps, with young flowers beside them bedded, 
That shrunk from such warm neighborhood ; 
And, looking bashful in the flood, 

Blush'd to behold themselves so wedded. 

Hither, to this embower'd retreat, 
Fit but for nights so still and sweet ; 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



315 



Nights, such as Eden's calm recall 
In its first lonely hour, when all 

So silent is, below, on high, 

That if a star falls down the sky, 
You almost think you hear it fall — 
Hither, to this recess, a few, 

To shun the dancers' wild'ring noise, 
And give an hour, ere night-time flew, 

To Music's more ethereal joys, 
Came with their voices — ready all 
As Echo, waiting for a call — 
In hymn or ballad, dirge or glee, 
To weave their mingling minstrelsy. 

And, first, a dark-eyed nymph, array' d — 
Like her, whom Art hath deathless made, 
Bright Mona Lisa 1 — with that braid 
Of hair across the brow, and one 
Small gem that in the centre shone — 
With face, too, in its form resembling 

Da Vinci's Beauties — the dark eyes, 
Now lucid, as through crystal trembling, 

Now soft, as if suffused with sighs — 
Her lute, that hung beside her, took, 
And, bending o'er it with shy look, 
Mote beautiful, in shadow thus, 
Than when with life most luminous, 
Pass'd her light finger o'er the chords, 
And sung to them these mournful words :— 



SONG. 



Bring hither, bring thy lute, while day is dying- 
Here will I lay me, and list to thy song ; 

Should tones of other days mix with its sighing, 
Tones of a light heart, now banish' d so long, 

Chase them away — they bring but pain, 

And let thy theme be wo again. 

Sing on, thou mournful lute — day is fast going, 
Soon will its light from thy chords die away ; 

One little gleam in the west is still glowing, 
When that hath vanish'd, farewell to thy lay. 

Mark, how it fades ! — see, it is fled ! 

Now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dead. 



The group, that late, in garb of Gre.eks, 
Sung their light chorus o'er the tide— • 

1 The celebrated portrait by Leonardo da Vinci, which he 
is said to have occupied four years in painting. — Vasari, 
vol. vii. 



Forms, such as up the wooded creeks 
Of Helle's shore at noonday glide, 
Or, nightly, on her glist'ning sea, 
Woo the bright waves with melody — 
Now link'd their triple league again 
Of voices sweet, and sung a strain, 
Such as, had Sappho's tuneful ear 
But caught it, on the fatal steep, 
She would have paused, entranced, to hear, 
And, for that day, deferr'd her leap. 



SONG AND TRIO. , 

On one of those sweet nights that oft 
Their lustre o'er th' iEgean fling, 

Beneath my casement, low and soft, 
I heard a Lesbian lover sing ; 

And, list'ning both with ear and thought 

These sounds upon the night-breeze caught- 
" Oh, happy as the gods is he, 
" Who gazes at this hour on thee !" 

The song was one by Sappho sung, 

In the first love -dreams of her lyre, 
When words of passion from her tongue 

Fell like a shower of living fire. 
And still, at close of ev'ry strain, 
I heard these burning words again — 
" Oh, happy as the gods is he, 
" Who listens at tins hour to thee !" 



Once more to Mona Lisa turn'd 

Each asking eye — nor turn'd in vain ; 

Though the quick, transient blush that bum'd 
Bright o'er her cheek, and died again, 

Show'd with what inly shame and fear 

Was utter'd what all loved to hear. 

Yet not to sorrow's languid lay 
Did she her lute -song now devote ; 

But thus, with voice that, like a ray 
Of southern sunshine, seem'd to float — 
So rich with climate was each note — 

Call'd up in every heart a dream 

Of Italy, with this soft theme : — 



SONG. 



Oh, where art thou dreaming, 
On land, or on sea ? 



316 MOORE'S WORKS. 


In my lattice is gleaming 


Gay caps we here of foolscap make, 


The watch-light for thee ; 


For bards to wear in dog-day weather ; 


And this fond heart is glowing 


Or bards the bells alone may take, 


To welcome thee home, 


And leave to wits the cap and feather 


And the night is fast going, 


Tetotums we've for patriots got, 


But thou art not come : 


Who court the mob with antics humble ; 


No, thou com'st not ! 


Like theirs the patriot's dizzy lot, 




A glorious spin, and then — a tumble. 


'Tis the time when night-flowers 


Who'll buy, &c, &c. 


Should wake from their rest ; 




'Tis the hour of all hours, 


Here, wealthy misers to inter, 


When the lute singeth best. 


We've shrouds of neat post-obit paper ; 


But the flowers are half sleeping 


While, for their heirs, we've quicksilver, 


Till thy glance they see ! 


That, fast as they can wish, will caper. 


A.nd the hush'd lute is keeping 


For aldermen we've dials true, 


Its music for thee. 


That tell no hour but that of dinner ; 


Yet, thou com'st not ! 


For courtly parsons sermons new, 




That suit alike both saint and sinner. 




Who'll buy, &c, &c 
No time we've now to name our terms, 




Scarce had the last word left her lip, 
When a light, boyish form, with trip 


But, whatsoe'er the whims that seize you, 
This oldest of all mortal firms, 


Fantastic, np the green walk came, 
Prank'd in gay vest, to which the flame 
Of every lamp he pass'd, or blue, 
Or green, or crimson, lent its hue ; 
As though a live chameleon's skin 
He had despoil'd to robe him in. 


Folly and Co., will try to please you. 
Or, should you wish a darker hue 

Of goods than we can recommend you/ 
Why then (as we with lawyers do) 

To Knavery's shop next door we'll send you. 
Who'll buy, &c., &c 


A zone he wore of clatt'ring shells, 




And from his lofty cap, where shone 




A peacock's plume, there dangled bells 




That rung as he came dancing on 


While thus the blissful moments roll'd, 


Close after him, a page — in dress 


Moments of rare and fleeting light, 


And shape, his miniature express — 


That show themselves, like grains of gold 


An ample basket, fill'd with store 


In the mine's refuse, few and bright ; 


Of toys and trinkets, laughing bore ; 


Behold where, opening far away, 


Till, having reach'd this verdant seat, 


The long Conservatory's range, 


He laid it at his master's feet, 


Stripp'd of the flowers it wore all day, 


Who, half in speech and half in song, 


But gaining lovelier in exchange, 


Chanted this invoice to the throng : — 


Presents, on Dresden's costliest ware, 




A supper, such as Gods might share. 
Ah much -loved Supper ! — blithe repast 






Of other times, now dwindling fast, 


SONG. 


Since Dinner far into the night 




Advanced the march of appetite ; 


Who'll buy? — 'tis Folly's shop, who'll buy? — 


Deploy 'd his never-ending forces 


We've toys to suit all ranks and ages ; 


Of various vintage and three courses, 


Besides our usual fools' supply, 


And, like those Goths who play'd the dickens 


We've lots of playthings, too, for sages. 


With Rome and all her sacred chickens, 


For reasoners, here's a juggler's cup, 


Put Supper and her fowls so white, 


That fullest seems when nothing's in it ; 


Legs, wings, and drumsticks, all to flight. 


And nine-pins set, like systems, up, 




To be knock'd down the following minute. 


Now waked once more by wine — whose tide 


Who'll buy ?— 'tis Folly's shop, who'll buy ? 


Is the true Hippocrene, where glide 



THE SUMMER FETE. 317 


The Muse's swans with happiest wing, 


'Tis not for thee the fault to blame, 


Dipping their bills, before they sing — 


For from those eyes the madness came. 


The minstrels of the table greet 


Forgive but thou the crime of loving, 


The list'ning ear with descant sweet : — 


In this heart more pride 'twill raise 




To be thus wrong, with thee approving, 




Than right, w»th all a world to praise ! 


SONG AND TRIO. 






But say, while light these songs resound, 


THE LEVEE AND COUCHEE. 


What means that buz of whisp'ring round, 




From lip to lip — as if the Power 


Call the Loves around, 


Of Mystery, in this gay hour, 


Let the whisp'ring sound 


Had thrown some secret (as we fling 


Of their wings be heard alone, 


Nuts among children) to that ring 


Till soft to rest 


Of rosy, restless lips, to be 


My Lady blest 


Thus scrambled for so wantonly ? 


At this bright hour hath gone. 


And, mark ye, still as each reveals 


Let Fancy's beams 


The mystic news, her hearer steals 


Play o'er her dreams, 


A look tow'rds yon enchanted chair, 


Till, touch'd with light all through, 


Where, like the Lady of the Mask, 


Her spirit be 


A nymph, as exquisitely fail- 


Like a summer sea, 


As Love himself for bride could ask, 


Shining and slumb'ring too. 


Sits blushing deep, as if aware 


And, while thus hush'd she lies, 


Of the wing'd secret circling there. 


Let the whisper'd chorus rise — 


Who is this nymph ? and what, oh Muse, 


" Good evening, good evening, to our Lady's bright 


What, in the name of all odd things 


eyes." 


That woman's restless brain pursues, 




What mean these mystic whisperings ? 


But the day-beam breaks, 




See, our Lady wakes ! 


Thus runs the tale : — yon blushing maid, 


Call the Loves around once more, 


Who sits in beauty's light array'd, 


Like stars that wait 


While o'er her leans a tall young Dervise, 


At Morning's gate, 


(Who from her eyes, as all observe, is 


Her first steps to adore. 


Learning by heart the Marriage Service,) 


Let the veil of night 


Is the bright heroine of our song, — 


From her dawning sight 


The Love-wed Psyche, whom so long 


All gently pass away, 


We've miss'd among this mortal train, 


Like mists that flee 


We thought her wing'd to heaven again 


From a summer sea, 




Leaving it full of day. 


But no — earth still demands her smile ; 


And, while her last dream flies, 


Her friends, the Gods, must wait awhile. 


Let the whisper'd chorus rise — 


And if, for maid of heavenly birth, 


" Good morning, good morning, to our Lady's bright 


A young Duke's proffer' d heart and hand 


eyes." 


Be things worth waiting for on earth, 




Both are, this hour, at her command. 
To-night, in yonder half-lit shade, 






For love concerns expressly meant, 


SONG. 


i The fond proposal first was made, 




And love and silence blush'd consent 


If to see thee be to love thee, 


Parents and friends (all here, as Jews, 


If to love thee be to prize 


Enchanters, housemaids, Turks, Hindoos,) 


Naught of earth or heav'n above thee, 


Have heard, approved, and bless'd the tie ; 


Nor to live but for those eyes : 


And now, hadst thou a poet's eye, 


If such love to mortal given, 


Thou might'st behold, in th' air, above 


Be wrong to earth, be wrong to heav'n, 


That brilliant brow, triumphant Love, 



318 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Holding, as if to drop it down 

Gently upon her curls, a crown 

Of Ducal shape — but, oh, such gems ! 

Pilfer'd from Peri diadems, 

And set in gold like that which shines 

To deck the Fairy of the Mines : 

In short, a crown all glorious — such as 

Love orders when he makes a Duchess. 

But see, 'tis morn in heaven ; the Sun 
Up the bright orient hath begun 
To canter his immortal team ; 

And, though not yet arrived in sight, 
His leader's nostrils send a steam 
Of radiance forth, so rosy bright 
As makes their onward path all light. 
What's to be done ? if Sol will be 
So deuced early, so must we ; 



And when the day thus shines outright, 
Ev'n dearest friends must bid good night. 
So farewell, scene of mirth and masking, 

Now almost a by -gone tale ; 
Beauties, late in lamp-light basking, 

Now, by daylight, dim and pale ; 
Harpers, yawning o'er your harps, 
Scarcely knowing flats from sharps ; 
Mothers who, while bored you keep 
Time by nodding, nod to sleep ; 
Heads of air, that stood last night 
Crepe, crispy, and upright, 
But have now, alas ! one sees, a 
Leaning like the tower of Pisa ; 
Fare ye well — thus sinks away 

All that's mighty, all that's bright ; 
Tyre and Sidon had their day, 

And ev'n a Ball — has but its night ! 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



In thus connecting together a series of Songs by 
a thread of poetical narrative, my chief object has 
been to combine Recitation with Music, so as to 
enable a greater number of persons to join in the 
performance, by enlisting, as readers, those who 
may not feel willing or competent to take a part as 
singers. 

The Island of Zea, where the scene is laid, was 
called by the ancients Ceos, and "5vas the birthplace 
of Simonides, Bacchylides, and other eminent per- 
sons. An account of its present state may be found 
in the Travels of Dr. Clarke, who says, that " it 
appeared to him to be the best cultivated of any of 
tho Grecian Isles." — Vol. vi. p. 174. 

T. M. 



EVENINGS IN GEEECE. 



FIRST EVENING. 

The sky is bright — the breeze is fair, 
" And the mainsail flowing, full and free — 



" Our farewell word is woman's pray'r, 
" And the hope before us — Liberty ! 

" Farewell, farewell. 
" To Greece we give our shining blades, 
" And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids ! 

" The moon is in the heavens above, 
" And the wind is on the foaming sea — 

" Thus shines the star of woman's love 
" On the glorious strife of Liberty ! 

" Farewell, farewell. 
" To Greece we give our shining blades 
" And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids !" 



Thus sung they from the bark, that now 
Turn'd to the sea its gallant prow, 
Bearing within it hearts as brave, 
As e'er sought Freedom o'er the wave ; 
And leaving on that islet's shore, 

Where still the farewell beacons burn, 
Friends, that shall many a day look o'er 

The long, dim sea for their return. 

Virgin of Heaven ! speed their way — 
Oh. speed their way, — the chosen flow'r, 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



319 



Of Zea's youth, the hope and stay 


While round, to grace its cradle green, 


Of parents in their wintry hour, 


Groups of Velani oaks are seen, 


The love of maidens, and the pride 


Tow'ring on every verdant height — 


Of the young, happy, blushing bride, 


Tall, shadowy, in the evening light. 


Whose nuptial wreath has not yet died — 


Like Genii, set to watch the birth 


All, all are in that precious bark, 


Of some enchanted child of earth — 


Which now, alas, no more is seen — 


Fair oaks, that over Zea's vales, 


Though every eye still turns to mark 


Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd ; 


The moonlight spot where it had been 


While Commerce, from her thousand sails, 




Scatters their fruit throughout the world P 


Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires, 




And mothers, your beloved are gone ! — 


'Twas here — as soon as prayer and sleep 


Now may you quench those signal fires, 


(Those truest friends to all who weep) 


Whose light they long look'd back upon 


Had lighten'd every heart, and made 


From their dark deck — watching the flame 


Ev'n sorrow wear a softer shade — 


As fast it faded from their view, 


'Twas here, in this secluded spot, 


h thoughts, that, but for manly shame, 


Amid whose breathings calm and sweet 


Had made them droop and weep like you. 


Grief might be sooth'd, if not forgot, 


Home to your chambers ! home, and pray 


The Zean nymphs resolved to meet 


For the bright coming of that day, 


Each evening now, by the same light 


When, bless'd by heaven, the Cross shall sweep 


That saw their farewell tears that night ; 


The Crescent from the iEgean deep, 


And try, if sound of lute and song, 


And your brave warriors, hast'ning back, 


If wand'ring 'mid the moonlight flowers 


Will bring such glories in their track, 


In various talk, could charm along 


As shall, for many an age to come, 


With lighter step, the ling'ring hours, 


Shed fight around their name and home. 


Till tidings of that Bark should come, 




Or Victory waft their warriors home ! 


There is a Fount on Zea's isle, 




Round which, in soft luxuriance, smile 


When first they met — the wonted smile 


All the sweet flowers, of every kind, 


Of greeting having gleam'd awhile — 


On which the sun of Greece looks down, 


'Twould touch ev'n Moslem heart to see 


Pleased as a lover on the crown 


The sadness that came suddenly 


His mistress for her brow hath twined, 


O'er their young brows, when they look'd round 


When he beholds each flow'ret there, 


Upon that bright, enchanted ground ; 


Himself had wish'd her most to wear ; 


And thought, how many a time, with those 


Here bloom'd the laurel-rose, 1 whose wreath 


Who now were gone to the rude wars, 


Hangs radiant round the Cypriot shrines, 


They there had met, at evening's close, 


And here those bramble -flowers that breathe 


And danced till morn outshone the stars '. 


Their odor into Zante's wines f — 




The splendid woodbine, that, at eve, 


But seldom long doth hang th' eclipse 


To grace their floral diadems, 


Of sorrow o'er such youthful breasts — 


The lovely maids of Patmos weave :" — 


The breath from her own blushing lips, 


And that fair plant, whose tangled stems 


That on the maiden's mirror rests, 


Shine like a Nereid's hair, 4 when spread, 


Not swifter, lighter from the glass, 


DishevelFd, o'er her azure bed : — 


Than sadness from her brow doth pass. 


All these bright children of the clime, 


Soon did they now, as round the Well 


(Each at its own most genial time, 


They sat, beneath the risiug moon — 


The summer, or the year's sweet prime,) 


And some, with voice of awe, would tell 


Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn 


Of midnight fays, and nymphs who dwell 


The Valley, where that Fount is born : 


In holy founts — while some would tune 


i "Neriuru Oleander. In Cyprus it retains its ancient 


i Cuscuta europaea. "From the twisting and twining of 


name, Rhododaphne, and the Cypriots adorn their churches 


the stems, it is compared by the Greeks to the dishevelled 


with the flowers on feast-days." — Journal of Dr. Sibtkorpe, 


hair of the Nereids." — JYalpoWs Turkey. 


Walpole's Turkey. S Id. 


5 "The produce of the island in these acorns alone 


3 Lonicera Caprifolium, used by the girls of Patmos for 


amounts annually to fifteen thousand quintals." — Clarke's 


garlands. 


Travels. 



320 MOORE'S 


> WORKS. 


Their idle lutes, that now had lain, 


SONG. 


For days, without a single strain ; — 


And others, from the rest apart, 


As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid 


With laugh that told the lighten'd heart, 


In love-sick languor hung her head, 


Sat, whisp'ring in each other's ear 


Unknowing where her fingers stray'd, 


Secrets, that all in turn would hear ; — 


She weeping turn'd away, and said, 


Soon did they find this thoughtless play 


" Oh, my sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 


So swiftly steal their griefs away, 


" I cannot weave, as once I wove — 


That many a nymph, though pleased the while, 


" So wilder'd is my heart and brain 


Reproach'd her own forgetful smile, 


" With thinking of that youth I love !" 4 


And sigh'd to think she could be gay. 






Again the web she tried to trace, 


Among these maidens there was one, 


But tears fell o'er each tangled thread ; 


Who to Leucadia 1 late had been — 


While, looking in her mother's face, 


Had stood, beneath the evening sun, 


Who watchful o'er her lean'd, she said, 


On its white tow'ring cliffs, and seen 


" Oh, my sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 


The very spot where Sappho sung 


" I cannot weave, as once I wove — 


Her swan-like music, ere she sprung 


" So wilder'd is my heart and brain 


(Still holding, in that fearful leap, 


" With thinking of that youth I love !" 


By her loved lyre) into the deep, 




And dying quench'd the fatal fire, 






At once, of both her heart and lyre. 






A silence follow'd this sweet air, 


Mutely they listen'd all — and well 


As each in tender musing stood, 


Did the young travell'd maiden tell 


Thinking, with lips that moved in prayer, 


Of the dread height to which that steep 


Of Sappho and that fearful flood : 


Beetles above the eddying deep 2 — 


While some, who ne'er till now had known 


Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round 


How much their hearts resembled hers, 


The dizzy edge with mournful sound — 


Felt as they made her griefs their own, 


And of those scented lilies 3 found 


That they, too, were Love's worshippers. 


Still blooming on that fearful place — 




As if call'd up by Love, to grace 


At length a murmur, all but mute, 


Th' immortal spot, o'er which the last 


So faint it was, came from the lute 


Bright footsteps of his martyr pass'd ! 


Of a young melancholy maid, 




Whose fingers, all uncertain play'd 


While fresh to ev'ry listener's thought 


From chord to chord, as if in chase 


These legends of Leucadia brought 


Of seme lost melody, some strain 


All that of Sappho's hapless flame 


Of other times, whose faded trace 


Is kept alive, still watch'd by Fame — 


She sought among those chords again 


The maiden, tuning her soft lute, 


Slowly the half-forgotten theme 


While all the rest stood round her, mute, 


(Though born in feelings ne'er forgot) 


Thus sketch'd the languishment of soul, 


Came to her memory — as a beam 


That o'er the tender Lesbian stole ; 


Falls broken o'er some shaded spot ; — 


And, in a voice, whose thrilling tone 


And while her lute's sad symphony 


Fancy might deem the Lesbian's own, 


Fill'd up each sighing pause between : 


One of those fervid fragments gave, 


And Love himself might weep to see 


Which still, — like sparkles of Greek Fire, 


What ruin comes where he hath been — 


Undying, ev'n beneath the wave, — 


As wither'd still the grass is found 


Burn on through Time, and ne'er expire. 


Whore fays have danced their merry round — 


i Now Santa Maura — the island, from whose cliffs Sap 


3 See Mr. Goodisson's very interesting description of all 


pho leaped into the sea. 


these circumstances. 


2 "The precipice, which is fearfully dizzy, is about one 


4 I have attempted, in these four lines, to give some idea 


huttlred and/ourteen feet from the water, which is of a pro- 


of that beautiful fragment of Sappho, beginning TXvxua 


founj depth, as appears from the dark-blue color and the 


H<XT£p, which represents so truly (as Warton remarks) " the 


eddy that plays round the pointed and projecting rocks."— 


languor and listlessness of a person deeply in love." 


Goodissori's Ionian Isles. 





EVENINGS IN GREECE. 321 


Thus simply to the list'ning throng 


Thus sung the song her lover late 


She breathed her melancholy song: — 


Had sung to her — the eve before 




That joyous night, when, as of yore, 




All Zea met, to celebrate 




The Feast of May, on the sea-shore. 


SONG. 


SONG. 


Weeping for thee, my love, through 1 the long day, 


When the Balaika 1 


Lonely and wearily life wears away. 


Is heard o'er the sea, 


Weeping for thee, my love, through the long night — 


I'll dance the Romaika 


No rest in darkness, no joy in light ! 


By moonlight with thee 
If waves then, advancing, 
Should steal on our play, 


Naught left but Memory, whose dreary tread 


Sounds through this ruin'd heart, where all lies 


dead — 


Thy white feet, in dancing, 


Wakening the echoes of joy long fled ! 


Shall chase them away. 2 




When the Balaika 




Is heard o'er the sea, 
Thou'lt dance the Romaika, 






My own love, with me. 


Of many a stanza, this alone 




Had 'scaped oblivion — like the one 


Then, at the closing 


Stray fragment of a wreck, which thrown. 


Of each merry lay, 


With the lost vessel's name, ashore, 


How sweet 'tis, reposing, 


Tells who they were that live no more. 


Beneath the night ray ! 




Or if, declining, 


When thus the heart is in a vein 


The moon leave the skies, 


Of tender thought, the simplest strain 


We'll talk by the shining 


Can touch it with peculiar power — 


Of each other's eyes. 


As when the air is warm, the scent 




Of the most wild and rustic flower 


Oh then, how featly 


Can fill the whole rich element — 


The dance we'll renew, 


And, in such moods, the homeliest tone 


Treading so fleetly 


That's link'd with feelings, once our own — 


Its light mazes through : 3 


With friends or joys gone by — will be 


Till stars, looking o'er us 


Worth choirs of loftiest harmony ! 


From heaven's high bow'rs, 




Would change their bright chorus 


But some there were, among the group 


For one dance of ours ! 


Of damsels there, too light of heart 


When the Balaika 


To let their spirits longer droop, 


Is heard o'er the sea, 


Ev'n under music's melting art ; 


Thou'lt dance the Romaika, 


And one upspringing, with a bound, 


My own love, with me. 


From a low bank of flowers, look'd round 




With eyes that, though so full of light, 
Had still a trembling tear within ; 






And, while her fingers, in swift flight, 


How changingly forever veers 


Flew o'er a fairy mandolin, 


The heart of youth, 'twixt smiles and tears ! 


i This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of a syllable ; 


of the dance sometimes setting to her partner, sometimes 


Dr. Clarke, if I recollect right, makes it " Balalaika." 


darting before the rest, and leading them through the most 


2 " I saw above thirty parties engaged in dancing the Eo- 


rapid revolutions; sometimes crossing under the hands. 


maikaupon the sand ; in some of these groups, the girl who 


which are held up to let her pass, and giving as much live- 


led them chased the retreating wave." — Douglas on the 


liness and intricacy as she can to the figures, into which 


Modern Greeks. 


she conducts her companions, while their business is to 


3 "In dancing the Romaika (says Mr. Douglas) they begin 


follow her in all her movements, without breaking the 


in slow and solemn step till they have gained the time, but 


chain, or losing the measure." 


by degrees the air becomes more sprightly ; the conductress 







322 



MOORE'S WORKS 



Ev'n as in April, the light vane 
Now points to sunshine, now to rain. 
Instant this lively lay dispell'd 

The shadow from each blooming brow, 
And Dancing, joyous Dancing, held 

Full empire o'er each fancy now. 

But say — what shall the measure be ? 

" Shall we the old Romaika tread," 
(Some eager ask'd) " as anciently 

" 'Twas by the maids of Delos led, 
" When, slow at first, then circling fast, 
V As the gay spirits rose — at last, 
" With hand in hand, like links, enlock'd, 

" Through the light air they seem'd to flit 
" In labyrinthine maze, that mock'd 

" The dazzled eye that follow'd it?" 
Some call'd aloud " the Fountain Dance !" — 

While one young, dark-eyed Amazon, 
Whose step was air-like, and whose glance 

Flash'd, like a sabre in the sun, 
Sportively said, " Shame on these soft 
" And languid strains we hear so oft. 
" Daughters of Freedom ! have not we 

" Learn'd from our lovers and our sires 
" The Dance of Greece, while Greece was. free — 
* " That Dance, where neither flutes nor lyres, 
" But sword and shield clash on the ear 
" A music tyrants quake to hear I 1 
" Heroines of Zea, arm with me, 
" And dance the dance of Victory !" 

Thus saying, she, with playful grace, 
Loosed the wide hat, that o'er her face 
(From Anatolia 2 came the maid) 

Hung, shadowing each sunny charm ; 
An I, with a fair young armorer's aid, 

Fixing it on her rounded arm, 
A mimic shield with pride display'd ; 
Then, springing tow'rds a grove that spread 

Its canopy of foliage near, 
Pluck'd off a lance-like twig, and said, 
" To arms, to arms !" while o'er her head 

She waved the light branch, as a spear. 

Promptly the laughing maidens all 
Obey'd their Chief's heroic call ; — 
Round the shield-arm of each was tied 

Hat, turban, shawl, as chance might be ; 

The grove, their verdant armory, 
Falchion and lance 3 alike supplied ; 

i For a description of the Pyrrhic Dance, see De Guys, &c. 
— It appears from Apuleius (lib. x.) that this war-dance was, 
among the ancients, sometimes performed by females. 

2 See the costume of the Greek women of Natolia in Cas- 
tellan's Mmurs des Othomans 



And as their glossy locks, let free, 

Fell down their shoulders carelessly, 
You might have dream'd you saw a throng 

Of youthful Thyads, by the beam 
Of a May moon, bounding along 

Peneus' silver-eddied 4 stream ! 

And now they stepp'd, with measured tread, 

Martially, o'er the shining field ; 
Now, to the mimic combat led, 
(A heroine at each squadron's head,) 

Struck lance to lance and sword to shield : 
While still, through every varying feat, 
Their voices, heard in contrast sweet 
With some, of deep but soften 5 d sound, 
From lips of aged sires around, 
Who smiling watch'd their children's play — 
Thus sung the ancient Pyrrhic lay : — 



SONG. 



" Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 

" Now here — now there— jetreat — advance !" 

Such were the sounds, to which the warrior boy 
Danced in those happy days, when Greece was 
free ; 

When Sparta's youth, ev'n in the hour of joy, 
Thus train'd their steps to war and victory. 

" Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 

" Now here — now there — retreat — advance !" 

Such was the Spartan warriors' dance. 

" Grasp the falchion — gird the shield — 

" Attack — defend — do all, but yield." 

Thus did thy sons, oh Greece, one glorious night, 
Dance by a moon like this, till o'er the sea 

That morning dawn'd by whose immortal light 
They nobly died for thee and liberty ! 6 

" Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 

" Now here — now there — retreat — advance !" 

Such was the Spartan heroes' dance. 



Scarce had they closed this martial lay 
When, flinging their light spears away, 

3 The sword was the weapon chiefly used in this dance. 

* Homer, II. ii. 753. 

6 It is said that Leonidas and his companions employed 
themselves, on the eve of the battle, in music and the gym- 
nastic exercises of their country. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. . 323 


The combatants, in broken ranks, 


Of silence after it, that hung 


All breathless from the war-field fly ; 


Like a fix'd spell on every tongue. 


And down, upon the velvet banks 




And flow'ry slopes, exhausted lie, 


At length, a low and tremulous sound 


Like rosy huntresses of Thrace, 


Was heard from midst a group, that round 


Resting at sunset from the chase. 


A bashful maiden stood, to hide 




Her blushes, while the lute she tried — 


" Fond girls !" an aged Zean said — 


Like roses, gath'ring round to veil 


One who, himself, had fought and bled, 


The song of some young nightingale, 


And now, with feelings, half delight, 


Whose trembling notes steal out between 


Half sadness, watch'd their mimic fight — 


The cluster'd leaves, herself unseen. 


" Fond maids ! who thus with War can jest — 


And, while that voice, in tones that more 


" Like Love, in Mars's helmet dress'd, 


Through feeling than through weakness err'd, 


" When, in his childish innocence, 


Came, with a stronger sweetness, o'er 


" Pleased with the shade that helmet flings, 


Th' attentive ear, this strain was heard :— 


" He thinks not of the blood, that thence 




" Is dropping o'er his snowy wings. 
" Ay — true it is, young patriot maids, 






" If Honor's arm still won the fray, 




" If luck but shone on righteous blades, 


i 


" War were a game for gods to play ! 


SONG. 


" But, no, alas ! — hear one, who well 




" Hath track'd the fortunes of the brave — 


I saw, from yonder silent cave, 


1 Hear me, in mournful ditty, tell 


Two Fountains running, side by side, 


" What glory waits the patriot's grave :" — 


The one was Mem'ry's limpid wave, 




The other cold Oblivion's tide. 1 




" Oh Love !" said I, in thoughtless mood, # 




As deep I drank of Lethe's stream, 






" Be all my sorrows in this flood 




" Forgotten like a vanish'd dream !" 


SONG. 






But who could bear that gloomy blank, 


As by the shore, at break of day, 


Where joy was lost as well as pain ? 


A vanquish'd Chief expiring lay, 


Quickly of Mem'iy's fount I drank, 


Upon the sands, with broken sword, 


And brought the past all back again ; 
And said, " Oh Love ! whate'er my lot, 
" Still let this soul to thee be true — 


He traced his farewell to the Free ; 


And, there, the last unfinish'd word 


He dying wrote was " Liberty !" 


" Rather than have one bliss forgot, 




" Be all my pains remember'd too !" 


At night a Sea-bird shriek'd the knell 




Of him who thus for Freedom fell ; 




The words he wrote, ere evening came, 
Were cover'd by the sounding sea ; — 






So pass away the cause and name 




Of him who dies for Liberty ! 


The group that stood around, to shade 




The blushes of that bashful maid, 


• 


Had, by degrees, as came the lay 
More strongly forth, retired away, 






Like a fair shell, whose valves divide, 


That tribute of subdued applause 


To show the fairer pearl inside : 


A charm'd, but timid, audience pays, 


For such she was — a creature, bright 


That murmur, which a minstrel draws 


And delicate as those day-flow'rs, 


From hearts, that feel, but fear to praise, 


Which, while they last, make up, in light 


Follow'd this song, and left a pause 


And sweetness, what they want in hours. 


1 "This morning we paid our visit to the Cave of Tro- 


upon the water of Hercyna, which flows through stupendous 


phonius, and the Fountains of Memory and Oblivion, just 


rocks."— Williams's Travels in Greece. 



324 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



So rich upon the ear had grown 
Her voice's melody — its tone 
Gath'ring new courage, as it found 
An echo in each bosom round — 
That, ere the nymph, with downcast eye 
Still on the chords, her lute laid by, 
(< Another Song," all lips exclaim'd, 
And each some matchless fav'rite named ; 
While blushing, as her fingers ran 
O'er the sweet chords, she thus began :— 



SONG. 



Oh, Memory, how coldly 

Thou paintest joy gone by : 
Like rainbows, thy pictures 

But mournfully shine and die 
Or, if some tints thou keepest, 

That former days recall, 
As o'er each line thou weepest, 

Thy tears efface them all. 

But, Memory, too truly 

Thou paintest grief that's past ; 
Joy's colors are fleeting, 

But those of Sorrow last. 
And, while thou bring'st before us 

Dark pictures of past ill, 
Life's evening, closing o'er us, 

But makes them darker still. 



So went the moonlight hours along, 
In this sweet glade ; and so, with song 
And witching sounds — not such as they, 

The cymbalists of Ossa, play'd, 
To chase the moon's eclipse away, 1 

But s*>tf; and holy — did each maid 
Lighten b/3r heart's eclipse awhile, 
And win back Sorrow to a smile. 

Not far from this secluded place, 
On the sea-shore a ruin stood ; — 

A relic of th' extinguish'd race, 

Who once look'd o'er that foamy flood, 

When fair Ioulis, 2 by the light 

Of golden sunset, on the sight 
Of mariners who sail'd that sea, 

i This superstitious custom of the Thessalians exist3 also, 
as Tietro della Valle tells us, among the Persians. 

2 An ancient city of Zea, the walls of which were of 
marble. Its remains (says Clarke) " extend from the shore, 



Rose, like a city of chrysolite, 

Call'd from the wave by witchery. 
This ruin — now by barb'rous hands 

Debased into a motley shed, 
Where the once splendid column stands 

Inverted on its leafy head— 
Form'd, as they tell, in times of old, 

The dwelling of that bard, whose lay 
Could melt to tears the stern and cold, 

And sadden, 'mid their mirth, the gay — 
Simonides, 3 whose fame, through years 
And ages past, still bright aj pears — 
Like Hesperus, a star of tears ! 

'Twas hither now — to catch a view 

Of the white waters, as they play'd 
Silently in the light — a few 

Of the more restless damsels stray * ; 
And some would linger 'mid the scer.t 

Of hanging foliage, that perfumed 
The ruin'd walls ; while others went, 

Culling whatever flow'ret bloom'd 
In the lone leafy space between, 
Where gilded chambers once had been ; 
Or, turning sadly to the sea, 

Sent o'er the wave a sigh unblest 
To some brave champion of the Free — 
Thinking, alas, how cold might be, 

At that still hour, his place of rest ! 

Meanwhile there came a sound of song 
From the dark ruins — a faint strain, 

As if some echo, that among 

Those minstrel halls had slumber'd long, 
Were murm'ring into life again. 

But, no — the nymphs knew well the tone — 

A maiden of their train, who loved, 
Like the night-bird, to sing alone, 

Had deep into those ruins roved, 
And there, all other thoughts forgot, 

Was warbling o'er, in lone delight, 
A lay that, on that very spot, 

Her lover sung one moonlight night :— 



SONG. 



Ah ! where are they, who heard, in former hours, 
The voice of Song in these neglected bow'rs ? 
They are gone — all gone ! 



quite into a valley watered by the 
whence Ioulis received its name." 

3 Zea was the birthplace of this poet 
Catullus called " tears." 



of a fountain, 
verses are by 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



325 



The youth, who told his pain in such sweet tone, 
That all, who heard him, wish'd his pain their own — 
He is gone — he is gone ! 

And she, who, while he sung, sat list'ning by, 
And thought, to strains like these 'twere sweet to 
die — 
She is gone — she too is gone S 

'Tis thus, in future hours, some bard will say 
Of her, who hears, and him, who sings this lay — 
They are gone — they both are gone ! 



steep, 



The moon was now, from Heaven' 

Bending to dip her silv'ry urn 
Into the bright and silent deep — 

And the young nymphs, on their return 
From those romantic ruins, found 
Their other playmates, ranged around 
The sacred Spring, prepared to tune 
Their parting hymn, 1 ere sunk the moon, 
To that fair Fountain, by whose stream 
Their hearts had form'd so many a dream. 

Who has not read the tales, that tell 
Of old Eleusis' sacred Well, 
Or heard what legend-songs recount 
Of Syra, and its holy Fount, 2 
Gushing, at once, from the hard rock 

Into the laps of living flowers — 
Where village maidens loved to flock, 

On summer-nights, and, like the hours, 
Link'd in harmonious dance and song, 
Charm'd the unconscious night along ; 
While holy pilgrims, on their way 

To Delos' isle, stood looking on, 
Enchanted with a scene so gay, 

Nor sought then boats, till morning shone ? 

Such was the scene this lovely glade 
And its fair inmates now display'd, 
As round the Fount, in linked ring, 

They went, in cadence slow and light, 
And thus to that enchanted Spring 

Warbled their Farewell for the night : — 



1 These " Songs of the Well," as they were called among 
the ancients, still exist in Greece. De Guijs tells us that he 
has seen " the young women in Prince's Island, assembled 
in the evening at a public well, suddenly strike up a dance, 
while others sung in concert to them." 

2 " The inhabitants of Syra, both ancient and modern, 
may be considered as the worshippers of water. The old 
fountain, at which the nymphs of the island assembled in 
the earliest ages, exists in its original state ; the same ren- 



SONG. 

Here, while the moonlight dim 
Falls on that mossy brim, 
Sing we our Fountain Hymn, 

Maidens of Zea ! 
Nothing but Music's strain, 
When Lovers part in pain, 
Sooths, till they meet again, 

Oh, Maids of Zea ! 

Bright Fount, so clear and cold, 
Round which the nymphs of old 
Stood, with their locks of gold, 

Fountain of Zea ! 
Not even Castaly, 
Famed though its streamlet be, 
Murmurs or shines like thee, 

Oh, Fount of Zea ! 

Thou, while our hymn we sing, 
Thy silver voice shall bring, 
Answering, answering, 

Sweet Fount of Zea ! 
For, of all rills that run, 
Sparkling by moon or sun, 
Thou art the fairest one, 

Bright Fount of Zea ! 

Now, by those stars that glance 
Over heaven's still expanse, 
Weave we our mirthful dance, 

Daughters of Zea ! 
Such as, in former days, 
Danced they, by Dian's rays, 
Where the Eurotas strays, 3 

Oh, Maids of Zea ! 

But when to merry feet 
Hearts with no echo beat, 
Say, can the dance be sweet ? 

Maidens of Zea ! 
No, naught but Music's strain, 
When lovers part in pain, 
Sooths, till they meet again, 

Oh, Maids of Zea ! 



dezvous as it was formerly, whether of love and gallantry, 
or of gossiping and tale-telling. It is near to the town, and 
the most limpid water gushes continually from the solid 
rock. It is regarded by the inhabitants with a degree of re- 
ligious veneration ; and they preserve a tradition, that the 
pilgrims of old time, in their way to Deles, resorted hither 
for purification."— Clarke. 
3 " Gualis in EurotaJ ripis, aut per juga Cynthi 

Exercet Diana chores." — Virgil. 



326 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



SECOND EVENING. 



SONG. 



When evening shades are falling 

O'er Ocean's sunny sleep, 
To pilgrims' hearts recalling 

Their home beyond the deep ; 
When, rest o'er all descending, 

The shores with gladness smile, 
And lutes, their echoes blending, 

Are heard from isle to isle, 
Then, Mary, Star of the Sea, 1 
We pray, we pray to thee ! 

The noonday tempest over, 

Now Ocean toils no more, 
And wings of halcyons hover, 

Where all was strife before. 
Oh thus may life, in closing 

Its short tempestuous day, 
Beneath heaven's smile reposing, 

Shine all its storms away : 
Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, 
We pray, we pray to thee ! 



On Helle's sea the light grew dim, 
As the last sounds of that sweet hymn 

Floated along its azure tide — 
Floated in light, as if the lay 
Had mix'd with sunset's fading ray, 

And light and song together died. 
So soft through evening's air had breathed 
That choir of youthful voices, wreathed 
In many -linked harmony, 
That boats, then hurrying o'er the sea, 
Paused, when they reach'd this fairy shore, 
And linger'd till the strain was o'er. 

Of those young maids who've met to fleet 

In song and dance this evening's hours, 
Far happier now the bosoms beat, 

Than when they last adorn'd these bowers : 
For tidings of glad sound had come, 

At break of day, from the far isles — 
Tidings like breath of life to some — 
That Zea's sons would soon wing home, 

Crown'd with the light of Vict'ry's smiles, 
To meet that brightest of all meeds 
That wait on high, heroic deeds, 



i One of the titles of the Virgin: 
sive Stella Maris."— Isidor. 



Maria illuminatrix, 



When gentle eyes that scarce, for tears, 

Could trace the warrior's parting track, 
Shall, like a misty morn that clears, 
When the long-absent sun appears, 
Shine out, all bliss, to hail him back. 

How fickle still the youthful breast ! — 

More fond of change than a young moon, 
No joy so new was e'er possess'd 

But Youth would leave for newer soon. 
These Zean nymphs, though bright the spot, 

Where first they held their evening play, 
As ever fell to fairy's lot 

To wanton o'er by midnight's ray, 
Had now exchanged that shelter'd scene 

For a wide glade beside the sea — 
A lawn, whose soft expanse of green 

Turn'd to the west sun smilingly, 
As though, in conscious beauty bright, 
It joy'd to give him light for light. 

And ne'er did evening more serene 
Look down from heav'n on lovelier scene. 
Calm lay the flood around, while fleet, 

O'er the blue shining element, 
Light barks, as if with fairy feet 

That stirr'd not the hush'd waters, went ; 
Some that, ere rosy eve fell o'er 

The blushing wave, with mainsail free, 
Had put forth from the Attic shore, 

Or the near Isle of Ebony ; — 
Some, Hydriot barks, that deep in caves 

Beneath Colonna's pillar'd cliffs, 
Had all day lurk'd, and o'er the waves 

Now shot their long and dart-like skins. 
Wo to the craft, however fleet, 
These sea-hawks in their course shall meet, 
Laden with juice of Lesbian vines, 
Or rich from Naxos' emery mines ; 
For not more sure, when owlets flee 
O'er the dark crags of Pendelee, 
Doth the night-falcon mark his prey, 
Or pounce on it more fleet than they. 

And what a moon now lights the glade 

Where these young island nymphs are met ! 
Full-orb'd, yet pure, as if no shade 
Had touch'd its virgin lustre yet ; 
And freshly bright, as if just made 
By Love's own hands, of new-born light 
Stol'n from his mother's star to-night. 

On a bold rock, that o'er the flood 
Jutted from that soft glade, there stood 
A Chapel, fronting tow'rds the sea, — 
Built in some by-gone century, — 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



327 



Where, nightly, as the seaman's mark, 
When waves rose high or clouds were dark, 
A lamp, bequeath'd by some kind Saint, 
Shed o'er the wave its glimmer faint, 
Waking in way-worn men a sigh 
And pray'r to heav'n, as they went by. 
'Twas there, around that rock-built shrine, 

A group of maidens and their sires 
Had stood to watch the day's decline, 

And, as the light fell o'er their lyres, 
Sung to tbe Queen-Star of the Sea 
That soft and holy melody. 

But lighter thoughts and lighter song 

Now woo the coming hours along : 

For, mark, where smooth the herbage lies, 

Yon gay pavilion, curtain'd deep 
With silken folds, through which, bright eyes, 

From time to time, are seen to peep ; 
While twinkling lights that, to and fro, 
Beneath those veils, like meteors, go, 

Tell of some spells at work, and keep 
Young fancies chain'd in mute suspense, 
Watching what next may shine from thence. 
Nor long the pause, ere hands unseen 

That mystic curtain backward drew, 
And all, that late but shone between, 

In half-caught gleams, now burst to view. 
A picture 'twas of the early days 
Of glorious Greece, ere yet those rays 
Of rich, immortal Mind were hers 
That made mankind her worshippers ; 
While, yet unsung, her landscapes shone 
With glory lent by Heaven alone ; 
Nor temples crown'd her nameless hills, 
Nor Muse immortalized her rills ; 
Nor aught but the mute poesy 
Of sun, and stars, and shining sea 
Illumed that land of bards to be. 
While, prescient of the gifted race 

That yet would realm sc blest adorn, 
Nature took pains to deck the place 

Where glorious Art was to be bom. 

Such was the scene that mimic stage 

Of Athens and her hills portray'd ; 
Athens, in her first, youthful age, 

Ere yet the simple violet braid, 1 
Which then adorn'd her, had shone down 
The glory of earth's loftiest crown. 
While yet undream'd, her seeds of Art 

Lay sleeping in the marble mine — 
Sleeping till Genius bade them start 

To all but life, in shapes divine ; 

1 " Violet-crowned Athens."— Pindar. 



Till deified the quarry shone 
And all Olympus stood in stone ! 

There, in the foreground of that scene, 

On a soft bank of living green, 

Sat a young nymph, with her lap full 

Of newly gather'd flowers, o'er which 
She graceful lean'd, intent to cull 

All that was there of hue most rich, 
To form a wreath, such as the eye 
Of her young lover, who stood by, 
With palette mingled fresh, might choose 
To fix by Painting's rainbow hues. 

The wreath wz& brm'd ; the maiden raised 

Her speaking eyes to his, while he— 
Oh not upon the flowers now gazed, 

But on that bright look' witchery. 
While, quick as if but then the thought, 
Like light, had reach'd his soul, he caught 
His pencil up, and, warm and true 
As life itself, that love-look drew : 
And, as his raptured task went on, 
And forth each kindling feature shone, 
Sweet voices, through the moonlight air, 

From lips as moonlight fresh and pure, 
Thus hail'd the bright dream passing there, 

And sung the Birth of Portraiture. 2 



SONG. 



As once a Grecian maiden wove 

Her garland mid the summer bow'rs, 
There stood a youth, with eyes of love, 

To watch her while she wreath'd the flow'rs. 
The youth was skill'd in Painting's art, 

But ne'er had studied woman's brow, 
Nor knew what magic hues the heart 

Can shed o'er Nature's charms, till now 

CHORUS. 

Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that's fair and bright below. 

His hand had pictured many a rose, 

And sketch'd the rays that light the brook ; 
But what were these, or what were those, 

To woman's blush, to woman's look ? 
" Oh, if such magic pow'r there be, 

" This, this," he cried, " is all my prayer, 
" To paint that living light I see, 

" And fix the soul that sparkles there." 

2 The whole of this scene wa3 suggested by Pliny's account 
of the artist Pausias and his mistress Glycera, lib. xxxv. c. 40. 



328 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



His prayer, as soon as breathed, was heard ; 

His palette, touch'd by Love, grew warm, 
And Painting saw her hues transferr'd 

From lifeless fiow'rs to woman's form. 
Still as from tint to tint he stole, 

The fair design shone out the more, 
And there was now a life, a soul, 

Where only colors glow'd before. 

Then first carnations learn'd to speak, 

And lilies into life were brought ; 
While, mantling on the maiden's cheek, 

Young roses kindled into thought. 
Then hyacinths their darkest dyes 

Upon the locks of Beauty threw ; 
And violets, transform'd to eyes, 

Inshrined a soul within their blue. 



Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that's fair and bright below. 
Song was cold and Painting dim 
Till song and Painting learn'd from him. 



Soon as the scene had closed, a cheer 

Of gentle voices, old and young, 
Rose from the groups that stood to hear 

This tale of yore so aptly sung ; 
And while some nymphs, in haste to tell 
The workers of that fairy spell 
How crown'd with praise their task had been, 
Stole in behind the curtain'd scene, 
The rest, in happy converse stray'd — 

Talking that ancient love-tale o'er — 
Some, to the groves that skirt the glade, 

Some, to the chapel by the shore, 
To look what lights were on the sea, 
And think of th' absent silently. 

But soon that summons, known so well 
Through bow'r and hall, in Eastern lands, 

Whose sound, more sure than gong or bell, 
Lovers and slaves alike commands, — 
The clapping of young female hands, 

i The traveller Shaw mentions a beautiful rill in Barbary, 
which is received into a large basin called Shrub wee krub, 
"Drink and away,"— there being great danger of meeting 
with thieves and assassins in such places. 

2 The Arabian shepherd has a peculiar ceremony in wean- 
ing the young camel : when the proper time arrives, he turns 
the camel towards the rising star, Canopus, and says, " Do 
you see Canopus ? from this moment you taste not another 
drop of milk." — Richardson. 

a " Whoever returns from a pilgrimage to Mecca hangs 



Calls back the groups from rock and field 
To see some new-form'd scene reveal'd ; — 
And fleet and eager, down the slopes 
Of the green glade, like antelopes, 
When, in their thirst, they hear the sound 
Of distant rills, the light nymphs bound. 

Far different now the scene — a waste 
Of Libyan sands, by moonlight's ray , 

An ancient well, whereon were traced 
The warning words, for such as stray 
Unarmed there, " Drink and away I" 1 

While, near it, from the night-ray screen'd, 
And like his bells, in hush'd repose, 

A camel slept — young as if wean'd 
When last the star, Canopus, rose. 9 

Such was the back -ground's silent scene ; — 

While nearer lay, fast slumb'ring too, 
In a rude tent, with brow serene, 

A youth whose cheeks of way-worn hue 
And pilgrim-bonnet, told the tale 
That he had been to Mecca's Vale : 
Haply in pleasant dreams, ev'n now 

Thinking the long-wish'd hour is come 

When, o'er the well-known porch at home, 
His hand shall hang the aloe bough — 
Trophy of his accomplish'd vow. 3 
But brief his dream — for now the call 

Of the camp-chiefs from rear to van, 
" Bind on your burdens," 4 wakes up all 

The widely slumb'ring caravan ; 
And thus meanwhile, to greet the ear 

Of the young pilgrim as he wakes, 
The song of one who, liilg'ring near, 

Had watch'd his slumber, cheerly breaks. 



SONG. 



Up and march ! the timbrel's sound 
Wakes the slumb'ring camp around ; 
Fleet thy hour of rest hath gone, 
Armed sleeper, up, and on ! 
Long and weary is our way 
O'er the burning sands to-day ; 

this plant (the mitre-shaped Aloe) over his street-door, as a 
token of his having performed this holy journey."— Hassel- 
quist. 

4 This form of notice to the caravans to prepare for march- 
ing was applied by Hafiz to the necessity of relinquishing 
the pleasures of this world, and preparing for death :— " For 
me what room is there for pleasure in the bower of Beauty, 
when every moment the bell makes proclamation, ' Bind on 
your burdens V " 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



329 



But to pilgrim's homeward feet 
Ev'n the desert's path is sweet. 

When we lie at dead of night, 
Looking up to heaven's light, 
Hearing hut the watchman's tone 
Faintly chanting, " God is one," 1 
Oh what thoughts then o'er us come 
Of our distant village home, 
Where the chant, when ev'ning sets, 
Sounds from all the minarets. 

Cheer thee ! — soon shall signal lights, 
Kindling o'er the Red Sea heights, 
Kindling quick from man to man, 
Hail our coming caravan : 2 
Think what bliss that hour will be ! 
Looks of home again to see, 
And our names again to hear 
Murmur'd out by voices dear. 



So pass'd the desert dream away, 
Fleeting as his who heard this lay. 
Nor long the pause between, nor moved 

The spell -bound audience from that spot ; 
While still, as usual, Fancy roved 

On to the joy that yet was not ; — 
Fancy, who hath no present home, 
But builds her bower in scenes to come, 
Walking forever in a light 
That flows from regions out of sight. 

But see, by gradual dawn descried, 
A mountain realm — rugged as e'er 
Upraised to heav'n its summits bare, 

Or told to earth, with frown of pride, 
That Freedom's falcon nest was there, 

Too high for hand of lord or king 

T:> hood her brow, or chain her wing. 

'Tis Maina's Land — her ancient hills, 
The abode of nymphs 3 — her countless rills 
And torrents, in their downward dash, 

Shining, like silver, through the shade 
Of the sea-pine and flow'ring ash — 

All with a truth so fresh portray'd 
As wants but touch of life to be 
A world of warm reality. 

i The watchmen, in the camp of the caravans, go their 
rounds, crying one after another, " God is one," &c, &c. 

2 " It was customary," says Irwin, " to light up fires on 
the mountains, within view of Cosseir, to give notice of the 
approach of the caravans that came from the Nile." 



And now, light bounding forth, a band 

Of mountaineers, all smiles, advance — 
Nymphs with their lovers, hand in hand, 

Link'd in the Ariadne dance ; 4 
And while, apart from that gay throng, 
A minstrel youth, in varied song, 
Tells of the loves, the joys, the ills 
Of these wild children of the hills, 
The rest by turns, or fierce or gay, 
As war or sport inspires the lay, 
Follow each change that wakes the strings, 
And act what thus the lyrist sings : — 



SONG. 



No life is like the mountaineer's, 

His home is near the sky, 
Where, throned above this world, he iaears 

Its strife at distance die. 
Or, should the sound of hostile drum 
Proclaim below, " We come — wo come," 
Each crag that tow'rs in air 
Gives answer, " Come who dare !" 
While, like bees, from dell and dingle, 
Swift the swarming warriors mingle, 
And their cry " Hurra !" will be, 
" Hurra, to victory !" 

Then, when battle's hour is over, 

See the happy mountain lover, 

With the nymph, who'll soon be bride, 

Seated blushing by his side, — 

Every shadow of his lot 

In her sunny smile forgot. 

Oh, no life is like the mountaineer's, 

His home is near the sky, 
Where, throned above this world, he heara 

Its strife at distance die. 
Nor only thus through summer suns 
His blithe existence cheerly runs — 

Ev'n winter, bleak and dim, 

Brings joyous hours to him ; 
When, his rifle behind him flinging, 
He watches the roe -buck springing, 
And away, o'er the hills away 
Re-echoes his glad " hurra." 

Then how blest, when night is closing, 
By the kindled hearth reposing, 

3 virginibus bacchata Laconis 

Taygeta. Viro. 

4 See, for an account of this dance, De Guy's Travels 



330 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


To his rebeck's drowsy song, 


O'er him, the noblest Star of Fame 


He beguiles the hour along ; 


That e'er in life's young glory set ! — 


Or, provoked by merry glances, 


And now were on their mournful way, 


To a brisker movement dances, 


Wafting the news through Helle's isles ; — • 


Till, weary at last, in slumber's chain, 


News that would cloud ev'n Freedom's ray, 


He dreams o'er chase and dance again, 


And sadden Vict'ry 'mid her smiles. 


Dreams, dreams them o'er again. 


Their tale thus told, and heard, with pain, 




Out spread the galliot's wings again ; 




And, as she sped her swift career, 
' Again that Hymn rose on the ear — 






" Thou art not dead — thou art not dead !" 


As slow that minstrel, at the close, 


As oft 'twas sung, in ages flown, 


Sunk, while he sung, to feign'd repose, 


Of him, the Athenian, who, to shed 


Aptly did they, whose mimic art 


A tyrant's blood, pour'd out his own. 


Follow'd the changes of his lay, 




Portray the lull, the nod, the start, 




Through which, as faintly died away 




His lute and voice, the minstrel pass'd, 




Till voice and lute lay hush'd at last. 


BONG. 


But now far other song came o'er 


" Thou art not dead — thou ari ± ot dead I" 1 


Their startled ears — song that, at first, 


No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


As solemnly the night-wind bore 


Thy soul, to realms above us fled, 


Across the wave its mournful burst, 


Though, like a star, it dwells o'er head, 


Seem'd to the fancy, like a dirge 


Still lights this world below. 


Of some lone Spirit of the Sea, 


Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 


Singing o'er Helle's ancient surge 


No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


The requiem of her Brave and Free. 






Through isles of light, where heroes tread, 


Sudden, amid their pastime, pause 


And flow'rs ethereal blow, 


The wond'ring nymphs ; and, as the sound 


Thy god-like Spirit now is led, 


Of that strange music nearer draws, 


Thy lip, with life ambrosial fed, 


With mute inquiring eye look round, 


Forgets all taste of wo. 


Asking each other what can be 


Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 


The source of this sad minstrelsy ? 


No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


Nor longer can they doubt, the song 




Comes from some island-bark, which sow 


The myrtle, round that falchion spread 


Courses the bright waves swift along, 


Which struck the immortal blow, 


And soon, perhaps, beneath the brow 


Throughout all time, with leaves unshed — 


Of the Saint's Rxk will shoot its prow 


The patriot's hope, the tyrant's dread — 




Round Freedom's shrine shall grow. 


Instantly all, with hearts that sigh'd 


Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 


'Twixt fear's and fancy's influence, 


No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


Flew to the rock, and saw from thence 




A red-sail'd pinnace tow'rds them glide, 


Where hearts like thine have broke or bled, 


Whose shadow, as it swept the spray, 


Though quench'd the vital glow, 


Scatter'd the moonlight's smiles away. 


Their mem'ry lights a flame, instead, 


Soon as the mariners saw that throng 


Which, ev'n from out the narrow bed 


From the cliff gazing, young and old, 


Of death its beams shall throw. 


Sudden they slack'd their sail and song, 


Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 


And, while their pinnace idly roll'd 


No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


On the light surge, these tidings told : — 






Thy name, by myriads sung and said, 


'Twas from an isle of mournful name, 


From age to age shall go,, 


From Missolonghi, last they came — 




Sad Missolonghi, sorrowing yet 


1 tfiArafl' 'Ap^oJt' ovnoi TEdvrjKas. 



\ 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



331 



Long as the oak and ivy wed, 

As bees shall haunt Hymettus' head, 

Or Helle's waters flow. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 



'Mong those who linger'd list'ning there, — 

List'ning, with ear and eye, as long 
As breath of night could tow'rds them bear 

A murmur of that mournful song, — 
A few there were, in whom the lay 

Had cail'd up feelings far too sad 
To pass with the brief strain away, 

Or turn at once to theme more glad ; 
And who, in mood untuned to meet 

' The light laugh of the happier train, 
Wander'd to seek some moonlight seat 
Where they might rest, in converse sweet, 

Till vanish'd smiles should come again. 

And seldom e'er hath noon of night 
To sadness lent more soothing light. 
On one side, in the dark blue sky, 
Lonely and radiant, was the eye « 
Of Jove himself, while, on the other, 

'Mong tiny stars that round her gleam'd, 
The young moon, like the Roman mother 

Among her living "jewels," beam'd. 

Touch'd by the lovely scenes around, 

A pensive maid — one who, though young, 

Had known what 'twas to see unwound 
The ties by which her heart had clung — 

Waken'd her soft tamboura's sound, 
And to its faint accords thus sung : — 



SONG. 



Calm as, beneath its mother's eyes, 

In sleep the smiling infant lies, 

So, watch'd by all the stars of night, 

Yon landscape sleeps in light. 

And while the night-breeze dies away, 

Like relics of some faded strain, 
Loved voices, lost for many a day, 

Seem whisp'ring round again. 
Oh youth ! oh Love ! ye dreams, that shed 
Such glory once — where are ye fled? 

Pure ray of light that, down the sky, 
Art pointing, like an angel's wand, 



As if to guide to realms that lie 

In that bright sea beyond : 
Who knows but, in some brighter deep 

Than ev'n that tranquil, moonlit main, 
Some land may lie, where those who weep 

Shall wake to smile again ! 



With cheeks that had regain'd their power 
And play of smiles, — and each bright eye, 

Like violets after morning's shower, 
The brighter for the tears gone by, 

Back to the scene such smiles should grace 

These wand'ring nymphs their path retrace, 

And reach the spot, with rapture new, 

Just as the veils asunder flew, 

And a fresh vision burst to view. 

There, by her own bright Attic flood, 
The blue-eyed Queen of Wisdom stood ; — ■ 
Not as she haunts the sage's dreams, 

With brow unveil'd, divine, severe ; 
But soften'd, as on bards she beams, 

When fresh from Poesy's high sphere, 
A music, not her own, she brings, 
And, through the veil which Fancy flings 
O'er her stern features, gently sings. 

But who is he — that urchin nigh, 

With quiver on the rose-trees hung, 
Who seems just dropp'd from yonder sky, 
And stands to watch that maid, with eye 
So full of thought, for one so young ? — 
That child — but, silence ! lend thine ear, 
And thus in sons: the tale thou'lt hear : — 



SONG. 



As Love, one summer eve, was straying, 

Who should he see, at that soft hour, 
But young Minerva, gravely playing 

Her flute within an olive bow'r. 
I need not say, 'tis Love's v opinion 

That, grave or merry, good or ill, 
The sex all bow to his dominion, 

As woman will be woman still. 

Though seldom yet the boy hath giv'n 
To learned dames his smiles or sighs, 

So handsome Pallas look'd, that ev'n, 
Love quite fcrgot the maid was wise. 



332 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Besides, a youth of his discerning 

Knew well that, by a shady rill, 
At sunset hour, whate'er her learning, 

A woman will be woman still. 

Her flute he praised in terms ecstatic, — 

Wishing it dumb, nor cared how soon ; — 
For Wisdom's notes, howe'er chromatic, 

To Love seem always out of tune. 
But long as he found face to flatter, 

The nymph found breath to shake and thrill ; 
As, weak or wise — it doesn't matter — 

Woman, at heart, is woman still. 

Love changed his plan, with warmth exclaiming, 

" How rosy was her lip's soft dye !" 
And much that flute, the flatt'rer, blaming, 

For twisting lips so sweet awry. 
The nymph look'd down, beheld her features 

Reflected in the passing rill, 
And started, shock'd — for, ah, ye creatures ! 

Ev'n when divine, you're women still. 

Quick from the lips it made so odious, 

That graceless flute the Goddess took, 
And, while yet fill'd with breath melodious, 

Flung it into the glassy brook ; 
Where, as its vocal life was fleeting 

Adown the current, faint and shrill, 
'Twas heard in plaintive tone repeating, 

" Woman, alas, vain woman still !" 



An interval of dark repose — 
Such as the summer lightning knows, 
J Twixt flash and flash, as still more bright 
The quick revealment comes and goes, 
Op'ning each time the veils of night, 
To show, within, a world of light — 
Such pause, so brief, now pass'd between 
This last gay vision and the scene, 

Which now its depth of light disclosed. 
A bow'r it seem'd, an Indian bow'r, 

Within whose shade a nymph reposed, 
Sleeping away noon's sunny hour — 
Lovely as she, the Sprite, who weaves 
Her mansion of sweet Durva leaves, 
And there, as Indian legends say, 
Dreams the long summer hours away. 
And mark, how charm'd this sleeper seems 
With some hid fancy — she, too, dreams ! 
Oh for a wizard's art to tell 

The wonders that now bless her sight ! 
'Tis done — a truer, holier spell 
Than e'er from wizard's lip yet fell 

Thus brings her vision all to light : — 



SONG. 

i 
" Who comes so gracefully 

" Gliding along, 
" While the blue rivulet 

" Sleeps to her song ; 
" Song, richly vying 
" With the faint sighing 
" Which swans, in dying, 

" Sweetly prolong?" 

So sung the shepherd -boy 

By the stream's side, 
Watching that fairy boat 

Down the flood glide, 
Like a bird winging, 
Through the waves bringing 
That Syren, singing 

To the hush'd tide. 

" Stay," said the shepherd-boy, 

" Faiiy-boat, stay, 
" Linger, sweet minstrelsy, 

" Linger a day." 
Btft vain his pleading, 
Past him, unheeding, 
Song and boat, speeding, 

Glided away. 

So to our youthful eyes 

Joy and hope shone ; 
So, while we gazed on them, 

Fast they flew on ; — 
Like flow'rs, declining 
Ev'n in the twining, 
One moment shining, 

And, the next, gone ! 



Soon as the imagined dream went by, 
Uprose the nymph, with anxious eye 
Turn'd to the clouds, as though some boon 

She waited from that sun -bright dome, 
And marvell'd that it came not soon 

As her young thoughts would have it ccme. 

But joy is in her glance ! — the wing 

Of a white bird is seen above ; 
And oh, if round his neck he bring 

The long-wish'd tidings from her love, 
Not half so precious in her eyes 

Ev'n that high-omen'd bird 1 would be, 

* The Huma. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 333 


Who dooms the brow o'er which he flies 


Glided, like fairies, to assist 


To wear a crown of Royalty. 


Their handmaids on the moonlight plain, 




Where, hid by intercepting shade 


She had, herself, last evening, sent 


From the stray glance of curious eyes, 


A winged messenger, whose flight 


A feast of fruits and wines was laid — 


Through the clear, roseate element, 


Soon to shine out, a glad surprise ! 


She watch'd till, less'ning out of sight 




Far to the golden West it went, 


And now the moon, her ark of light 


Wafting to him, her distant love, 


Steering through Heav'n, as though she bore 


A missive in that language wrought 


In safety, through that deep of night, 


Which flow'rs can speak, when aptly wovj, 


Spirits of earth, the good, the bright, 


Each hue a word, each leaf a thought. 


To some remote immortal shore, 




Had half-way sped her glorious way, 


And now — oh speed of pinion, known 


When, round reclined on hillocks green, 


To Love's light messengers alone ! — 


In groups, beneath that tranquil ray, 


Ere yet another ev'ning takes 


The Zeans at their feast were seen. 


Its farewell of the golden lakes, 


Gay was ihe picture — ev'ry maid 


She sees another envoy fly, 


Whom late the lighted scene display'd, 


With the wish'd answer, through the sky. 


Still in her fancy garb anvy'd ; — 




The Arabian pilgrim, smiling here 




Beside the nymph of India's sky ; 




While there the Mainiote mountaineer 




Whisper'd in young Minerva's ear, 


SONG 


And urchin Love stood laughing by. 


Welcome, sweet bird, through the sunny air wing- 


Meantime the elders round the board, 


ing. 


By mirth and wit themselves made young, 


Swift hast thou come o'er tUe far-shining sea, 


High cups of juice Zacynthian pour'd, 


Like Seba's dove, on thy snowy neck bringing 


And, while the flask went round, thus sung : — 


Love's written vows from my lover to me. 




Oh, in thy absence, what hours did I number !— 




Saying oft, " Idle bird, how could he rest ?" 




But thou art come at last, take now thy slumber, 




And lull thee in dreams of all thou lov'st best. 


SONG. 


Yet dost thou droop — even now while I utter 


Up with the sparkling brimmer, 


Love's happy welcome, thy pulse dies away ; 


Up to the crystal rim ; 


Cheer thee, my bird — were it life's ebbing flutter, 


Let not a moonbeam glimmer 


This fondling bosom should woo it to stay. 


'Twixt the flood and brim. 


But no — thou'rt dying — thy last task is over — 


When hath the world set eyes on 


Farewell, sweet martyr to Love and to me ! 


Aught to match this light, 


The smiles thou hast waken'd by news from my 


Which, o'er our cup's horizon, 


lover, 


Dawns in bumpers bright ? 


Will now all be turn'd into weeping for thee. 






Truth in a deep well lieth — 




So the wise aver : 




But Truth the fact denieth — 




Water suits not her. 




No, her abode's in brimmers, 


While thus the scene of song (their last 
For the sweet summer season) pass'd, 


Like this mighty cup — 


A few presiding nymphs, whose care 


Waiting till we, good swimmers, 
Dive to bring her up. 


Watch'd over all, invisibly, 


O F 


As do those guardian sprites of air, 




Whose watch we feel, but cannot se* 
Had from the circle — scarcely miss'd, 






Ere they were sparkling there again — 





334 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Thus circled round the song of glee, 
And all was tuneful mirth the while, 
Save on the cheeks of some, whose smile, 

As fix'd they gaze upon the sea, 

Turns into paleness suddenly ! 

What see they there ? a bright blue light 
That, like a meteor, gliding o'er 

The distant wave, grows on the sight, 
As though 'twere wing'd to Zea's shore. 

To some, 'mong those who came to gaze, 

It seem'd the night-light, far away, 
Of some lone fisher, by the blaze 

Of pine torch, luring on his prey ; 
While others, as, 'twixt awe and mirth, 

They breathed the bless'd Panaya's 1 name, 
Vow'd that such light was not of earth, 

But of that drear, ill-omen'd flame, 
Which mariners see on sail or mast, 
When Death is coming in the blast. 
While marv'ling thus they stood, a maid, 

Who sat apart, with downcast eye, 
Nor yet had, like the rest, survey'd 

That coming light which now was nigh, 
Soon as it met her sight, with cry 

Of pain-like joy, " 'Tis he ! 'tis he !" 
Loud she exclaim'd, and, hurrying by 

The assembled throng, rush'd tow'rds the sea. 

At burst so wild, alarm'd, amazed, 

All stood, like statues, mute, and gazed 

Into each other's eyes, to seek 

What meant such mood, in maid so meek ? 

Till now, the tale was known to few, 
But now from lip to lip it flew : — 
A youth, the flower of all the band, 

Who late had left this sunny shore, 
When last he kiss'd that maiden's hand, 

Ling'ring, to kiss it o'er and o'er, 
By his sad brow too plainly told 

Th' ill-omen'd thought which cross'd him 
then, 
That once those hands should loose their hold, 

They ne'er would meet on earth again ! 
In vain his mistress, sad as he, 
But with a heart from Self as free 
As gen'rous woman's only is, 
Veil'd her own fears to banish his :— 
With frank rebuke, but still more vain, 

Did a rough warrior, who stood by, 
Call to his mind this martial strain, 

His favorite once, ere Beauty's eye 

Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh : — 

1 The name which the Greeks give to the Virgin Mary. 



SONG. 

March ! nor heed those arms that hold thee, 

Though so fondly close they come ; 
Closer still will they enfold thee, 

When thou bring'st fresh laurels home. 
Dost thou dote on woman's brow ? 

Dost thou live but in her breath ? 
March ! — one hour of victory now 

Wilis thee woman's smile till death. 

Oh, what bliss, when war is over, 

Beauty's long-miss'd smile to meet, 
And, when wreaths our temples cover, 

Lay them shining at her feet ! 
Who would not, that hour to reach, 

Breathe out life's expiring sigh,-— 
Proud as waves that on the beach 

Lay their war-crests down, and die 

There ! I see thy soul is burning — 

She herself, who clasps thee so, 
Paints, ev'n now, thy glad returning, 

And, while clasping, bids thee go. 
One deep sigh, to passion given, 

One last glowing tear, and then — 
March ! — nor rest thy sword, till Heaven 

Brings thee to those arms again. 



Even then, ere loath their hands could part, 

A promise the youth gave, which bore 
Some balm unto the maiden's heart, 

That, soon as the fierce fight was o'er, 
To home he'd speed, if safe and free — 

Nay, ev'n if dying, still would come, 
So the blest word of " Victory !" 

Might be the last he'd breathe at home, 
" By day," he cried, " thou'lt know my bark ; 
" But, should I come through midnight dark, 
" A blue light on the prow shall tell 
" That Greece hath won, and all is well !" 

Fondly the maiden, every night, 
Had stolen to seek that promised light ; 
Nor long her eyes had now been turn'd 
From watching, when the signal burn'd. 
Signal of joy — for her, for all — 

Fleetly the boat now nears the land, 
While voices, from the shore-edge, call 

For tidings of the long-wish'd band. 

Oh the blest hour, when those who've been 
Through peril's paths by land or sea, 



EVENINGS 


IN GREECE. 335 


Lock'd in our arms again are seen 


And call'd the young Genii of Wit, Love, and 


Smiling in glad security ; 


Joy, 


When heart to heart we fondly strain, 


To witness and hallow its birth. 


Questioning quickly o'er and o'er — 


The fruit was full-grown, like a ruby it flamed, 


Then hold them off, to gaze again, 


Till the sunbeam chat kiss'd it look'd pale : 


And ask, though answer d oft before, 


" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" evry Spirit ex- 


If they, indeed, are ours once more? 


claim'd, 




" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !" 


Such is the scene, so full of joy, 




Which welcomes now this warrior-boy, 


First, fleet as a bird, to the summons Wit flew, 


As fathers, sisters, friends all run 


While a light on the vine-leaves there broke, 


Bounding to meet him — all but one, 


In flashes so quick and so brilliant, all knew 


Who, slowest on his neck to fall, 


'Twas the light from his lips as he spoke. 


Is yet the happiest of them all. 


" Bright tree ! let thy nectar but cheer me," ne 




cried, 


And now behold him, circled round 


" And the fount of Wit never can fail :" 


With beaming faces, at that board, 


" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" hills and valleys 


While cups, with laurel foliage crown'd, 


reply, 


Are to the coming warriors pour'd, — 


" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !" 


Coming, as he, their herald, told, 




With blades from vict'ry scarce yet cold, 


Next, Love, as he lean'd o'er the plant to admire 


With hearts untouch'd by Moslem steel, 


Each tendril and cluster it wore, 


And wounds that home's sweet breath will heal. 


From his rosy mouth sent such a breath of de- 


" Ere morn," said he, — and, while he spoke, 


sire, 
As made the tree tremble all o'er. 


Turn'd to the east, where, clear, and pale, 


Oh, never did flow'r of the earth, sea, or sky, 


The star of dawn already broke — 


Such a soul-giving odor inhale : 


" We'll greet, on yonder wave, their sail !" 


" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" all re-echo the 


Then, wherefore part ? all, all agree 


cry, 


To wait them here, beneath this bower ; 


" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !" 


And thus, while ev'n amidst their glee, 




Each eye is tum'd to watch the sea, 


Last, Joy, without whom even Love and Wit die, 


W ;h song they cheer the anxious hour. 


Came to crown the bright hour with his ray ; 




And scarce had that mirth-waking tree met his 




eye, 
When a laugh spoke what Joy could not say ; — 




SONG. 


A laugh of the heart, which was echoed around 




Till, like music, it swell'd on the gale ; 


" Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" said the cup-loving 


" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" laughing myriads 


boy, 


resound, 


As he saw it spring bright fiom the earth 


" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !" 


. 





336 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS, 



THE MISS FEILDINGS, 

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, 
BY THEIR FAITHFUL FRIEND AND SERVANT, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



THE VOICE. 

It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days, 
When love, only love, was the light of her ways ; 
And, soft as in moments of bliss long ago, 
It whisper'd her name from the garden below. 

" Alas," sigh'd the maiden, " how fancy can cheat i 
" The world once had lips that could whisper thus 

sweet ; 
" But cold now they slumber in yon fatal deep, 
" Where, oh that beside them this heart too could 

sleep !" 

She sunk on her pillow — but no, 'twas in vain 
To chase the illusion, that Voice came again ! 
She flew to the casement — but, hush'd as the grave, 
In moonlight lay slumbering woodland and wave. 

" Oh sleep, come and shield me," in anguish she 

said, 
" From that call of the buried, that cry of the 

Dead!" 
And sleep came around her — but, starting, she 

woke, 
For still from the garden that spirit Voice spoke ! 

" I come," she exclaim'd, " be thy home where it 
may, 

" On earth or in heaven, that call I obey ;" 

Then forth through the moonlight, with heart beat- 
ing fast 

And loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden pass'd. 

Still round her the scene all in loneliness shone ; 
And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on ; 
But whither she wander'd, by wave or by shore, 
None ever could tell, for she came back no more. 



No, ne'er came she back, — but the watchman who 

stood 
That night in the tow'r which o'ershadows the 

flood, 
Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moon-lighted spray, 
A youth on a steed bear the maiden away. 



CUPID AND PSYCHE. 

They told her that he, to whose vows she had lis- 
ten'd 
Through night's fleeting hours, was a Spirit un- 
bless'd ; — 
Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glisten'd, 
And evil the lips she in darkness had press'd. 

" When next in thy chamber the bridegroom re- 
clineth, 
"Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he 
lies; 
"And there, as the light o'er his dark features 
shineth, 
" Thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy 
sighs !" 

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing, 
When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her 
light; 

And saw — such a vision ! — no image, appearing 
To bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright. 

A youth, but just passing from childhood's sweet 
morning, 
While round him still linger'd its innocent ray ; 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 337 


Though gleams, from beneath his shut eyelids gave 




warning 
Of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay. 


THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN. 


His brow had a grace more than mortal around it, 


" Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee, 


While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land mine, 


" So may the stars obey thee, 


His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crown'd it 


" So may each airy 


Seem'd fresh from the breeze of some garden di- 


" Moon-elf and fairy 


vine. 


" Nightly their homage pay thee ! 




" Say, by what spell, above, below, 


Entranced stood the bride, on that miracle gazing, 


" In stars that wink or flow'rs that blow, 


What late was but love is idolatry now ; 


" I may discover, 


But, ah — in her tremor the fatal lamp raising — 


" Ere night is over, 


A sparkle flew from it and dropp'd on his brow. 


" Whether my love loves me or no, 




" Whether my love loves me." 


All's lost — with a start from his rosy sleep waking, 




The Spirit flash'd o'er her his glances of fire ; 


" Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee 


Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms break- 


" Hath charms no gold could buy thee ; 


ing, 


" Its stem enchanted, 


Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire : 


" By moon-elves planted, 




" Will all thou seek'st supply thee. 


" Farewell — what a dream thy suspicion hath 


" Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, 


broken ! 


" Bring thence their fairest leaf below ; 


" Thus ever Affection's fond vision is cross'd ; 


" And thou'lt discover, 


" Dissolved are her spells when a doubt is but spo- 


" Ere night is over, 


ken, 


" Whether thy love loves thee or no, 


" And love, once distrusted, forever is lost J" 


" Whether thy love loves thee." 




" See, up the dark tree going, 

" With blossoms round me blowing, 






" From thence, oh Father, 


HERO AND LEANDER. 


" This leaf I gather, 




" Fairest that there is growing. 


" The night-wind is moaning with mournful sigh, 


" Say, by what sign I now shall know 


" There gleameth no moon in the misty sky, 


" If in this leaf lie bliss or wo ; 


" No star over Helle's sea ; 


" And thus discover, 


" Yet, yet, there is shining one holy light, 


" Ere night is over, 


" One love-kindled star through the deep of night, 


" Whether my love loves me or no, 


" To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee !" 


" Whether my love loves me." 


Thus saying, he plunged in the foamy stream, 


" Fly to yon fount that's welling, 


Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam 


" Where moonbeam ne'er had dwelling, 


No eye but a lover's could see ; 


" Dip in its water 


And still, as the surge swept over his head, 


" That leaf, oh Daughter, 


" To-night," he said tenderly, " living or dead, 


" And mark the tale 'tis telling ;* 


" Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee !" 


" Watch thou if pale or bright it grow, 




" List thou, the while, that fountain's flow, 


But fiercer around him the wild waves speed ; 


" And thou'lt discover 


Oh, Love ! in that hour of thy votary's need. 


" Whether thy lover, 


Where, where could thy Spirit be ? 


" Loved as he is, loves thee or no. 


He struggles — he sinks — while the hurricane's 


" Loved as he is, loves thee." 


breath 




Bears rudely away his last farewell in death — 


Forth flew the nymph, delighted, 


" Sweet Hero, I die for thee !" 


To seek that fount benighted; 


* The ancients had a mode of divination somewhat simi- 


to consult the Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay-leaf and 


lar to this ; and we find the Emperor Adrian, when he werrr 


dipping it into the sacred water. 



22 



338 MOORE'S WORKS. 


But, scarce a minute 


" Tell me, what's Love ?" said Youth once m»fe, 


The leaf lay in it, 


Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore. — 


When, lo, its bloom was blighted ! 


" Soft as a passing summer's wind : 


And as she ask'd, with voice of wo — 


" Wouldst know the blight it leaves behind ? 


List'ning, the while, that fountain's flow — 


" Repentance ! Repentance ! 


" Shall I recover 


" And this is Love — when love is o'er " 


" My truant lover ?" 




The fountain seem'd to answer, " No ;" 


" Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth again, 


The fountain answer'd, " No." 


Trusting the bliss, but not the pain. 




" Sweet as a May tree's scented ah — 




" Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear, 




" Repentance ! Repentance ! 




" This, this is Love — sweet Youth, beware." 


CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS. 






Just then, young Love himself came by, 


A hunter once in that grove reclined, 


And cast on Youth a smiling eye ; 


To shun the noon's bright eye, 


Who could resist that glance's ray? 


And oft he woo'd the wandering wind, 


In vain did Age his warning say, 


To cool his brow with its sigh. 


" Repentance ! Repentance !" 


While mute lay ev'n the wild bee's hum, 


Youth laughing went with Love away 


Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair, 




His song was still, " Sweet air, oh come !" 




While Echo answer'd, " Come, sweet Air !" 
But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise ! 






What meaneth that rustling spray? 
" 'Tis the white-horn'd doe," the Hunter cries, 


THE DYING WARRIOR 


" I have sought since break of day." 


A wounded Chieftain, lying 


Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs, 


By the Danube's leafy side, 


The arrow flies from his sounding bow, 


Thus faintly said, in dying, 


" Hilliho — hilliho !" he gayly sings, 


" Oh ! bear, thou foaming tide, 


While Echo sighs forth " Hilliho !" 


" This gift to my lady-bride " 


Alas, 'twas not the white-horn'd doe 


'Twas then, in life's last quiver, 


He saw in the rustling grove, 


He flung the scarf he wore 


But the bridal veil, as pure as snow, 


Into the foaming river, 


Of his own young wedded love. 


Which, ah too quickly, bore 


And, ah, too sure that arrow sped, 


That pledge of one no more ! 


For pab at his feet he sees her lie ; — 




" I die, I die, ' was all she said, 


With fond impatience burning, 


While Echo murmur'd* " I die, I die !" 


The Chieftain's lady stood, 




To watch her love returning 




In triumph down the flood, 
From that day's field of blood. 




YOUTH AND AGE. 1 


But, field, alas, ill-fated ! 




The lady saw, instead 


" Tell me, what's Love ?" said Youth, one day, 


Of the bark whose speed she waited, 


To drooping Age, who cross'd his way. — ■ 


Her hero's scarf, all red 


" It is a sunny hour of play, 


With the drops his heart had shed. 


" For which repentance dear doth pay ; 




" Repentance ! Repentance ! 


One shriek — and all was over — 


" And this is Love, as wise men say." 


Her life-pulse ceased to beat ; 


i The air to which I have adapted these words was com- 


ject to retain as much of the structure and phraseology of 


posed by Mrs. Arkwright to some old verses, "Tell me 


the original words as possible. 


what's love, kind shepherd, pray 1" and it has been my ob- 





LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



339 



The gloomy waves now cover 
That bridal-flower so sweet, 
And the scarf is her winding sheet ! 



THE MAGIC MIRROR. 

" Come, if thy magic Glass have pow'r 

" To call up forms we sigh to see ; 
*' Show me my Love, in that rosy bow'r, 

" Where last she pledged her truth to me." 

The Wizard show'd him his Lady bright, 
Where lone and pale in her bow'r she lay ; 

" True-hearted maid," said the happy Knight, 
" She's thinking of one, who is far away." 

But, lo ! a page, with looks of joy, 

Brings tidings to the Lady's ear ; 
" 'Tis," said the Knight, " the same bright boy, 

" Who used to guide me to my dear." 

The Lady now, from her fav'rite tree, 
Hath, smiling, pluck'd a rosy flow'r ; 

" Such," he exclaim'd, " was the gift that she 
" Each morning sent me from that bow'r !" 

She gives her page the blooming rose, 

With looks that say, " Like lightning, fly !" 

" Thus," thought the Knight, " she sooths her 
woes, 
" By fancying, still, her true-love nigh." 

But the page returns, and — oh, what a sight, 

For trusting lover's eyes to see ! — 
Leads to that bow'r another Knight, 

As young and, alas, as loved as he ! 

" Such," quoth the Youth, « is Woman's love !" 
Then, darting forth, with furious bound, 

Dash'd at the Mirror his iron glove, 
And strew'd it all in fragments round. 



Sucli ills would never have come to pass, 
Had he ne'er sought that fatal view ; 

The Wizard would still have kept his Glass, 
And the Knight still thought his Lady true. 



THE PILGRIM. 

Still thus, when twilight gleam'd, 
Far off his Castle seem'd, 

Traced on the sky ; 
And still, as fancy bore him 
To those dim tow'rs before him. 
He gazed, with wishful eye, 

And thought his home was nigh. 

" Hall of my Sires !" he said, 
" How long, with weary tread, 

" Must I toil on ? 
" Each eve, as thus I wander, 
" Thy tow'rs seem rising yonder, 
" But, scarce hath daylight shone, 

" When, like a dream, thou'rt gone !" 

So went the Pilgrim still, 
Down dale and over hill, 

Day after day ; 
That glimpse of home, so cheering, 
At twilight still appearing, 
But still, with morning's ray, 

Melting, like mist, away ! 

Where rests the Pilgrim now ? 
Here, by this cypress bough, 

Closed his career ; 
That dream, of Fancy's weaving, 
No more his steps deceiving, 
Alike past hope and fear, 

The Pilgrim's home is here. 






THE HIGH-BORN LADYE. 

In vain all the Knights of the Underwald woo'd her, 
Though brightest of maidens, the proudest was 
she; 
Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels 
they sued her, 
But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye. 

" Whomsoever I wed," said this maid, so excelling, 
" That Knight must the conqu'ror of conquerors 
be; 
" He must place me in halls fit for monarcbs to 
dwell in ; — 
" None else shall be Lord of the high-born 
Ladye !" 






340 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking 


" A sail ! a sail !" he cries ; 


round her 


" She comes from the Indian shore, 


On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree ; 


" And to-night shall be our prize, 


Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her, 


" With her freight of golden ore : 


And worshipp'd at distance the high-born Ladye. 


" Sail on ! sail on !" 




When morning shone 


At length came a Knight, from a far land to woo 


He saw the gold still clearer ; 


her, 


But, though so fast 


With plumes on his helm like the foam of the 


The waves he pass'd, 


sea; 


That boat seem'd never the nearer 


His vizor was down — but, with voice that thrill'd 




through her, 


Bright daylight came, 


He whisper'd his vows to the high-born Ladye. 


And still the same 




Rich bark before him floated ; 


" Proud maiden ! I come with high spousals to grace 


While on the prize 


thee, 


His wishful eyes 


" In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors see ; 


Like any young lover's doted : 


" Enthroned in a hall fit for monarchs I'll place 


" More sail ! more sail !" he cries, 


thee, 


While the waves o'ertop the mast j 


" And mine thou'rt forever, thou high-born 


Ai-d nis bounding galley flies, 


Ladye !" 


Like an arrow before the blast. 




Thus on, and on, 


The maiden she smiled, and in jewels array'd her, 


Till day was gone, 


Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she ; 


And the moon through heav'n did hie her, 


And proud was the step, as her bridegroom conveyM 


He swept the main, 


her 


But all in vain, 


In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye. 


That boat seem'd never the nigher. 


" But whither," she, starting, exclaims, " have you 


And many a day 


led me 1 


To night gave way, 


" Here's naught but a tomb and a dark cypress 


And many a morn succeeded : 


tree ; 


While still his flight, 


" Is this the bright palace in which thou wouldst 


Through day and night, 


wed me ?" 


That restless mariner speeded. 


With scorn in her glance, said the high-born 


Who knows — who knows what seas 


Ladye. 


He is now careering o'er ? 




Behind, the eternal breeze, 


"'Tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest 


And that mocking bark, before ! 


creatures" — 


For, oh, till sky 


Then lifted his helm for the fair one to see ; 


And earth shall die, 


But she sunk on the ground — 'twas a skeleton's 


And their death leave none to rue it, 


features, 


That boat must flee 


And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye ! 


O'er the boundless sea, 




And that ship in vain pursue it 


THE INDIAN BOAT 


THE STRANGER. 


'Twas midnight dark, 


Come list, while I tell of the heart-wounded 


The seaman's bark, 


Stranger 


Swift o'er the waters bore him, 


Who sleeps her last slumber in this haunted 


When, through the night, 


ground ; 


He spied a light 


Where often, at midnight, the lonely wood-ranger 


Shoot o'er the wave before him. 


Hears soft fairy music re-echo around. 



A MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC. 



341 



None e'er knew the name of that heart-stricken 
lady, * 

Her language, though sweet, none could e'er un- 
derstand ; 
But her features so sunn'd, and her eyelash so shady, 
Bespoke her a child of some far Eastern land. 

Twas one summer night, when the village lay 
sleeping, 
A soft strain of melody came o'er our ears ; 
So sweet, but so mournful, half song and half 
weeping, 
Like music that Sorrow had steep'd in her tears. 

We thought 'twas an anthem some angel had sung 
us : — 
But, soon as the day -beams had gush'd from on 
high, 
With wonder we saw this bright stranger among us, 
All lovely and* lone, as if stray 'd from the sky. 

Nor long did her life for this sphere seem intended, 
For pale was her cheek, with that spirit-like hue, 



Which comes when the day of this world is nigh 
ended, 
And light from another already shines through. 

Then her eyes, when she sung — oh, but once to 
have seen them — 
Left thoughts in the soul that can never de- 
part ; 
While her looks and her voice made a language 
between them, 
That spoke more than holiest words to the heart. 

But she pass'd like a day-dream, no skill could re- 
store her — 

Whate'er was her sorrow, its ruin came fast ; 
She died with the same spell of mystery o'er her, 

That song of past days on her lips to the last. 

Nor ev'n in the grave is hei sad heart reposing — 
Still hovers the spirit of grief round her tomb ; 

For oft, when the shadows of midnight are closing, 
The same strain of music is heard through the 
gloom. 



A MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

These verses were written for a Benefit at the 
Dublin Theatre, and were spoken by Miss Smith, 
with a degree of success which they owed solely i 
to her adrhirable manner of reciting them. I ! 
wrote them in haste ; and it very rarely happens : 
that poetry, which has cost but little labor to the j 
writer, is productive of any great pleasure to the j 
reader. Under this impression, I certainly should I 
not have published them if they had not found j 
their way into some of the newspapers, with such j 
an addition of errors to their own original stock, ' 
that I thought it but fair to limit their responsi- i 
bility to those faults alone which really belong to 
them. 

With respect to the title which I have invented 



for this Poem, I feel even more than the scruples 
of the Emperor Tiberius, when he humbly asked 
pardon of the Roman Senate for using " the out- 
landish term, monopoly." But the truth is, having 
written the Poem with the sole view of serving a 
Benefit, I thought that an unintelligible word of 
this kind would not be without its attraction for 
the multitude, with whom, " If 'tis not sense, at 
least 'tis Greek." To some of my readers, how- 
ever, it may not be superfluous to say, that by 
•• Melologue," I mean that mixture of recitation 
and music, which is frequently adopted in the per- 
formance of Collins's Ode on the Passions, and of 
which the most striking example I can remember 
is the prophetic speech of Joad in the Athalie of 
Racine. 

T. M. 



342 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



MELOLOGUE 



A short Strain of Music from the Orchestra. 
There breathes a language, known and felt 
Far as the pure air spreads its living zone ; 
Wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt, 

That language of the soul is felt and known. 
From those meridian plains, 
Where oft, of old, on some high tow'r, 
The soft Peruvian pour'd his midnight strains, 
And call'd his distant love with such sweet pow'r, 

That, when she heard the lonely lay, 
Not worlds could keep her from his arms away — x 
To the bleak climes of polar night, 
Where blithe, beneath a sunless sky, 
The Lapland lover bids his reindeer fly, 
And sings along the length'ning waste of snow, 
Gayly as if the blessed light 
Of vernal Phoebus burn'd upon his brow ;* 
Oh Music ! thy celestial claim 
Is still resistless, still the same ; 
And, faithful as the mighty sea 
To the pale star that o'er its realm presides, 

The spell-bound tides 
Of human passion rise and fall for thee !• 

Greek Air. 

List ! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings, 
While, from Ilissus' silv'ry springs, 
She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn ; 
And by her side, in Music's charm dissolving, 
Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving, 
Dreams of bright days that never can return ; 
When Athens nursed her olive bough, 

With hands by tyrant pow'r unchain'd ; 
And braided for the muse's brow 
A wreath by tyrant touch unstain'd. 
When heroes trod each classic field 

Where coward feet now faintly falter ; 
When ev'ry arm was Freedom's shield, 
And ev'ry heart was Freedom's altar ! 

Flourish of Trumpets. 

Hark, 'tis the sound that charms 

The war-steed's wak'ning ears ! — 

Oh ! many a mother folds her arms 

Round her boy -soldier when that call she hears ; 

And, though her fond heart sink with fears, 



1 "A certain Spaniard, one night late, met an Indian 
woman in the streets of Cozco, and would have taken her 
to his home, but she cried out, 'For God's sake, Sir, let me 
go ; for that pipe, which you hear in yonder tower, calls 



Is proud to feel his young pulse bound 
With valor's fever at the sound. 
See, from his native hills afar 
The rude Helvetian flies to war ; 
Careless for what, for whom he fights, 
For slave or despot, wrongs or rights ; 

A conqueror oft — a hero never — 
Yet lavish of his life-blood still, 
As if 'twere like his mountain rill, 

And gush'd forever ! 

Yes, Music, here, even here, 
Amid this thoughtless, vague career, 
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous pow'r. — 

There's a wild air which oft, among the rocks 
Of his own loved land, at evening hour, 

Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their 
flocks, 
Whose every note hath power to thrill his mind 

With tend'rest thoughts ; to bring around his knees 
The rosy children whom he left behind, 
And fill each little angel eye 
With speaking tears, that ask him why 
He wander'd from his hut for scenes like these. 
Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar ; 

Sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears ; 
And the stern eyes, that look'd for blood before, 
Now melting, mournful, lose themselves in tears. 

Swiss Air. — "Eanz des Vaches." 

But, wake the trumpet's blast again, 
And rouse the ranks of warrior-men ! 

Oh War, when Truth thy arm employs, 
And Freedom's spirit guides the laboring storm, 
'Tis then thy vengeance takes a hallow'd form, 

And, like Heaven's lightning, sacredly destroys. 

Nor, Music, through thy breathing sphere, 

Lives there a sound more grateful to the ear 
Of Him who made all harmony, 
Than the bless'd sound of fetters breaking, 
And the first hymn that man, awaking 

From Slavery's slumber, breathes to Liberty. 

Spanish Chorus. 
Hark ! from Spain, indignant Spain, 
Bursts the bold, enthusiast strain, 
Like morning's music on the air ; 
And seems, in every note, to swear 
By Saragossa's ruin'd streets, 

By brave Gerona's deathful story, 



me with great passion, and I cannot refuse the summons ■ 
for love constrains me to go, that I may be his wife, and 
he my husband.' "—Garcilasso de la Vega, in Sir Paul 
Rycaut's translation. 



SET OF GLEES. 



343 



That, while one Spaniard's life-blood beats, 
That blood shall stain the conqu'ror's glory. 

Spanish Air.— "Ya Desperto." 
But ah ! if vain the patriot's zeal, 
If neither valor's force nor wisdom's light 
Can break or melt that blood-cemented seal, 
Which shuts so close the book of Europe's right- 



What song shall then in sadness tell 
Of broken pride, of prospects shaded, 

Of buried hopes, remember'd well, 
Of ardor quench'd, and honor faded ? 

What muse shall mourn the deathless brave, 
In sweetest dirge at Memory's shrine ? 

What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave 1 
Oh Erin, Thine ! 



SET OF GLEES. 



MUSIC BY MOORE. 



THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS. 


" Here's the friends of our youth — though of some 


When o'er the silent seas alone, 
For days and nights we've cheerless gone, 
Oh they who've felt it know how sweet, 
Some sunny morn a sail to meet. 


we're bereft, 
" May the links that are lost but endear what arc 
left !" 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 




Once more fill a bumper — ne'er talk of the hour ; 


Sparkling at once is ev'ry eye, 


On hearts thus united old Time has no pow'r. 


" Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy !" our joyful cry ; 
While answering back the sounds we hear 


" May our fives, tho', alas ! like the wine of to-night, 
" They must soon have an end, to the last flow as 


" Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy ! what cheer ? what 
cheer?" 


bright." 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 


Then sails are back'd, we nearer come, 


Quick, quick, now, I'll give you, since Time's glass 


Kind words are said of friends and home 
And soon, too soon, we part with pain, 
To sail o'er silent seas again. 


will run 
Ev'n faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one ; 
" Here's the poet who sings — here's the warrior 

who fights — 
" Here's the statesman who speaks, in the cause of 




men's rights !" 




Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 




Come, once more, a bumper ! — then drink as you 


HIP, HIP, HURRA ! 


please, 
Tho', who could fill half-way to toast such as these ? 


Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim, 


" Here's our next joyous meeting — and oh when we 


He who shrinks from a bumper I pledge not to 


meet, 


him ; 

" Here's the girl that each loves, be her eye of what 


" May our wine be as bright and our union as 

sweet !" 


hue, 
" Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but true." 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 


Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 




Come, charge high again, boys, nor let the fidl wine 
Leave a space m the brimmer, wheie daylight may 
shine ; 


HUSH, HUSH . 

" Hush, hush !"— how well 
That sweet word sounds, 



344 



MOORE'S WORKS 



When Love, the little sentinel, 
Walks his night-rounds ; 

Then, if a foot but dare 
One rose-leaf crush, 

Myriads of voices in the air 
Whisper, " Hush, hush !" 

" Hark, hark, 'tis he !" 

The night-elves cry, 
And hush their fairy harmony, 

While he steals by ; 
But if his silv'ry feet 

One dew-drop brush, 
Voices are heard in chorus sweet, 

Whisp'ring, « Hush, hush !" 



THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE. 



On to the field, our doom is seal'd, 
To conquer or be slaves : 

This sun shall see our nation free, 
Or set upon our graves. 



Farewell, oh farewell, my love, 
May Heav'n thy guardian be, 

And send bright angels from above 
To bring thee back to me. 



On to the field, the battle-field, 
Where Freedom's standard waves, 

This sun shall see our tyrant yield, 
Or shine upon our graves. 



THE WATCHMAN 



WATCHMAN. 

Past twelve o'clock — past twelve. 

Good night ; good night, my dearest — 
How fast the moments fly ! 

'Tis time to part, thou hearest 
That hateful watchman's cry 



WATCHMAN. 

Past one o'clock — past one. 

Yet stay a moment longer — 

Alas ! why is it so, 
The wish to stay grows stronger, 

The more 'tis time to go ? 

WATCHMAN. 

Past two o'clock — past two. 

Now wrap thy cloak about thee — 
The hours must sure go wrong, 

For when they're pass'd without thee, 
They're, oh, ten times as long. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past three o'clock — past three. 

Again that dreadful warning ! 

Had ever time such flight ? 
And see the sky, 'tis morning — 

So now, indeed, good night* 

WATCHMAN. 

Past three o'clock — past three 
Good night, good night. 



SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE ? 

Say, what shall we dance ? 
Shall we bound along the moonlight plain, 
To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain ? 

Say, what shall we dance ? 
Shall we, like those who rove 
Through bright Grenada's grove, 
To the light Bolero's measures move ? 
Or choose the Guaracia's languishing lay, 
And thus to its sound die away ? 

Strike the gay chords, 
Let us hear each strain from ev'ry shore 
That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er. 
Hark ! 'tis the light march, to whose measured time, 
The Polish lady, by her lover led, 
Delights through gay saloons with step untired to 

tread, 
Or sweeter still, through moonlight walks, 
Whose shadows serve to hide 
The blush that's raised by him who talks 
Of love the while by her side ; 



BALLADS, SOXGS. ETC. 



345 



7. -.. .. =5 :'_;- '-: :u ;: :a. •■ -ad:, :: ~.::se u:a:u.:; 

seuui 
like dreams we go gliding around, 

>:.; —'.-.:'..". da ad — e aaaa.e ~u;:d sdad vre 

daUJr ' 



THE EVENING GUN 

The ias: I sa~ with tuee. = 



When land ~e heard the ev'ning gun 

Peai o'er the twilight i 
Boom ! — the sounds appear d to sweep 

Fa: : de: the verge of day, 
TiD, into realms beyond the deep, 

- bey aeem j - : fie sway. 

0::. when the ::ds of day are d:: :e 

In pensive dreams of thee, 
I su :: hear that ev'ning s^un, 

Peai e'er the sreruav = 
Boom ! — and while, o'er billows eurl'd, 

Hh distant sounds decay, 
I weep aid wish, from this rough i 

Like them, to die aw?/; 



BALLADS. SOXGS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



ETC 



TO-DAY.. DEAREST : IS OURS. 



To-DAY, G 

Why A 

Tiiis die =: 
Jus; as 

'Tis ruue 
To thin 

Aud 7;--. 
Mavwi 



: ; ;s :urs : 

Love : arelessly lose it 1 
or lowers 

veak ruertais. use it. 
rfa, when its flow'rs decay, 
rde rdrrus :: Sorrow : 
:u due seeru re-day. 
before to-morrow. 



Tdeu vrdy. arares: : s: l:u~ 

Let the s~eet moments fly over? 
Though now. blooming and young, 

Thou hast me devoutly thy lover : 
Yet Time from both, in his silent lapse, 

Some treasure may steal or borrow : 
Tuy ch arras may be less in bloom, Dedans, 

Or I less in love to-morrow. 



WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH DELAYS. 

Whkx on the hp the sigh de 

As if 'twould linger there forever ; 



When eyes would give the world to ga:e. 

Yer still look down, and venture never ; 
When, though with fairest nymphs we rove, 

There's one we dream of more than any— 
If all this is not real love, 

Tis something wondrous like ir. Fanny ! 

To think and ponder, when apart, 
On ad we've ;:: :: say at meetiuj . 

And yet when near, with heart to fa . 
S .: urate, and listen to their beating : 

7. see but one bright object move, 
The only moon, when srars are many — 

If all this is not downright love, 

my Fanny ! 

When Hope foretells the brightest, best, 

Though Reason on the darkest reckons ; 
When Passion drives us to the 

Though P r uden ce r: rde easrward beckons 
When all turns round, below, above, 

And our own heads the most of any — 
If this is not stark., staring love, 

Then you and I are sages, Fanny 



346 MOORE'S WORKS. 




The pain thou'lt feel in breaking 


HERE, TAKE MY HEART. 


' Less bitter far will be, 




Than that long, deadly aching, 


Here, take my heart — 'twill be safe in thy keeping, 


This life has been to thee. 


While I go wand'ring o'er land and o'er sea ; 




Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping, 


There — broken heart, farewell ! 


What need I care, so my heart is with thee ? 


The pang is o'er — 




The parting pang is o'er ; 


If, in the race we are destined to run, love, 


Thou now wilt bleed no more, 


They who have light hearts the happiest be, 


Poor broken heart, farewell ! 


Then, happier still must be they who have none, 


No rest for thee but dying — 


love, 


Like waves, whose strife is past, 


And that will be my case when mine is with thee. 


On death's cold shore thus lying, 




Thou sleep'st in peace at last — 


It matters not where I may now be a rover, 


Poor broken heart, farewell ! 


•I care not how many bright eyes I may see ; 




Should Venus herself come and ask me to love her, 
I'd tell her I couldn't — my heart is with thee. 


-s* 




And there let it lie, growing fonder and fonder — 


THE EAST INDIAN. 


For, even should Fortune turn truant to me, 




Why, let her go — I've a treasure beyond her, 


Come, May, with all thy flowers, 


As long as my heart's out at int'rest with thee J 


Thy sweetly-scented thorn, 




Thy cooling ev'ning showers, 




Thy fragrant breath at mom : 




When May-flies haunt the willow, 




When May -buds tempt the bee, 


OH, CALL IT BY SOME BETTER NAME. 


Then o'er the shining billow 




My love will come to me. 


Oh, call it by some better name, 




For Friendship sounds too cold, 


From Eastern Isles she's winging 


While Love is now a worldly flame, 


Through wat'ry wilds her way, 


Whose shrine must be of gold ; 


And on her cheek is bringing 


And Passion, like the sun at noon, 


The bright sun's orient ray : 


That burns o'er all he sees, 


Oh, come and court her hither, 


Awhile as warm, will set as soon- 


Ye breezes mild and warm — 


Then, call it none of these. 


One winter's gale would wither 




So soft, so pure a form. 


Imagine something purer far, 




More free from stain of clay 


The fields where she was straying 


Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are, 


Are blest with endless light, 


Yet human still as they : 


With zephyrs always playing 


And if thy lip, for love like this, 


Through gardens always bright. 


No mortal word can frame, 


Then now, sweet May ! be sweeter 


Go, ask of angels what it is 


Than e'er thou'st been before ; 


And call it by that name 


Let sighs from roses meet her 




When she comes near our shore. 


POOR WOUNDED HEART. 


* 




POOR BROKEN FLOWER. 


Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 




Thy hour of rest is come ; 


Poor broken flow'r ! what art can now recover 


Thou soon wilt reach thy home, 


thee? 


Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 


Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breath — 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



347 



In vain the sunbeams seek 
To warm that faded cheek ; 
The dews of heav'n, that once like balm fell over 
thee, 
Now are but tears, to weep thy early death. 

So droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her, — 
Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou ; 
In vain the smiles of all 
Like sunbeams round her fall ; 
The only smile that could from death awaken her, 
That smile, alas ! is gone to others now. 



THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE. 

Being weary of love, 

I flew to the grove, 
And chose me a tree of the fairest ; 

Saying, " Pretty Rose-tree, 

" Thou my mistress shalt be, 
•'•' And I'll worship each bud thou bearest. 
'•' For the hearts of this world are hollow, 
" And fickle the smiles we follow ; 

" And 'tis sweet, when all 

" Their witch'ries pall, 
" To have a pure love to fly to : 

" So, my pretty Rose-tree, 

'•' Thou my mistress shalt be, 
* And the only one now I shall sigh to." 

When the beautiful hue 

Of thy cheek through the dew 
Of morning is bashfully peeping, 

" Sweet tears," I shall say, 

(As I brush them away,) 
" At least there's no art in this weeping." 
Although thou shouldst die to-morrow, 
'Twill not be from pain or sorrow ; 

And the thorns of thy stem 

Are not like them 
With which men wound each other : 

So, my pretty Rose-tree, 

Thou my mistress shalt be, 
And I'll ne'er again sigh to another 



SHINE OUT, STARS! 

Shine out, Stars ! let Heav'n assemble 

Round us ev'ry festal ray, 
Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 

All to grace this Eve of May. 



Let the flow'r-beds all lie waking, 

And the odors shut up there, 
From their downy prisons breaking, 

Fly abroad through sea and air. 

And would Love, too, bring his sweetness, 

With our other joys to weave, 
Oh what glory, what completeness, 

Then would crown this bright May Eve 
Shine out, Stars ! let night assemble 

Round us every festal ray, 
Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 

To adorn this Eve of May. 



THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA. 

Oh, the joys of our ev'ning posada, 

Where, resting at close of day, 
We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 

Sit and sing the sunshine away ; 
So merry, that even the slumbers, 

That round us hung, seem gone ; 
Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers 

Again beguile them on. 
Oh, the joys, &c. 

Then as each to his loved sultana 

In. sleep still breathes the sigh, 
The name of some black-eyed Tirana 

Escapes our lips as we lie. 
Till, with morning's rosy twinkle, 

Again we're up and gone — 
While the mule-bell's drowsy tinkle 

Beguiles the rough way on. 
Oh, the joys of our merry posada, 

Where, resting at close of day, 
We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 

Thus sing the gay moments away. 



TELL HER, OH, TELL HER. 

Tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying 
Beneath the green arbor, is still lying there : 

And breezes, like lovers, around it are sighing, 
But not a soft whisper replies to their pray'r 

Tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in going. 
Beside the green arbor she playfully set, 

As lovely as ever is blushing and blowing, 
And not a bright leaflet has fall'n from it yet. 



348 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


So while away from that arbor forsaken, 




The maiden is wandering, still let her be 


BLACK AND BLUE EYES. 


As true as the lute, that no sighing can waken, 




And blooming forever, unchanged as the tree ! 


The brilliant black eye 




May in triumph let fly 




All its darts without caring who feels 'em ; 
But the soft eye of blue, 






Though it scatter wounds too, 


NIGHTS OF MUSIC. 


Is much better pleased when it heals 'em — 
Dear Fanny ! 


Nights of music, nights of loving, 


But the soft eye of blue, 


Lost too soon, remember'd long, 


Though it scatter wounds too, 


When we went by moonlight roving, 


Is much better pleased when it heals 'em. 


Hearts ail love, and lips all song. 




When this faithful lute recorded 


The black eye may say> 


All my spirit felt to thee ; 


" Come and worship my ray — 


And that smile the song rewarded — 


" By adoring, perhaps, you may move me !* 


Worth whole years of fame to me ! 


But the blue eye, half hid, 




Says, from under its lid, 


Nights of song, and nights of splendor, 


" I love, and am yours, if you love me !" 


FHFd with joys too sweet to last — 


Yes, Fanny ! 


Joys that, like the starlight, tender, 


The blue eye, half hid, 


While they shone, no shadow cast 


Says, from under its lid, 


Though all other happy hours 


" I love, and am yours, if you love me !" 


From my fading mem'ry fly, 




Of that starlight, of those bowers, 


Come tell me, then, why, 


Not a beam, a leaf shall die ! 


In that lovely blue eye, 




Not a charm of its tint I discover ; 




Oh, why should you wear 




The only blue pair 
That ever said " No" to a lover ? 






Dear Fanny ! 


OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE. 


Oh, why should you wear 




The only blue pair 


Our first young love resembles 


That ever said " No" to a lover ? 


That short but brilliant ray, 




Whicfi smiles, and weeps, and trembles 




Through April's earliest day. 






And not all life before us, 




Howe'er its lights may play, 




Can shed a lustre o'er us 


DEAR FANNY. 


Like that first April ray. 






" She has beauty, but still you must keep your 


Our summer sun may squander 


heart cool ; 


A blaze serener, grander ; 


" She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so :" 


Our autumn beam 


Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, 


May, like a dream 


And 'tis not the first time I have thought so, 


Of heav'n, die calm away ; 


Dear Fanny, 


But, no — let life before us 


'Tis not the first time I have thought so. 


Bring all the light it may, 




'Twill ne'er shed lustre o'er us 


" She is lovely ; then love her, nor let the bliss fly 


Like that first youthful ray. 


" 'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season :" 




Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny 




That Love reasons much better than Reason, 
Dear Fanny? 






Love reasons much better than Reason. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 349 




The gloom that winter cast 


FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. 


How soon the heart forgets, 




When Summer brings, at last, 


From life without freedom, say, who would not fly ? 


Her sun that never sets ! 


For one day of freedom, oh ! who would not die ? 


So dawn'd my love for you ; 


Hark ! — hark ! — 'tis the trumpet ! the call of the 


So, fix'd through joy and pain, 


brave, 


Than summer sun more true, 


The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave. 


'Twill never set again. 


i Our country lies bleeding — haste, haste to her aid ; 




j One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. 




In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains — 




The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains. 




On, on to the combat ; the heroes that bleed 




For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed. 


LOVE AND THE SUN-DIAL. 


1 And oh, ern if Freedom from this world be driven, 




Despair not — at least we shall find her in heaven. 


Young Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade, 




Where man ne'er had wander'd nor sunbeam 
play'd ; 






" Why thus in darkness lie," whisper'd young Love : 


HERE'S THE BOWER. 


" Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine should move?" 




" I ne'er," said the Dial, " have seen the warm sun, 


Here's the bower she loved so much, 


" So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one," 


And the tree she planted ; 




Here's the harp she used to touch — 


Then Love took the Dial away from the shade, 


Oh, how that touch enchanted ! 


And placed her where Heaven's beam warmly 


Roses now unheeded sigh ; 


play'd. 


Where's the hand to wreath them ? 


There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye, 


Songs around neglected he ; 

Where's the lip to breathe them? 


While, mark'd all with sunshine, her hours flew by. 


" Oh, how," said the Dial, " can any fair maid, 


Here's the bower, &c. 


" That's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade ?" 


Spring may bloom, but she we loved 


But night now comes on, and the sunbeam's o'er, 


Ne'er shall feel its sweetness ; 


And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more. 


Time, that once so fleetly moved, 


Alone and neglected, while bleak rain and winds 


Now hath lost its fleetness. 


Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds 


Years were days, when here she stray'd, 


That Love had but number'd a few sunny hours, — 


Days were moments near her ; 


Then left the remainder to darkness and showers ! 


Heav'n ne'er form'd a brighter maid, 




Nor Pity wept a dearer ! 




Here's the bower, &c. 


. 




LOVE AND TIME. 


1 SAW THE MOON RISE CLEAR. 




A FINLAND LOVE SONG 


'Tis said — but whether true or not 




Let bards declare who've seen 'em — 


I saw the moon rise clear 


That Love and Time have only got 


O'er hills and vales of snow, 


One pair of wings between 'em. 


Nor told my fleet reindeer 


In courtship's first delicious hour, 


The track I wish'd to go. 


The boy full oft can spare 'em ; 


Yet quick he bounded forth ; 


So, loit'ring in his lady's bower, 


For well my reindeer knew 


He lets the grey-beard wear 'em 


I've but one path on earth — 


Then is Time's hour of play ; 


The path which leads to you. 


Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 



350 MOORE'S 


WORKS/ 


But short the moments, short as bright, 


i 


When he the wings can borrow ; 


LOVE, WAND'RING THROUGH THE 


If Time to-day has had his flight, 


GOLDEN MAZE. 


Love takes his turn to-morrow. 




Ah ! Time and Love, your change is then 


Love, wand'ring through the golden maze 


The saddest and most trying, 


f Of my beloved's hair, 


When one begins to limp again, 


Traced every lock with fond delays, 


And t'other takes to flying. 


And, doting, linger'd there. 


Then is Love's hour to stray ; 


And soon he found 'twere vain to fly ; 


Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 


His heart was close confined, 




For, every ringlet was a tie — 


But there's a nymph, whose chains I feel, 


A chain by beauty twined. 


And bless the silken fetter, 




Who knows, the dear one, how to deal 




With Love and Time much better. 





So well she checks their wanderings, 




So peacefully she pairs 'em, 




That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings, 


MERRILY EVERY BOSOM BOUNDETH. 


And Time forever wears 'em. 






THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY. 


This is Time's holiday ; 




Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 


Merrily every bosom boundeth, 




Merrily, oh ! 




Where the song of Freedom soundeth, 
Merrily, oh ! 






There the warrior's arms 


LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER-CLOUD. 


Shed more splendor ; / 




There the maiden's charms 


Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us — 


Shine more tender ; 


Youth may wither, but feeling will last ; 


Ev'iy joy the land surroundeth, 


All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us, 


Merrily, oh ! merrily, oh ! 


Love's light summer-cloud only shall cast 




Oh, if to love thee more 


Wearily every bosom pineth, 


Each hour I number o'er 


Wearily, oh ! 


If this a passion be 


Where the bond of slavery twineth 


Worthy of thee, 


Wearily, oh ! 


Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 


There the warrior's dart 


Charms may wither, but feeling shall last: 


Hath no fleetness ; 


All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, 


There the maiden's heart 


Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast 


Hath no sweetness — 




Ev'ry flow'r of life declineth, 


Rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee, 


Wearily, oh ! wearily, oh ! 


Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal ; 


Beam, bright eyelid, no weeping shall stain thee, 


Cheerily then from hill and valley, 


Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel. 


Cheerily, oh ! 


Oh, if there be a charm 


Like your native fountains sally, 


In love, to banish harm — 


Cheerily, oh ! 


If pleasure's truest spell 


If a glorious death, 


Be to love well, 


Won by bravery, 


Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 


Sweeter be than breath 


Charms may wither, but feeling shall last : 


Sigh'd in slavery, 


All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, 


Round the flag of Freedom rally, 


Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. 


Cheerily, oh ! cheerily, oh ! 


• 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



351 



REMEMBER THE TIME. 

THE CASTILIAN MAID. 

Remember the time, in La Mancha's shades, 

When our moments so blissfully flew ; 
When you call'd me the flower of Castilian maids, 

And I blush'd to be call'd so by you ; 
When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille, 

And to dance to the light Castanet ; 
Oh, never, dear youth, let you roam where you will, 

The delight of those moments forget. 

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's green isle, 

Every horn* a new passion can feel ; 
And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile, 

You'll forget the poor maid of Castile. 
But they know not how brave in the battle you are, 

Or they never could think you would rove ; 
For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war 

That is fondest and truest in love. 



OH, SOON RETURN. 

Our white sail caught the ev'ning ray, 

The wave beneath us seem'd to bum, 
When all the weepingTOaid could say 

Was, " Oh, soon return !" 
Through many a clime our ship was driven, 

O'er many a billow rudely thrown ; 
Now chill'd beneath a northern heaven, 

Now sunn'd in summer's zone : 
And still, where'er we bent our way, 

When evening bid the west wave burn, 
I fancied still I heard her say, 

" Oh, soon return !" 

If ever yet my bosom found 

Its thoughts one moment turn'd from thee, 
'Twas when the combat raged around, 

And brave men look'd to me. 
But though the war-field's wild alarm 

For gentle Love was all unmeet, 
He lent to Glory's brow the charm, 

Which made even danger sweet. 
And still, when vict'ry's calm came o'er 

The hearts where rage had ceased to burn, 
Those parting words I heard once more, 

" Oh, soon return ! — Oh, soon return I" 



LOVE THEE? 

Love thee ? — so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me, 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 

Were wort bless without thee. 
Though brimm'd with blessings, pure and rare 

Life's cup before me lay, 
Unless thy love were mingled there, 

I'd spurn the draught away. 
Love thee 1 — so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me, 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 

Are worthless without thee. 

Without thy smile, the monarch's lot 

To me were dark and lone, 
While, with it, ev'n the humblest cot 

Were brighter than his throne. 
Those worlds, for which the conqu s ror sighs, 

For me would have no charms ; 
My only world thy gentle eyes — 

My throne thy circling arms ! 
Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me, 
Whole realms of light and liberty 

Were worthless without thee. 



ONE DEAR SMILE 

Couldst thou look as dear as when 

First I sigh'd for thee ; 
Couldst thou make me feel again 
Every wish I breathed thee then, 

Oh, how blissful life would be ! 
Hopes, that now beguiling leave me, 

Joys, that lie in slumber cold — 
All would wake, couldst thou but give me 

One dear smile like those of old. 

No — there's nothing left us now 

But to mourn the past ; 
Vain was every ardent vow — 
Never yet did heaven allow 

Love so warm, so wild, to last. 
Not even hope could now deceive me — 

Life itself looks dark and cold : 
Oh, thou never more canst give me 

One dear smile like those of old. 



352 MOORE'S WORKS. 




The song of war shall echo through our mountains, 


YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM. 


Till Victory's self shall, smiling, say, 




" Your cloud of foes hath pass'd away, 


Yes, yes, when the bloom of Love's boyhood is o'er, 


" And Freedom comes, with new-born ray, 


He'll turn into friendship that feels no decay ; 


" To gild your vines and light your fountains." 


And, though Time may take from him the wings he 


Oh, never till that glorious day 


once wore, 


Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, 


The charms that remain will be bright as before, 


Or hear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay 


And he'll lose but his young trick of flying away. 


Resounding through her sunny mountains. 


Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay, 




That Friendship our last happy moments will 




crown : 




Like the shadows of morning, Love lessens away, 




While Friendship, like those at the closing of day, 


THE YOUNG ROSE. 


Will linger and lengthen as life's sua goes down. 






The young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright, 




Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of night, 




Who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes hath hung, 
And thriU'd every leaf with the wild lay he sung. 






Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be 


THE DAY OF LOVE. 


Prolong^ by the breath she will borrow from thee ; 




For, while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, 


The beam of morning trembling 


She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still 


Stole o'er the mountain brook, 




With timid ray resembling 




Affection's early look. 
Thus love begins — sweet morn of love ! 






The noontide ray ascended, 
And o'er the valley's stream 


WHEN MIDST T|fE GAY I MEET. 


Diffused a glow as splendid 


When midst the gay I meet 


As passion's riper dream. 


That gentle smile of thine, 


Thus love expands — warm noon of love ! 


Though still on me it turns most sweet, 




I scarce can call it mine : 


But evening came, o'ershading 


But when to me alone 


The glories of the sky, 


Your secret tears you show, 


Like faith and fondness fading 


Oh, then I feel those tears my own, 


From passion's alter'd eye. 


And claim them while they flow. 


Thus love declines — cold eve of love ! 


Then still with bright looks bless 




The gay, the cold, the free ; 




Give smiles to those who love you less, 




But keep your tears for me. 






The snow on Jura's steep 


LUSITANIAN WAR-SONG 


Can smile in many a beam, 




Yet still in chains of coldness sleep, 


The song of war shall echo through our mountains, 


How bright soe'er it seem. 


Till not one hateful link remains 


But, when some deep-felt ray, 


Of slavery's lingering chains ; 


Whose touch is fire, appears, 


Till not one tyrant tread our plains, 


Oh, then the smile is warm'd away, 


Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains. 


And, melting, turns to tears. 


No ! never till that glorious day 


Then still with bright looks bless 


Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, 


The gay, the cold, the free ; 


Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay 


Give smiles to those who love you less, 


Resounding through her sunny mountains. 

L 


But keep your tears for me. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 353 


WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS. 


HOW HAPPY, ONCE. 


When twilight dews are falling soft 


How happy, once, though wing'd with sighs, 


Upon the rosy sea, love, 


My moments new along, 


I watch the star, whose beam so oft 


While looking on those smiling eyes, 


Has lighted me to thee, love. 


And list'ning to thy magic song ! 


And thou, too, on that orb so dear, 


But vanish' d now, like summer dreams, 


Dost often gaze at even, 


Those moments smile no more ; 


And think, though lost forever here, 


For me that eye no longer beams, 


Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven. 


That song for me is o'er. 




Mine the cold brow, 


There's not a garden walk I tread, 


That speaks thy alter d vow, 


There's not a flow'r I see, love, 


While others feel thy sunshine now. 


But brings to mind some hope that's fled, 




Some joy that's gone with thee, love. 


Oh, could I change my love like thee, 


And still I wish that hour was near, 


One hope might yet be mine — 


When, friends and foes forgiven, 


Some other eyes as bright to see, 


The pains, the ills we've wept through here, 


And hear a voice as sweet as thine . 


May turn to smiles in heaven. 


But never, never can this heart 




Be waked to life again ; 




With thee it lost its vital part, 
And wither'd then ! 






Cold its pulse lies, 


YOUNG JESSICA. 


And mute are ev'n its sighs, 


Young Jessica sat all the day, 


All other grief it now defies. 


With heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining ; 




Her needle bright beside her lay, 
So active once ! — now idly shining. 






Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts 


I LOVE BUT THEE. 


That love and mischief are most nimble ; 




The safest shield against the darts 


If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me, 


Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. 


And think this heart to other loves will stray, 




If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me ; 


The child, who with a magnet plays, 


By eVry dream I have when thou'rt away, 


Well knowing all its arts, so wily, 


By ev'ry throb I feel when thou art near me, 


The tempter near a needle lays, 


I love but thee — I love but thee ! 


And laughing, says, " We'll steal it slyly." 




The needle, having naught to do, 


By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing, 


Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle ; 


Where Love, in depth of shadow, holds his 


Till closer, closer come the two, 


throne, 


And — off, at length, elopes the needle. 


And by those lips, which give whate'er thou'rt 




saying, 


Now, had this needle turn'd its eye 


Or grave or gay, a music of its own, 


To some gay reticule's construction, 


A music far beyond all minstrel's playing, 


It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie, 


I love but thee — I love but thee ! 


Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction. 




Thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts, 


By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes, 


Your snowy fingers must be nimble ; 


As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow, 


The safest shield against the darts 


And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses 


Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. 


A hue too bright to bless this world below, 




And only fit to dwell on Eden's roses, 




I love but thee — I love but thee ! 

1 




• 



23 



354 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


LET JOY ALONE BE REMEMBER'D NOW. 


MY HEART AND LUTE. 


Let thy joys alone be remember'd now, 


I give thee all — I can no more — 


Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile ; 


Though poor the off 'ring be ; 


Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, 


My heart and lute are all the store 


Let Love light it up with his smile 


That I can bring to thee. 


For thus to meet, and thus to find, 


A lute whose gentle song reveals 


That Time, whose touch can chili 


The soul of love full well ; 


Each flower of form, each grace of mind, 


And, better far, a heart that feels 


Hath left thee blooming still, — 


Much more than lute could tell. 


Oh, joy alone should be thought of now, 




Let our sorrows go sleep awhile ; 


Though love and song may fail, alas 1 


Or, should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, 


To keep life's clouds away, 


Let Love light it up with his smile. 


At least 'twill make them lighter pass 




Or gild them if they stay. 


When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade, 


And ev'n if Care, at moments, flings 


If but one bright leaf remain, 


A discord o'er life & happy strain, 


Of the many that once its glory made, 


Let love but gently touch the strings, 


It is not for us to complain. 


'Twill all be sweet again ! 


But thus to meet and thus to wake 


V 


In all Love's early bliss ; 




Oh, Time all other gifts may take, 




So he but leaves us this ! 




Then let joy alone be remember'd now, 
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile ; 


, 


PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S GONE ! 


Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, 


When I am dead 


Let Love light it up with his smile ! 


Then lay my head 




In some lone, distant dell, 




Where voices ne'er 




Shall stir the air, 




Or break its silent spell. 


LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE? 


If any sound 


Love thee, dearest 1 love thee ? 


Be heard around, 


Yes, by yonder star I swear, 


Let the sweet bird alone, 


Which through tears above thee 


That weeps in song 


Shines so sadly fair ; 


Sing all night long, 


Though often dim, 


" Peace, peace, to him that's gone !" 


With tears, like him, 




Like him my truth will shine, 


Yet, oh, were mine 


And — love thee, dearest ? love thee ? 


One sigh of thine, 


Yes, till death I'm thine. 


One pitying word from thee, 




Like gleams of heav'n, 


Leave thee, dearest ? leave thee ? 


To sinners giv'n. 


No, that star is not more true ; 


Would be that word to me. 


When my vows deceive thee, 




He will wander too. 


Howe'er unbless'd, 


A cloud of night 


My shade would rest 


May veil his light, 


While list'ning to that tone ; — 


And death shall darken mine — 


Enough 'twould be 


But— leave thee, dearest ? leave thee ? 


To hear from thee, 


No, till death I'm thine. 


" Peace, peace, to him that's gone !" 







BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



355 



ROSE OF THE DESERT. 

Rose of the Desert ! thou, whose Mushing ray, 
Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away ; 
No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh, — 
In vestal silence left to live and die, — 
Rose of the Desert ! thus should woman be, 
Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee. 

Rose of the Garden, how unlike thy doom ! 
Destined for others, not thyself, to bloom ; 
Cull'd ere thy beauty lives through half its day ; 
A moment cherish'd, and then cast away ; 
Rose of the Garden ! such is woman's lot, — 
Worshipp'd, while blooming — when she fades, for- 
got. 



'TIS ALL FOR THEE. 

If life for me hath joy or light, 

'Tis all from thee, 
My thoughts by day, my dreams by night, 

Are but of thee, of only thee. 
Whate'er of hope or peace I know, 
My zest in joy, my balm in wo, 
To those dear eyes of thine I owe, 

'Tis all from thee. 

My heart, ev'n ere I saw those eyes, 

Seem'd doom'd to thee ; 
Kept pure till then from other ties, 

'Twas all for thee, for only thee. 
Like plants that sleep, till sunny May 
Calls forth their life, my spirit lay, 
Till, touch'd by Love's awak'ning; ray, 

It lived for thee, it lived for thee. 

When Fame would call me to her heights, 

She speaks by thee ; 
And dim would shine her proudest lights, 

Unshared by thee, unshared by thee. 
Whene'er I seek the Muse's shrine, 
Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine, 
And wish those wreaths of glory mine, 

'Tis all for thee, for only thee. 



THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME. 

There's a song of the olden time, 

Falling sad o'er the ear, 
Like the dream of some village chime, 

Which in youth we loved to hear. 
And ev'n amidst the grand and gay, 

When Music tries her gentlest art, 
I never hear so sweet a lay, 

Or one that hangs so round my heart, 
As that song of the olden time, 

Falling sad o'er the ear, 
Like the dream of some village chime, 

Which in youth we loved to hear. 

And when all of this life is gone, — 

Ev'n the hope, ling'ring now, 
Like the last of the leaves left on 

Autumn's sere and faded bough. — 
'Twill seem as still those friends were near, 

Who loved me in youth's earlv day, 
If in that parting hour I hear 

The same sweet notes, and die away, — 
To that song of the olden time, 

Breathed, like Hope's farewell strain, 
To say, in some brighter clime, 

Life and youth will shine again! 



WAKE THEE, MY DEAR. 

Wake thee, my dear — thy dreaming 
Till darker hours will keep ; 

While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. 

Moments there are we number, 

Moments of pain and care, 
Which to oblivious slumber 

Gladly the wretch would spare. 
But now — who'd think of dreaming 

When Love his watch should keep ? 
While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. 

If e'er the Fates should sever 

My life and hopes from thee, love, 

The sleep that lasts forever 

Would then be sweet to me, love ; 



1 In this song, which is one of the many set to music by 
myself, the occasional lawlessness of the metre arises, I 
need hardly say, from the peculiar structure of the air. 



356 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But now, — away with dreaming ! 

Till darker hours 'twill keep ; 
While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. 



THE BOY OF THE ALPS. 1 

Lightly, Alpine rover, 

Tread the mountains over ; 

Rude is the path thou'st yet to go ; 

Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee, 

Fields of ice before thee, 
While the hid torrent moans below 
Hark, the deep thunder, 
Through the vales yonder ! 
'Tis the huge av'lanche downward cast ; 

From rock to rock 

Rebounds the shock. 
But courage, boy ! the danger's past. 

Onward, youthful rover, 

Tread the glacier over, 
Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. 
On, ere light forsake thee, 
Soon will dusk o'ertake thee : 
O'er yon ice-bridge lies thy way ! 

Now, for the risk prepare thee ; 

Safe it yet may bear thee, 
Though 'twill melt in morning's ray. 

Hark, that dread howling ! 

'Tis the wolf prowling, — 

Scent of thy track the foe hath got ; 

And cliff and shore 

Resound his roar. 
But courage, boy, — the danger's past ! 

Watching eyes have found thee, 

Loving arms are round thee, 
Safe hast thou reach'd thy father's cot. 



FOR THEE ALONE. 

For thee alone I brave the boundless deep, 
Those eyes my light through ev'ry distant sea ; 

My waking thoughts, the dream that gilds my sleep, 
The noontide rev'ry, all are giv'n to thee, 
To thee alone, to thee alone. 



1 This and the Songs that follow, (as far as page 366,) 
have been published, with music, by Messrs. Addison and 
Beale, Regent Street. 



Though future scenes present to Fancy's eye 
Fair forms of light that crowd the distant air, 

When nearer view'd, the fairy phantoms fly, 
The crowds dissolve, and thou alone art there, 
Thou, thou alone. 

To win thy smile, I speed from shore to shore, 
While Hope's sweet voice is heard in every blast, 

Still whisp'ring on, that when some years are o'er, 
One bright reward shall crown my toil at last, 
Thy smile alone, thy smile alone. 

Oh, place beside the transport of that hour 

All earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright, 
Wealth's radiant mines, the lofty thrones of pow- 
er,— 
Then ask where first thy lover's choice would 
light? 

On thee alone, on thee alons. 



HER LAST WORDS, AT PARTING. 

Her last words, at parting, how can I forget ? 
Deep treasured through life, in my heart they 
shall stay ; 
Like music, whose charm in the soul lingers yet, 
When its sounds from the ear have long melted 
away. 
Let Fortune assail me, her threat'nings are vain ; 
Those still-breathing words shall my talisman 
be,— 
" Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, 
" There's one heart, unchanging, that beats but 
for thee." 

From the desert's sweet well tho' the pilgrim must 
hie, 
Never more of that fresh-springing fountain to 
taste, 
He hath still of its bright drops a treasured supply, 
Whose sweetness lends life to his lips through the 
waste. 
So, dark as my fate is still doom'd to remain, 

These words shall my well in the wilderness 
be,— 
" Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, 
" There's one heart, unchanging, that beats but 
for thee." 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



357 



LET'S TAKE THIS WORLD AS SOME 
WIDE SCENE 

Let's take this world as some wide scene, 

Through which, in frail, but buoyant boat, 
With skies now dark and now serene, 

Together thou and I must float ; 
Beholding oft, on either shore, 

Bright spots where we should love to stay ; 
But Time plies swift his flying oar, 

A.nd away we speed, away, away. 

Should chilling winds and rains come on, 

We'll raise our awning 'gainst the show'r ; 
Sit closer till the storm is gone, 

And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. 
And if that sunnier hour should shine, 

We'll know its brightness cannot stay, 
But happy, while 'tis thine and mine, 

Complain not when it fades away. 

So shall we reach at last that Fall 

Down which life's currents all must go, — 
The dark, the brilliant, destined all 

To sink into the void below. 
Nor ev'n that hour shall want its charms, 

If, side by side, still fond we keep, 
And calmly, in each other's arms 

Together link'd, go down the steep. 



Bright as wnen, by Psyche kiss'd, 
They trembled through and through. 

Flowers spring beneath his feet ; 
Angel forms D&ide him run ; 

While unnumber'd iips repeat 
" Love's victory is won !" 

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, &c. 



LOVE'S VICTORY. 

Sing to Love — for, oh, 'twas he 

Who won the glorious day ; 
Strew the wreaths of victory 

Along the conqu'ror's way. 
Yoke the Muses to his car, 

Lei them sing each trophy won ; 
While his mother's joyous star 

Shall light the triumph on. 

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, 

Let spirits sing around ; 
While the hill, the dale, and grove, 

With " mighty Love" resound ; 
Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal 

Amid the sounds thus echo'd o'er, 
'Twill but teach the god to feel 

His victories the more. 

See his wings, like amethyst 
Of sunny Ind their hue ; 



SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS DAUGHTER. 

" I've been, oh, sweet daughter, 

" To fountain and sea, 
" To seek in their water 

" Some bright gem for thee. 
" Where diamonds were sleeping, 

" Their sparkle I sought, 
" Where crystal was weeping, 

" Its tears I have caught. 

" The sea-nymph I've courted 

" In rich coral halls ; 
" With Naiads have sported 

" By bright waterfalls. 
" But sportive or tender, 

" Still sought I, around, 
" That gem, with whose splendor 

" Thou yet shalt be crown'd. 

" And see, while I'm speaking, 

" Yon soft light afar ; — 
" The pearl I've been seeking 

" There floats like a star ! 
" In the deep Indian Ocean 

" I see the gem shine, 
" And quick as light's motion 

" Its wealth shall be thine." 

Then eastward, like lightning, 

The hero-god flew, 
His sunny looks bright'ning 

The air he went through 
And sweet was the duty, 

And hallow'd the hour, 
Which saw thus young Beauty 

Embellish'd by Power 



1 Founded on the fable reported by Arrian, (in lnilicis,) of 
Hercules having searched the Indian Ocean, to find the pearl 
with which he adorned his daughter Pandsea. 



358 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 




Her eye a light glancing 


THE DREAM OF HOME. 


Like the blue sea ; 


Who has not felt how sadb/fweet 


And while all this gladness 


Around her steps hung, 


The dream of home, the dream of home, 


Such sweet notes of sadness 


Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, 


Her gentle lips sung, 


When far o'er sea or land we roam ? 


That ne'er while I live from my mem'ry shall fade 


Sunlight more soft may o'er us fall, 


The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. 


To greener shores our bark may come ; 




But far more bright, more dear than all, 


Her zone of bells ringing 


That dream of home, that dream of home. 


Cheerily, cheerily, 




Chimed to her singing 


Ask of the sailor youth when far 


Light echoes of glee ; 


His light bark bounds o'er ocean's foam, 


But in vain did she borrow 


What charms him most, when ev'ning's star 


Of mirth the gay tone, 


Smiles o'er the wave ? to dream of home. 


Her voice spoke of sorrow, 


Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves 


And sorrow alone. 


At that sweet hour around him come ; 


Nor e'er while I live from my mem'ry shall fade 


His heart's best joy where'er he roves, 


The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. 


That dream of home, that dream of home* 




f 
THEY TELL ME THOU'RT THE 


THE HOMEWARD MARCH. 


FAVOR'D GUEST. X 






Be still, my heart : I hear them come : 


They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest 


Those sounds announce my lover near : 


Of every fair and brilliant throng : 


The march that brings our warriors home 


No wit like thine to wake the jest, 


Proclaims he'll soon be here. 


No voice like thine to breathe the song ; 


! 


And none could guess, so gay thou art, 


Hark, the distant tread, 


That thou and I are far apart. 


O'er the mountain's head, 




While hills and dales repeat the sound ; 


Alas ! alas ! how difPrent flows 


And the forest deer 


With .thee and me the time away ! 


Stand still to hear, 


Not that I wish thee sad — heav'n knows — 


As those echoing steps ring round. 


Still if thou canst, be light and gay ; 




I only know, that without thee 


Be still, my heart, I l|ear them come, 


The sun himself is dark to me. 


Those sounds that speak my soldier near ; 




Those joyous steps seem wing'd for home, — 


Do I thus haste to hall and bower 


Rest, rest, he'll soon be here. 


Among the proud and gay to shine ? 




Or deck my hair with gem and flower, 


But hark, more faint the footsteps grow, 


To flatter other eyes than thine ? 


And now they wind to distant glades ; 


Ah, no, with me love's smiles are past, 


Not here their home, — alas, they go 


Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last 


To gladden happier maids ! 




Like sounds in a dream, 
The footsteps seem, 




THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID. 


As down the hills they die away ; 




And the march, whose song 


There came a nymph dancing 


So peal'd along, 


Gracefully, gracefully, 


Nowr fades like a funeral lay. 


i Part y; a translation of some Latin verses, supposed to 


during his absence at the gay court of Leo the Tenth. The 


have bem addressed by Hippolyta Taurella to her husband, 


verses may be found in the Appendix to Roscoe's Work. 



BALLADS, 1 


SONGS, ETC. 359 


'Tis past, 'tis o'er, — hush, heart, thy pain ! 




And though not here, alas, they come, 


THE EXILE. 


Rejoice for thoce, to whom that strain 




Brings sons end lovers home. 


Night waneth fast, the morning star 


i 
i 


Saddens with light the glimm'ring sea, 


1 


Whose waves shall soon to realms afar 




Waft me from hope, from love, and thee. 
Coldly the beam from yonder sky 


| 




Looks o'er the waves that onward stray ; 


WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY. 


But colder still the stranger's eye 




To him whose home is far away. 


Wake up, sweet melody ! 


Now is the hour 


Oh, not at hour so chill and bleak, 


W hen young and loving hearts 


Let thoughts of me come o'er thy breast ; 


Feel most thy pow'r. 


But of the lost one think and speak, 


One note of music, by moonlight's soft ray — 


When summer suns sink calm to rest. 


Oh, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly by day. 


So, as I wander, Fancy's dream 


Then wake up, sweet melody ! 


Shall bring me o'er the sunset seas, 


Now is the hour 


Thy look, in ev'ry melting beam, 


When young and loving hearts 


Thy whisper, in each dying breeze. 


Feel most thy pow'r. 




Ask the fond nightingale, 




When his sweet flow'r 




Loves most to hear his song, 




In her green bow'r? 




Oh, he will tell thee, through summer-nights long, 


THE FANCY FAIR. 


Fondest she lends her whole soul to his song. 




Then wake up, sweet melody ! 


Come, maids and youths, for here we sell 


Now is the hour 


All wondrous things of earth and air ; 


When young and loving hearts 


Whatever wild romancers tell, 


Feel most thy pow'r. 


Or poets sing, or lovers swear, 




You'll find at this our Fancy Fair. 




Here eyes are made like stars to shine, 
And kept, for years, in such repair, 






That ev'n when turn'd of thirty-nine, 




They'll hardly look the worse forswear, 


CALM BE THY SLEEP. 


If bought at this our Fancy Fair. ' 


Calm be thy sleep as infants' slumbers ! 


We've lots of tears for bards to show'r, 


Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams ! 


And hearts that such ill usage bear, 


May ev'ry joy this bright world numbers 


That, though they're broken ev'ry hour, 


Shed o'er thee their mingled beams ! 


They'll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear, 


Or if, where Pleasure's wing hath glided, 


If purchased at our Fancy Fair. 


There ever must some pang remain, 




Still be thy lot with me divided, — 


As fashions change in ev'ry thing, 


Thine all the bliss, and mine the pain ! 


We've goods to suit each season's air, 




Eternal friendships for the spring, 


Day and night my thoughts shall hover 


And endless loves for summer wear, — 


Round thy steps where'er they stray ; 


All sold at this our Fancy Fair. 


As, ev'n when clouds his idol cover, 




Fondly the Persian tracks its ray. 


We've reputations white as snow 


If 'this be wrong, if Heav'n offended 


That long will last, if used with care, 


By worship to its creature be, 


Nay, safe through all life's journey go, 


Then let my vows to both be blended, 


If pack'd and mark'd as " brittle ware,"— 


Half breathed to Heav'n and half to thee. 


Just purchased at the Fancy Fair. 



! 360 MOORE'S WORKS. 




But, one sad night, when winds were high. 


IF THOU WOULDST HAVE ME SING 


Nor earth, nor heaven, could hear her cry, 


AND PLAY. 


She saw his boat come tossing over 




Midnight's wave, — but not her lover I 


If thou wouldst have me sing and play, 


No, never more her lover. 


As once I play'd and sung, 




First take this time-worn lute away, 


And still that sad dream loath to leave, 


And bring one freshly strung. 


She comes with wand'ring mind at eve, 


Call back the time when pleasure's sigh 


And oft we hear, when night is falling, 


First breathed among the strings ; 


Faint her voice through twilight calling, 


And Time himself, in flitting by, 


Mournfully at twilight calling. 


Made music with his wings. 




But how is this ? though new the lute, 




And shining fresh the chords, 






Beneath this hand they slumber mute, 




Or speak but dreamy words. 




In vain I seek the sold that dwelt 




Within thai once sweet shell, 


THE SUMMER WEBS. 


Which told so warmly what it felt, 




And felt what naught could tell. 


The summer webs that float and shine, 




The summer dews that fall, 


Oh, ask not then for passion's lay, 


Though light they be, tins heart of mine 


From lyre so coldly strung ; 


Is lighter still than all. 


With this I ne'er can sing or play, 


It tells me every cloud is past 


As once I play'd and sung. 


Which lately seem'd to low'r ; 


No, bring that long-loved lute again, — 


That Hope hath wed young Joy at last, 


Though chill'd by years it be, 


And now's their nuptial hour ! 


If thou wilt call the slumb'ring strain, 




'Twill wake again for thee. 


With light thus round, within, above, 




"With naught to wake one sigh, 


Though time have froz'n the tuneful stream 


Except the wish, that all we love 


Of thoughts that gush'd along, 


Were at this moment nigh, — 


One look from thee, like summer's beam, 


It seems as if life's brilliant sun 


Will thaw them into song. 


Had stopp'd in full career, 


Then give, oh give, that wak'ning ray, 


To make this hour its brightest one, 


And once more blithe and young, 


And rest in radiance here. 


Thy bard again will sing and pla> 




As once he play'd and sung. 




STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT. 


MIND NOT THOUGH DAYLIGHT. 


Still when daylight o'er the wave 


Mind not though daylight around us is breaking, — 


Bright and soft its farewell gave, 


Who'd think now of sleeping when morn's but just 


I used to hear, while light was falling, 


waking ? 


O'er the wave a sweet voice calling, 


Sound the merry viol, and, daylight or not, 


Mournfully at distance calling. 


Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot. 


Ah ! once how blest that maid would come, 


See young Aurora, up heaven's hill advancing, 


To meet her sea-boy hast'ning home ; 


Though fresh from her pillow, ev'n she too is 


And through the night those sounds repeating, 


dancing : 


Hail his bark with joyous greeting, 


While thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea, 


Joyously his light bark greeting. 


Are dancing around us, oh, why should not we ? 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 361 


Who'll say that moments we use thus are wasted ? 


While round, from banks of brook or lake, 


Such sweet drops of time only flow to be tasted ; 


Our company blithe echoes make ; 


While hearts are high beating, and harps full in 


And, as we lend 'em 


tune, 


Sweet word or strain, 


The fault is all morning's for coming so soon 


Still back they send 'em, 




More sweet, again. 


THEY MET BUT ONCE 




They met but once, in youth's sweet hour, 


CHILD'S SONG. FROM A MASQUE. 


And never since that day 


I have a garden of my own, 


Hath absence, time, or grief had pow'r 


Shining with flow'rs of ev'iy hue ; 


To chase that dream away. 


I loved it dearly while alone, 


They've seen the suns of other skies, 


But I shall love it more with you : 


On other shores have sought delight ; 


And there the^olden bees shall come, 

In summej«|jme at break c r morn, 
And wake ul^ith their busy Kim 


But never more, to bless their eyes, 


Can come a dream so bright ! 


They met but once, — a day was all 


Around the Siha's fragrant thorn. 


Of Love's young hopes they knew ; 




And still their hearts that day recall, 


I have a fawn from Aden's land, 


As fresh as then it flew. 


On leafy buds and berries nursed ; 




And you shall feed him from your hand, 


Sweet dream of youth ! oh, ne'er again 


Though he may start with fear at first. 


Let either meet the brow 


And I will lead you where he lies 


They left so smooth and smiling then, 


For shelter in the noontide heat ; 


Or see what it is now. 


And you may touch his sleeping eyes, 


For, Youth, the spell was only thine ; 


And feel his little silv'ry feet. 


From thee alone th' enchantment flows, 




That makes the world around thee shine 




With light thyself bestows. 






They met but once, — oh, ne'er again 




Let either meet the brow 




They left so smooth and smiling then, 


THE HALCYON HANGS O'ER OCEAN. 


Or see what it is now. 






The halcyon hangs o'er ocean, 




The sea-lark skims the brine ; 
This bright world's all in motion, 






No heart seems sad but mine. 


WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING 






To walk through sun-bright places, 


With moonlight beaming 


With heart all cold the while ; 


Thus o'er the deep, 


To look in smiling faces, 


Who'd linger dreaming 


When we no more can smile ; 


In idle sleep ? 




Leave joyless souls to live by day, — 


To feel, while earth and heaven 


Our life begins with yonder ray ; 


Around thee shine with bliss, 


And while thus brightly 


To thee no light is given, — 


The moments flee, 


Oh, what a deem is this ! 


Our barks skim lightly 




The shining sea. 





To halls of splendor 


THE WORLD WAS HUSH'D. 


Let great ones hie ; 




Through light more tender 


The world was hush'd, the moon above 


Our pathways lie. 


Sail'd through ether slowly, 



362 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


When, near the casement of my love, 


While he of earth, too fully bless'd 


Thus I whisper'd lowly, — 


With this bright world to dream of more, 


" Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep ? 


Sees all his heav'n on Beauty's breast : — 


" The field I seek to-morrow 


Then, tell me which, 


" Is one where man hath fame to reap, 


Tell me which shall we adore ? 


" And woman gleans but sorrow." 






The maid who heard the poet sing 


" Let battle's field be what it may," 


These twin-desires of earth and sky, 


Thus spoke a voice replying, 


And saw, while one inspired his string, 


" Think not thy love, while thou'rt away, 


The other glisten'd in his eye, — 


" Will here sit idly sighing. 


To name the earthlier boy ashamed, 


" No — woman's soul, if not for fame, 


To choose the other fondly loath, 


" For love can brave all danger !" 


At length, all blushing, she exclaim'd,— 


Then forth from out the casement came 


" Ask not which, 


A plumed and armed stranger. 


" Oh, ask not which — we'll worship both. 


A stranger ? No ; 'twas sbft the maid, 
Herself before me beaml^, 


" Th' extremes of each thus taught to shun, 


" With hearts and souls between them given, 


With casque array'd, and falchion blade 


" When weaiy of this earth with one, 


Beneath her girdle gleaming ! 


" We'll with the other wing to heaven." 


Close side by side, in freedom's fight, 


Thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss ; 


That blessed morning found us ; 


And while one Love wrote down the oath, 


In Vict'ry's light we stood ere night, 


The other seal'd it with a kiss ; 


And Love, the morrow, crown'd us ! 


And Heav'n look'd on, 




Heav'n look'd on, and hallow'd both. 


THE TWO LOVES 






THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE FAIRY. 


There are two Loves, the poet sings, 




Both born of Beauty at a birth : 


Wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight, 


The one, akin to heaven, hath wings, 


Are play'd by me, the merry little Sprite, 


The other, earthly, walks on earth. 


Who wing through ah from the camp to the court, 


With this through bowers below we play, 


From king to clown, and of all make sport ; 


With that through clouds above we soar ; 


Singing, I am the Sprite 


With both, perchance, may lose our way :— « 


Of the merry midnight, 


Then, tell me which, 


Who laugh at weak mortals, and love the moon- 


Tell me whv?h shall we adore 1 


light? 


The one, when tempted down from air, 


To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept 


At Pleasure's fount to lave his lip, 


And dreamt of his cash, I slyly crept ; 


Nor lingers long, nor oft will dare 


Chink, chink o'er his pillow like money I rang, 


His wing within the wave to dip. 


And he waked to catch — but away I sprang, 


While, plunging deep and long beneath, 


Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 


The other bathes him o'er and o'er 




In that sweet current, ev'n to death : — 


I saw through the leaves, in a damsel's bower, 


Then, tell me which, 


She was waiting her love at that starlight hour : 


Tell me which shall we adore ? 


" Hist — hist !" quoth I, with an amorous sigh, 




And she flew to the door, but away flew I, 


The boy of heav'n, even while he lies 


Singing, I am the Sprite, &c, 


In Beauty's lap, recalls his home ; 




And when most happy, inly sighs 


While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love, 


For something happier still to come. 


Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from above, 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 363 


And he swoon'd — for he thought 'twas the ghost, 


I only think — could aught 


poor man ! 


But joy be where thou art ? 


Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran, 


Life seems a waste of breath, 


Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 


When far from thee I sigh ; 




And death — ay, even death 




Were sweet, if thou wert nigh. 


BEAUTY AND SONG 

Down in yon summer vale, 




Where the rill flows, 


SONG OF A HYPERBOREAN 


Thus said a Nightingale 


• 


To his loved Rose : — 


I come from a land in the sun-bright deep, 


" Though rich the pleasures 


Where golden gardens grow ; 


" Of song's sweet measures, 


Where the winds of the north, becalm'd in sleep, 


" Vain were its melody, 


Their conch-shells never blow. 1 


" Rose, without thee." 


Haste to that holy Isle with me, 




Haste — haste ! 


Then from the green recess 




Of her night -bow'r, 


So near the track of the stars are we, 2 


Beaming with bashfulness, 


That oft, on night's pale beams, 


Spoke the bright flow'r : — 


The distant sounds of their harmony 


" Though morn should lend her 


Come to our ears, like dreams. 


" Its sunniest splendor, 


Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, &c. &c 


" What would the Rose be, 




" Unsung by thee ?" 


The Moon, too, brings her world so nigh, 3 




That when the night-seer looks 


Thus still let Song attend 


To that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky, 


Woman's bright way ; 


He can number its hills and brooks. 


Thus still let woman lend 


Then, haste, &c. &c. 


Light to the lay. 




Like stars, through heaven's sea, 


To the Sun-god all our hearts and lyres 4 


Floating in harmony, 


By day, by night, belong ; 


Beauty shall glide along, 


And the breath we draw from Ins living fires, 


Circled by Song. 


We give him back in song. 




Then, haste, &c. &c. 
From us descends the maid who brings 






To Deios gifts divine ; 
And our wild bees lend their rainbow wings 


WHEN THOU ART NIGH 


When thou art nigh, it seems 


To glitter on Delphi's shrine. 5 


A new creation round ; 


Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, 


The sun hath fairer beams, 


Haste — haste ! 


The lute a softer sound. 




Though thee alone I see, 
And hear alone thy sigh, 






'Tis light, 'tis song to me, 




'Tis all — when thou art nigh. 


THOU BIDD'ST ME SING. 


When thou art nigh, no thought 


Thou bidd'st me sing the lay I sung to thee 


Of grief comes o'er my heart ; 


In other days, ere joy had left this brow ; 


1 On the Tower of the Winds, at Athens, there is a conch- 


3 " They can show the moon very near." — Diodor. Sicul. 


shell placed in the hands of Boreas.— See Stuart's Antiquities. 


4 Hecata?us tells us, that this Hyperborean island was ded- 


' ; The north wind," says Herodotus, in speaking of the Hy- 


icated to Apollo ; and most of the inhabitants were either 


perboreans, " never blows with them." 


priests or songsters. 


2 "Sub ipso siderum cardine jacent." — Pompon. Mela. 

i 


5 Pausan. 



364 MOORE'S WORKS. 


But think, though still unchanged the notes may 


Round, round, while thus we go round, 


be.,' 


The best thing a man can do, 


How diff'rent feels the heart that breathes them 


Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round, 


now ! 


By — sending the wine round too. 


The rose thou wear'st to-night is still the same 




We saw this morning on its stem so gay ; 


Our first gay stage of life is when 


But, ah ! that dew of dawn, that breath which 


Youth, in its dawn, salutes the eye — 


came 


Season of bliss ! Oh, who wouldn't then 


Like life o'er all its leaves, hath pass'd away. 


Wish to cry, " Stop !" to earth and sky ? 




But, round, round, both boy and girl 


Since first that music touch'd thy heart and mine, 


Are whisk'd through that sky of blue ; 


How many a joy and pain o'er both have nass'd, — 


And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl, 


The joy, a light too precious long to shine, 


If — then- heads didn't whirl round too. 


The pain, a cloud whose shadows always last. 


• 


And though that lay would like the voice of home 


Next, we enjoy our glorious noon, 


Breathe o'er our ear, 'twould waken now a sigh — 


Thinking all life a life of light ; 


Ah ! not, as then, for fancied woes to come, 


But shadows come on, 'tis evening soon, 


But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by. 


And, ere we can say, "How short!" — 'tis night 




Round, round, still all goes round, 




Ev'n while I'm thus singing to you ; 




And the best way to make it a merry-go-round, 
Is to — chorus my song round too. 




CUPID ARMED 




Place the helm on thy brow, 


OH, DO NOT LOOK SO BRIGHT AND 


In thy hand take the spear ; 


BLEST. 


Thou art arm'd, Cupid, now, 




And thy battle-hour is near. 


Oh, do not look so bright and blest, 


March ot* . march on ! thy shaft and bow 


For still there comes a fear, 


Were weak against such charms ; 


When brow like thine looks happiest, 


March on ! march on ! so proud a foe 


That grief is then most near. 


Scorns all but martial arms. 


There lurks a dread in all delight, 




A shadow near each ray, 


See the darts in her eyes, 


That warns us then to fear their flight, 


Tipp'd with scorn, how they shine ! 


When most we wish their stay. 


Ev'ry shaft, as it flies, 


Then look not thou so bright and blest, 


Mocking proudly at thine. 


For ah ! there comes a fear, 


March on ! march on ! thy feather'd darts 


When brow like thine looks happiest, 


Soft bosoms soon might move ; 


That grief is then most near. 


But ruder arms to ruder hearts 




Must teach what 'tis to love. 


Why is it thus that fairest things 


Place the helm on thy brow ; 


The soonest fleet and die ? — 


In thy hand take the spear, — 


That when most light is on their wings, 


Thou art arm'd, Cupid, now, 


They're then but spread to fly j 


And thy battle-hour is near. 


And, sadder still, the pain will stay — 


, ■ 


The bliss no more appears ; 




As rainbows take their light away, 




And leave us but the tears ! 




Then look not thou so bright and blest, 


ROUND THE WORLD GOES 


For ah ! there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 


Round the world goes, by day and night, 


That grief is then most near. 


While with it also round go we ; 
And in the flight of one day's light 






An image of all life's course we see. 





BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



365 



THE MUSICAL BOX. 

" Look here," said Rose, with laughing eyes, 

" Within this box, by magic hid, 
" A tuneful Sprite imprison'd lies, 

" Who sings to me whene'er he's bid 
" Though roving once his voice and wing, 

" He'll now lie still the whole day long ; 
" Till thus I touch the magic spring — 

" Then hark, how sweet and blithe his song !" 
(A symphony.) 

" Ah, Rose," I cried, " the poet's lay 

"' Must ne'er ev'n Beauty's slave become ; 
" Through earth and air his song may stray, 

" If all the while his heart's at home. 
" And though in Freedom's air he dwell, 

" Nor bond nor chain his spirit knows, 
" Touch but the spring thou know'st so well, 

" And — hark, how sweet the love-song flows !" 
(A symphony.) 

Thus pleaded I for Freedom's right : 

But when young Beauty takes the field, 
And wise men seek defence in flight, 

The doom of poets is to yield. 
No more my heart th' enchantress braves, 

I'm now in Beauty's prison hid ; 
The Sprite and I are fellow-slaves, 

And I, too, sing whene'er I'm bid. 



WHEN TO SAD MUSIC SILENT YOU 
LISTEN. 

When to sad Music silent you listen, 

And tears on those eyelids tremble like dew, 
Oh, then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten 

A sweet holy charm that mirth never knew. 
But when some lively strain resounding 

Lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow, 
Then the yourfg reindeer o'er the hills bounding 

Was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as thou. 

When on the skies at midnight thou gazest, 

A lustre so pure thy features then wear, 
That, when to some star that bright eye thou 
raisest, 

We feel 'tis thy home thou'rt looking for there. 
But, when the word for the gay dance is given, 

So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth, 
Oh then we exclaim, " Ne'er leave earth for heaven, 

" But linger still here, to make heaven of earth." 



THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 

Fly swift, my li^ht gazelle, 

To her who now lies waking, 
To hear thy silver bell 

The midnight silence breaking. 
And, when thou com'st, with gladsome feet, 

Beneath her lattice springing, 
Ah, well she'll know how sweet 

The words of love thou'it bringing. 

Yet, no — not words, for they 

But half can tell love's feeling ; 
Sweet flowers alone can say 

What passion fears revealing. 
A once-bright rose's wither'd leaf, 

A tow'ring lily broken, — 
Oh these may paint a grief 

No words could e'er have spoken. 

Not such, my gay gazelle, 

The wreath thou speedest over 
Yon moonlight dale, to tell 

My lady how I love her. 
And, what to her will sweeter be 

Than gems, the richest, rarest, 
From Truth's immortal tree 1 

One fadeless leaf thou bearest. 



THE DAWN IS BREAKING O'ER U& 

The dawn is breaking o'er us, 

See, heaven hath caught its hue ! 
We've day's long light before us, 

What sport shall we pursue ? 
The hunt o'er hill and lea ? 
The sail o'er summer sea ? 
Oh let not hour so sweet 
Unwing'd by pleasure fleet. 
The dawn is breaking o'er us, 

See, heaven hath caught its hue . 
We've day's long light before us, 

What sport shall we pursue 1 

But see, while we're deciding, 

What morning sport to play, 
The dial's hand is gliding, 

And morn hath pass'd away ! 
Ah, who'd have thought that nan 
Woidd o'er us steal so soon, — 
That morn's sweet hour of prime 
Would last so short a time ? 

1 The tree, called in the East, Amrita, or the Immortal. 



166 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But come, we've day before us, 


That light we thought would last, 


Still heaven looks bright and blue : 


Behold, ev'n now, 'tis past ; 


Quick, quick, ere eve comes o'er us, 


And all our morning dreams 


What sport shall we pursue ? 


Have vanish'd with its beams ! 




But come ! 'twere vain to borrow 


Alas ! why thus delaying? 


Sad lessons from this lay, 


We're now at evening's hour ; 


For man will be to-morrow — 


Its farewell beam is playing 


Just what he's been to-day. 


O'er hill and wave and bower. 





SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 



HERE AT THY TOMB. 1 

BY MELEAGER. 

Here, at thy tomb, these tears I shed, 
Tears, which though vainly now they roll, 

Are all love hath to give the dead, 

And wept o'er thee with all love's soul ; — 

Wept in remembrance of that light, 

Which naught on earth, without thee, gives, 

Hope of my heart ! now quench'd in night, 
But dearer, dead, than aught that lives. 

Where is she? where the blooming bough 
That once my life's sole lustre made ? 

Tom off by death, 'tis with'ring now, 
And all its flow'rs in dust are laid. 

Oh earth ! that to thy matron breast 
Hast taken all those angel charms, 

Gently, I pray thee, let her rest,— 
Gently, as in a mother's arms. 



SALE OF CUPID. 3 

BY MELEAGER. 

Who'll buy a little boy ? Look, yonder is he, 
Fast asleep, sly rogue, on his mother's knee ; 

i AaKpva cot kou vepOe 6ia x^ 0V °S, IlXtodwpa. 

Ap. Brunck. 
a ILuXeicdui, kixi ixarpog £r' ev KoXiroicrc kiQevSwv. 

Ap. Brunck. Analect. xcv. 



So bold a young imp 'tisn't safe to keep, 

So I'll part with him now, while he's sound asleep. 

See his arch little nose, how sharp 'tis curl'd, 

His wings, too, ev'n in sleep unfurl'd ; 

And those fingers, which still ever ready are found 

For mirth or for mischief, to tickle, or wound. 

He'll try with his tears your heart to beguile, 
But never you mind — he's laughing all the while ; 
For little he cares, so he has his own whim, 
And weeping or laughing are all one to him. 
His eye is as keen as the lightning's flash, 
His tongue like the red bolt quick and rash ; 
And so savage is he, that his own dear mother 
Is scarce more safe in his hands than another. 

In short, to sum up this darling's praise, 
He's a downright pest in all sorts of ways ; 
And if any one wants such an imp to employ, 
He shall have a dead bargain of this little boy. 
But see, the boy wakes — his bright tears flow — 
His eyes seem to ask could I sell him? oh no, 
Sweet child, no, no — though so naughty you be, 
You shall live evermore with my Lesbia and me. 



TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR THE ROSE. 

BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 

To weave a garland for the rose, 

And think thus crown'd 'twould lovelier be, 

3 Ovte po6a>v are^avuv CKiSsvecrai, ovte <jv ttstt'Xmi/. 

Ap. Brunck. *vii 



SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 367 


Were far less vain than to suppose 




That silks and gems add grace to thee 


TWIN'ST THOU WITH LOFTY WREATH 


Where is the pearl whose orient lustre 


THY BROW? 4 


Would not, beside thee, look less bright ? 




What gold could match the glossy cluster 


BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 


Of those young ringlets full of light ? 


Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow 1 




Such glory then thy beauty sheds, 


Bring from the land, where fresh it gleams, 


I almost think, while awed I bow, 


The bright blue gem of India's mine, 


'Tis Rhea's self before me treads. 


And see how soon, though bright its beams, 


Be what thou wilt, — this heart 


'Twill pale before one glance of thine : 


Adores whate'er thou art ! 


Those lips, too, when their sounds have bless'd us 




* With some divine, mellifluous air, 


Dost thou thy loosen'd ringlets leave, 


Who would not say that Beauty's cestus 


Like sunny waves to wander free ? 


Had let loose all its witch'ries there I 1 


Then, such a chain of charms they weave, 




As draws my inmost soul from me. 


Here, to this conqu'ring host of charms 


Do what thou wilt, — I must 


I now give up my spell-bound heart, 


Be charm'd by all thou dost ! 


Nor blush to yield ev'n Reason's arms, 




When thou her bright-eyed conqu'ror art. 


Ev'n when, enwrapp'd in silv'ry veils, 5 


Thus to the wind all fears are given ; 


Those sunny locks elude the sight, — 


Henceforth those eyes alone I see, 


Oh, not ev'n then their glory fails 


Where Hope, as in her own blue heaven, 


To haunt me with its unseen light 


Sits beck'ning me to bliss and thee ! 


Change as thy beauty may, 




It charms in every way. 

For, thee the Graces still attend, 




WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DELAY? 2 


Presiding o'er each new attire, 




And lending ev'ry dart they send 


BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 


Some new, peculiar touch of fire. 


Why does she so long delay ? 


Be what thou wilt, — this heart 


Night is waning fast away ; 


Adores whate'er thou art ! 


Thrice have I my lamp renew'd, 




Watching here in solitude. 
Where can she so long delay 1 






Where, so long delay? 




Vainly now have two lamps shone ; 


WHEN THE SAD WORD. 6 


See, the third is nearly gone : 3 


BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 


Oh that Love would, like the ray 




Of that weary lamp, decay ! 


When the sad word, " Adieu," from my lip is nigh 


But no, alas, it burns still on, 


falling, 


Still, still, burns on. 


And with it, Hope passes away, 




Ere the tongue hath half breathed it, my fond heart 


Gods, how oft the traitress dear 


recalling 


Swore, by Venus, she'd be here ! 


That fatal farewell, bids me stay. 


But to one so false as she 


For oh ! 'tis a penance so weary 


What is man or deity ? 


One hour from thy presence to be, 


Neither doth this proud one fear, — 


That death to this soul were less dreary, 


No, neither doth she fear. 


Less dark than long absence from thee. 


1 Kai h peXupvpTog ekuvt) 


* KsKpv(j)a\oi c(piyyovat rsrjv Tpix<* ', 


Hdeug apfjLOinr], kccttos £$v TLa<piT]g 


Ap. Brunck. xxxiv. 


* Aridvv€i K'kso^avTig. 


6 Apyevvais odopTjai Karr\opa /3oarpvxa ksvOsis. 


Ap. Brunck. xxvlii. 


9 Ico^eo croi [xsWwv eveireiv. 


8 b 6c rpiros apxiTai r)6e 


Ap. Brunck. xxxix. 


Av\voS VTTOKha^eiv. 





368 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Thy beauty, like Day, o'er the dull world breaking, 

Brings life to the heart it shines o'er, 
And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness waking 

Made light what was darkness before. 
But mate is the Day's sunny glory, 

While thine hath a voice, 1 on whose breath, 
More sweet than the Syren's sweet story, 2 

My hopes hang, through life and through death ! 



MY MOPSA IS LITTLE. 3 

BY PHILODEMUS. 

My Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown, 

But her cheek is as smooth as the peach's soft down, 

And, for blushing, no rose can come near her ; 
In short, she has woven such nets round my heart, 
That I ne'er from my dear little Mopsa can part, — 

Unless I can find one that's dearer. 

Her voice hath a music that dwells on the ear, 
And her eye from its orb gives a daylight so clear, 

That I'm dazzled whenever I meet her ; 
Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid's own net, 
And her lips, oh their sweetness I ne'er shall for- 
get— 

Till I hght upon lips that are sweeter. 

But 'tis not her beauty that charms me alone, 
'Tis her mind, 'tis that language whose eloquent 
tone 

From the depths of the grave could revive one : 
In short, here I swear, that if death were her doom, 
I would instanly join my dead love in the tomb — 

Unless I could meet with a live one. 



STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE FALL- 
ING. 4 

BY MELEAGER. 

Still, like dew in silence falling, 
Drops for thee the nightly tear ; 

Still that voice tho past recalling, 
Dwells, like echo, on my ear, 
Still, still ! 

* Iljxari yap creu <j>syyos bponov. a\\a to /isv ttov 

A<p9oyyov. 
« 2t> <3' epoi Kai to XaXrijia (pepcti 

Keivo, to Seiprjvuiv yXvKvepoiTepov. 
3 Muocri >cai pcXavevca QiXivviov. 

Ap. Brunck. X. 



Day and night the spell hangs o'er me, 

Here forever fix'd thou art ; 
As thy form first shone before me, 

So 'tis graven on this heart, 
Deep, deep ! 

Love, oh Love, whose bitter sweetness, 
Dooms me to this lasting pain, 

Thou who cam'st with so much fleetness, 
Why so slow to go again ? 5 
Why? why? 



UP, SAILOR BOY, 'TIS DAY. 

Up, sailor boy, 'tis day ! 

The west wind blowing, 

The spring tide flowing, 
Summon thee hence away. 
Didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing ? 
Chirp, chirp, — in every note he seem'd to say 
'Tis Spring, 'tis Spring. 
Up, boy, away, — 
Who'd stay on land to-day ? 

The very flowers 

Would from their bowers 
Delight to wing away ! 

Leave languid youths to pine 

On silken pillows, 

But be the billows 
Of the great deep thine. 

Hark, to the sail the breeze sings, " Let us fly ;' 
While soft the sail, replying to the breeze, 
Says, with a yielding sigh, 
" Yes, where you please." 
Up, boy ! the wind, the ray, 

The blue sky o'er thee, 

The deep before thee, 
All cry aloud, " Away !" 



IN MYRTLE WREATHS. 

BY ALC^EUS. 

In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll cover, 
Like them of old whose one immortal blow 

Struck off the galling fetters that hung over 
Their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low. 

< Aiei p.oi Svvei p.ev sv ovmiv j\x°S Epwroj. 

Ap. Bronck. liii. 

6 ii TTTdVOl, (IT) KCLl 7T0r' tQUTTaCtdai HSV, EpOJTES, 

OtJar', anoTTTnvai <J' ov6' boov ioxvets. 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 369 


Yes, loved Harmodius, thou'rt undying ; 

Still midst the brave and free, 
In isles, o'er ocean lying, 

Thy home shall ever be. 

[n myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its lightning, 
Like his, the youth, whose ever-glorious blade 


Leap'd forth like flame, the midnight banquet bright- 
'ning, 

And in the dust a despot victim laid. 
Blest youths, how bright in Freedom's story 

Your wedded names shall be ; 
A tyrant's death your glory, 

Your meed, a nation free ! 


UNPUBLISHED SONGS, 

ETC. 


ASK NOT IF STILL I LOVE. 

Ask not if still I love, 

Too plain these eyes have told thee ; 
Too well their tears must prove 

How near and dear I hold thee. 
If, where the brightest shine, ' 
To see no form but thine, 
To feel that earth can show 

No bliss above thee, — 
If this be love, then know 

That thus, that thus, I love thee. 

'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour 

That thou canst know affection's pow'r : 

No, try its strength in grief or pain ; 

Attempt, as now, its bonds to sever. 
Thou'lt find true love's a chain 

That binds forever ! 


Yet still, though false, believe 

That I adore thee, yes, still adore thee. 

Think'st thou that aught but death could end 

A tie not falsehood's self can rend ? 

No, when alone, far off I die, 

No more to see, no more caress thee, 

Ev'n then, my life's last sigh 

Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to bless thee. 


UNBIND THEE, LOVE. 

Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love, 

From those dark ties unbind thee ; 
Though fairest hand the chain hath wove, 

Too long its links have twined thee. 
Away from earth ! — thy wings were made 

In yon mid-sky to hover, 
, With earth beneath their dove-like shade, 

And heav'n all radiant over. 

Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, 

Too long thy soul is sleeping ; 
And thou may'st from this minute's joy 

Wake to eternal weeping. 
Oh, think, this world is not for thee ; 

Though hard its links to sever ; 
Though sweet and bright and dear they be, 

Break, or thou'rt lost forever. 


DEAR? YES. 

Dear ? yes, though mine no more, 
Ev'n this but makes thee dearer ; 

And love, since hope is o'er, 
But draws thee nearer. 

Change as thou wilt to me, 
The same thy charm must be ; 
New loves may come to weave 
Their witch'ry o'er hee, 



24 



370 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE. 

(A Buffo Song.) 

There's something strange, I know not what, 

Come o'er me, 
Some phantom I've forever got 

Before me. 
I look on high, and in the sky 

'Tis shining ; 
On earth, its light with all things bright 

Seems twining. 
In vain I try this goblin's spells 

To sever ; 
Go where I will, it round me dwells 

Forever. 

And then what tricks by day and night 

It plays me ; 
In ev'ry shape the wicked sprite 

Waylays me. 
Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue 

'Tis glancing ; 
Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat* 

Comes dancing. 
By whispers round of every sort 

I'm taunted. 
Neves.' ¥ras mortal man, in ttoort, 

So haunted. 



NOT FROM THEE. 

Not from thee the wound should come, 

No, not from thee. 
I care not what, or whence, my doom, 

So not from thee ! 
Cold triumph ! first to make 

This heart thy own ; 
And then the mirror break 
Where fix'd thou shin'st alone. 
Not from thee the wound should come, 

Oh, not from thee. 
I care not what, or whence, my doom, 

So not from thee. 

Yet no — my lips that wish recall ; 

From thee, from thee — 
If rain o'er this head must fall, 

'Twill welcome be. 
Here to the blade I bare 

This faithful heart ; 



Wound deep — thou'It find that there, 

In every pulse thou art. 
Yes, from thee I'll bear it all : 

If ruin be 
The doom that o'er this heart must fall, 

'Twere sweet from thee 



GUESS, GUESS. 

I love a maid, a mystic maid, 

Whose form no eyes but mine can see ; 
She comes in light, she comes in shade, 

And beautiful in both is she. 
Her shape in dreams I oft behold, 

And oft she whispers in my ear 
Such words as when to others told, 

Awake the sigh, or wring the tear ; — 
Then guess, guess, who she, 
The lady of my love, may be. 

I find the lustre of her brow, 

Come o'er me in my darkest ways ; 
And feel as if her voice, ev'n now, 

Were echoing far off my lays. 
There is no scene of joy or wo 

But she doth gild with influence bright ; 
And shed o'er all so rich a glow, 

As makes ev'n tears seem full of light : 
Then guess, guess, who she, 
The lady of my love, may be. 



WHEN LOVE, WHO RULED. 

When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'er 
His rosy mother's isles of light, 

Was cruising off the Paphian shore, 
A sail at sunset hove in sight. 

" A chase, a chase ! my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Aloft the winged sailors sprung, 

And, swarming up the mast like bees, 

The snow-white sails expanding flung, 
Like broad magnolias to the breeze. 

" Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

The chase was o'er — the bark was caught, 
The winged crew her freight explored ; 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 



371 



And found 'twas just as Love had thought, 

For all was contraband aboard. 
-'A prize, a prize, my Cupids all !" 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Safe stow'd in many a package there, 
And labelTd slyly o'er, as " Glass," 

Were lots of all th' illegal ware, 

Love's Custom-House forbids to pass. 

" O'erhaul, o'erhaul, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

False curls they found, of every hue, 
With rosy blushes ready made ; 

And teeth of ivory, good as new, 
For veterans in the smiling trade. 

11 Ho ho, ho ho, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Mock sighs, too, — kept in bags for use, 
Like breezes bought of Lapland seers, — 

Lay ready here to be let loose, 

When wanted, in young spinsters' ears. 

" Ha ha, ha ha, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the liitle Admiral. 

False papers next on board were found, 
Sham invoices of flames and darts, 

Professedly for Paphos bound, 

But meant for Hymen's golden marts. 

" For shame, for shame, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Nay, still to every fraud awake, 

Those pirates all Love's signals knew, 

And hoisted oft his flag, to make 
Rich wards and heiresses bring-to. 1 

" A foe, a foe, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

" This must not be," the boy exclaims, 
" In vain I rule the Paphian seas, 

" If Love's and Beauty's sovereign names 
" Are lent to cover frauds like these. 

u Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Each Cupid stood with lighted match — 
A broadside struck the smuggling foe, 

And swept the whole unhallow'd batch 
Of falsehood to the depths below. 

" Huzza, huzza ! my Cupids all !" 

Said L»?73, the little Admiral. 



To Be:kg-to, to check the course of a ship."— Fal- 



STILL THOU FLIEST. 

Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee, 

Lovely phantom, — all in vain : 
Restless ever, my thoughts pursue thee, 

Fleeting ever, thou mock'st their pain. 
Such doom, of old, that youth betided, 

Who woo'd, he thought, some angel's charms, 
But found a cloud that from him glided, — 

As thou dost from these outstretch'd arms. 

Scarce I've said, " How fair thou shinest," 

Ere thy light hath vanish'd by ; 
And 'tis when thou look'st divinest 

Thou art still more sure to fly. 
EVn as the lightning, that, dividing 

The clouds of night, saith, K Look on me," 
Then flits again, its splendor hiding, — 

EVn such the glimpse I catch of thee. 



THEN FIRST FROM LOVE. 

Then first from Love, in Nature's bow'rs, 

Did Painting learn her fairy skill, 
And cull the hues of loveliest flow'rs, 

To picture woman lovelier still. 
For vain was every radiant hue, 

Till Passion lent a soul to art, 
And taught the painter, ere he drew, 

To fix the model in his heart. 

Thus smooth lhs toil awhile went on, 

Till, lo, one touch his art defies ; 
The brow, the lip, the blushes shone, 

But who could dare to paint those eyes ? 
'Twas all in vain the painter strove ; 

So turning to that boy divine, 
" Here take," he said, " the pencil, Love, 

" No hand should paint such eyes, but thine." 



HUSH, SWEET LUTE. 

Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me 
Of past joys, now turn'd to pain ; 

Of ties that long have ceased to bind me, 
But whose burning marks remain. 

In each tone, some echo falleth 
On my ear of joys gone by ; 



370 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Evry note some dream recalleth 
Of bright hopes but born to die. 

Yet. sweet Lute, though pain it bring me, 

Once more let thy numbers thrill ; 
Though death were in the strain they sing me, 

I must woo its anguish still. 
Since no time can e'er recover 

Love's sweet light when once 'tis set, — 
Better to weep such pleasures over. 

Than smile o'er any left us yet. 



BRIGHT MOON. 

Bright moon, that high in heav'n art shining, 

All smiles, as if within thy bower to-night 
Thy own Endymion lay reclining, 

And thou wouldst wake him with a kiss of 
light !— 
By all the bliss thy beam discovers, 

By all those visions ihr too bright for day. 
Which dreaming bards and waking levers 

Behold, this night, beneath thy ling'ring ray, — 

I pray thee, queen of that bright heaven, 

Quench not to-night thy love-lamp in the sea, 
Till Anttie, in this bow'r, hath given 

Beneath thy beam, her long-vow'd kiss to me. 
Guide hither, guide her steps benighted, 

Ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful crescent hide ; 
Let Love but in this bow'r be lighted, 

Tuen shroud in darkness all the world beside, 



LONG YEARS HAVE PASS'D. 

Long years have pass'd, old friend, since we 

First met in life's young day ; 
And friends long loved by thee and me, 

Since then have dropp'd away ; — 
But enough remain to cheer lis on, 

And sweeten, when thus we're met, 
The glass we rill to the many gone, 

And the few who're left us yet. 

Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, 
And some hang white and chill ; 

While some, like flow'rs 'mid Autumn's snow, 
Retain youth's color still. 

And so, in our hearts, though one by one, 
Youth's sunny hopes have set, 



Thank heav'n, not all their light is gone,- 
We've some to cheer us yet. 

Then here's to thee, old friend, and long 

May thou and I thus meet, 
To brighten still with wine and song 

This short life, ere it fleet. 
And still as death comes stealing on, 

Let's never, old friend, forget, 
Ev'n while we sigh o'er blessings gone, 

How many are left us yet. 



DREAMING FOREVER 

Dreaming forever, vainly dreaming, 

Life to the last pursues its flight ; 
Day hath its visions fairly beaming, 

But false as those of night. 
The one illusion, the other real, 

But both the same brief dreams at last ; 
And when we grasp the bliss ideal, 

Soon as it shines, 'tis past. 

Here, then, by this dim lake reposing, 

Calmly I'll watch, while light and gloom 
Flit o'er its face till night is closing — 

Emblem of life's short doom ! 
But though, by turns, thus dark and shining, 

'Tis still unlike man's changeful day, 
Whose light returns not, once declining, 

Whose cloud, once come, will stay. 



THOUGH LIGHTLY SOUNDS THE SONG 
I SING. 

A Song of tile Alps. 

Though lightly sounds the song I sing to thee, 
Though like the lark's its soaring music be, 
Thou'lt find ev'n here some mournful note that tells 
How near such April joy to weeping dwells. 
'Tis 'mong the gayest scenes that oft'nest steal 
Those sadd'ning thoughts we fear, yet love to feel ; 
And music never half so sweet appears, 
As when her mirth forgets itself in tears. 

Then say not thou this Alpine song is gay — 
It comes from hearts that, like their mountain-lay, 
Mix ioy with pain, and oft when pleasure's breath 
Most warms the surface, feel most sad beneath. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



373 



Tie Terr br^rr. _: ~L-:i .lie =~ : — -— vri-.i -veir: 
lis :--7tr. st:._t .= :b.-_: — i;:b. -_:= ;:= Vrirs. — 
An piis;:-": r:— ■': :i~ -eT^: 1-rrd .lie lv-~ 
Wlodb waken- :Ls,= --.:':.:- =.;■-•; v.icb. :■:' ~j 



THE UTS SLOT LOVER. 

Fliitit :"•:: :'i~. ixl.;:; rr:— = 
Speed we to my lady's BOw*r ; 

>~:r e:£ r..;r :.ll n:miii.r'= b.:ur. 
Bright, my steed, the noithem star 

Bur .:■ rr^" rs, br.i-l:<rr fir. 



Lovers, lall'd in smmy bow'rs, 

B epaag oat their dream of time, 
Know not half the bliss that's ours, 

I- .1:1= =-: . .-, 

Lfii- 7:1 b" _; ■ . ■: . - r. .-: rleirri 

Frc~ :- :.: 
L himself the keener beams 

".- . x-.± -;-= :. ::;.---, 5 :::-.. i 

F~: til- ;- :-;•..-:-,--:. 

Bound, my sledge, er hill and dale : — 

VT-a: c- ~W_ i liver's --i: 

Br4-.--.l7 I:-" :A n:r 1-- -ar 
Yonder dune my lady's eyes ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 



SA3ITEL ROGERS.. ESQ. 



::■ :s:t 



2zr 



: :A3 MOORE. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Ix the e«erenth year of the reign of Anrungzebe, 
Afrrialb^ King of the Lesser Bueharia, a lineal de- 

5-:-:-iir: frn :i: '-It re - : Z.r~-=. :.i--i: ib L :i :■":■! :.-- 
tlLrcr-c ..- :'i-:: ::' l..s -:.. -:". : :: :~ '- ; _-.r::i;-e : :• 
:b.r Sl:r.r.-r ::' : r F.v::'.^: : ':.:. 7^.1; ...-.; Lii 
tlr:-ri" :b.r It . .1 1 T --l-7 -- Ciil:;re::-. :r.-V;i 
lor a short time at Delhi on his way. He was en- 
tertained by Aurangzebe in a style of magnificent 
hospitaler, worthy alike of the visiter and the host, 

- Ti-rie '--.'.: :i"i: ; ::'::-■: '■ - : :' ±= K.zz ":" E -:':..: .\ : - 
Anrsnszeoe are found in Demi's Hisl*rg •/ HimdtuU*, toL 

iUp.*» 

» Tulip cheek. 

'• TL-r :..;■:■• ::' M :-.-.: -i ":• - "■"- ' ^e 5.-7 ?: -.-.it 
»«-^ rrT « i* all the languages of the East are founded. 



and was afterwards escorted with the same splen- 
dor to Surat, where he embarked for Arabia. 1 
During the stay of the Royal Pilgrim at Delhi, a 
marriage was agreed upon between the Prince, his 
son, and the youngest daughter of the Emperor, 
L\i,t..\ Roosh f — a Princess described by the poets 
of her time as more beautiful than Leila, 3 Shirine,* 
DewBde, 5 or any of those heroines whose names 
and loves embellish the songs of Persia and Hin- 
dustan. It was intended that the nuptials should 
be celebrated at Cashmerr :he young 

King, as soon as the cares of empire would permit, 
was to meet, for the first time, his lovely bride* 

* For die tores of this celebrated beauty with Khoarou 
mad with Fethad, see D'HaM^ GiUcn, Oriemul CtlUs- 
timu, fee. 

The history of the lores of DewSde and Chirer. the 
son of the Emperor Alia, is written in an elegant poem, by 
the noble Chnsero."— FerUAt n. 



374 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



and, after a few months' repose in that enchant- 
ing valley, conduct her over the snowy hills into 
Bucharia. 

The day of Lalla Rookh's departure from Delhi 
was as splendid as sunshine and pageantry could 
make it. The bazaars and baths were all covered 
with the richest tapestry ; hundreds of gilded barges 
upon the Jumna floated with their banners shining 
in the water ; while through the streets groups of 
beautiful children went strewing the most delicious 
flowers around, as in that Persian festival called the 
Scattering of the Roses ; J till every part of the city 
was as fragrant as if a caravan of musk from 
Khoten had passed through it. The Princess, having 
taken leave of her kind father, who at parting hung 
a cornelian of Yemen round her neck, on which was 
inscribed a verse from the Koran, and having sent a 
considerable present to the Fakirs, who kept up the 
Perpetual Lamp in her sister's tomb, meekly ascended 
the palankeen prepared for her ; and, while Aurung- 
zebe stood to take a last look from his balcony, the 
procession moved slowly on the road to Lahore. 

Seldom had the Eastern world seen a cavalcade 
so superb. From the gardens in the suburbs to the 
Imperial palace, it was one unbroken line of splen- 
dor. The gallant appearance of the Rajahs and 
Mogul lords, distinguished by those insignia of the 
Emperor's favor, 2 the feathers of the egret of Cash- 
mere in their turbans, and the small silver-rimmed 
kettle-drums at the bows of their saddles ; — the costly 
armor of their cavaliers, who vied, on this occasion, 
with the guards of the great Keder Khan, 3 in the 



i Gul Reazee. 

2 " One mark of honor or knighthood bestowed by the 
Emperor is the permission to wear a small kettle-drum at 
the bows of their saddles, which at first was invented for 
the training of hawks, and to call them to the lure, and is 
worn in the field by all sportsmen to that end."— Fryer's 
Travels 

" Those on whom the King has conferred the privilege 
must wear an ornament of jewels on the right side of 
the turban, surmounted by a high plume of the feathers of 
a kind of egret. This bird is found only in Cashmere, 
and the feathers are carefully collected for the King, who 
bestows them on his nobles." — Elphinstone' s Account of 
Caubul. 

3 "Khedar Khan, the Khakan, or King of Turquestan, be- 
yond the Gihon, (at the end of the eleventh century,) when- 
ever he appeared abroad was preceded by seven hundred 
horsemen with silver battle-axes, and was followed by an 
equal number bearing maces of gold. He was a great patron 
of poetry, and it was he who used to preside at public exer- 
cises of genius, with four basins of gold and silver by him to 
distribute among the poets who excelled." — Richardson'' s 
Dissertation prefixed to his Dictionary. 

4 " The kubdeh, a large golden knob, generally in the shape 
of a pineapple, on the top of the canopy over the litter or 
palanquin."— Scott's Notes on the Bahardanush. 



brightness of their silver battle-axes and the massiness 
of their maces of gold ; — the glittering of the gilt pine- 
apples 4 on the tops of the palankeens ;— the em- 
broidered trappings of the elephants, bearing on their 
backs small turrets, in the shape of little antique tem- 
ples, within which the Ladies of Lalla Rookh lay 
as it were enshrined ; — the rose-colored veils of the 
Princess's own sumptuous litter, 5 at the front of which 
a fair young female slave sat fanning her through 
the curtains, with feathers of the Argus pheasant's 
wing ; 6 — and the lovely troop of Tartarian and 
Cashmerian maids of honor, whom the young King 
had sent to accompany his bride, and who rode on 
each side of the litter, upon small Arabian horses ; — 
all was brilliant, tasteful, and magnificent, and 
pleased even the critical and fastidious Fadladeen, 
Great Nazir or Chamberlain of the Haram, who 
was borne in his palankeen immediately after the 
Princess, and considered himself not the least im- 
portant personage of the pageant. 

Fadladeen was a judge of every thing, — from 
the pencilling of a Circassian's eyelids to the deep- 
est questions of science and literature ; from the 
mixture of a conserve of rose-leaves to the com- 
position of an epic poem : and such influence had 
his opinion upon the various tastes of the day, 
that all the cooks and poets of Delhi stood in awe 
of him. His political conduct and opinions were 
founded upon that line of Sadi, — " Should the 
Prince at noonday say, It is night, declare that 
you behold the moon and stars." — And his zeal 
for religion, of which Aurungzebe was a munifi- 
cent protector, 7 was about as disinterested as that 



fi In the Poem of Zohair, in the Moallakat, there is the fol- 
lowing lively description of " a company of maidens seated 
on camels." 

"They are mounted in carriages covered with costly awn- 
ings, and with rose-colored veils, the linings of which have 
the hue of crimson Andem-wood. 

" When they ascend from the bosom of the vale, they sit 
forward on the saddte-cloth, with every mark of a voluptuous 
gayety. 

. "Now, when they have reached the brink of yon blue- 
gushing rivulet, they fix the poles of their tents like the Arab 
with a settled mansion." 

6 See Bemicr's description of the attendants on Itaucha- 
nara-Begum, in her progress to Cashmere. 

7 This hypocritical Emperor would have made a worthy 
associate of certain Holy Leagues.—" He held the cloak of 
religion (says Dow) between his actions and the vulgar: and 
impiously thanked the Divinity for a success which he owed 
to his own wickedness. When he was murdering and per- 
secuting his brothers and their families, he was building a 
magnificent mosque at Delhi, as an offering to God for his 
assistance to him in the civil wars. He acted as high priest 
at the consecration of this temple; and made a practice ot at- 
tending divine service there, in the humble dress of a Fakeer. 
But when he lifted one hand to the Divinity, he, with the 
other, signed warrants for the assassination of his relations." 



LALLA ROOKH. 



375 



of the goldsmith who fell in love with the diamond 
eyes of the idol of Jaghernaut. 1 

During the first days of their journey, Lalla 
Rookh, who had passed all her life within the sha- 
dow of the Royal Gardens of Delhi, 2 found enough 
in the beauty of the scenery through which they 
passed to interest her mind, and delight her imagi- 
nation ; and when at evening, or in the heat of the 
day, they turned off from the high road to those re- 
tired and romantic places which had been selected 
for her encampments, — sometimes on the banks of a 
small rivulet, as clear as the waters of the Lake of 
Pearl ; 3 sometimes under the sacred shade of a Ban- 
yan tree, from which the view opened upon a glade 
covered with antelopes ; and often in those hidden, 
embowered spots, described by one from the Isles 
of the West, 4 as " places of melancholy, delight, and 
safety, where all the company around was wild 
peacocks and turtle-doves ;" — she felt a charm 
in these scenes, so lovely and so new to her, which, 
for a time, made her indifferent to every other 
amusement. But Lalla Rookh was young, and 
the young love variety ; nor could the conversation 
of her Ladies and the Great Chamberlain, Fad- 
ladeen, (the only persons, of course, admitted to 
her pavilion,) sufficiently enliven those many va- 
cant hours, which were devoted neither to the pil- 
low nor the palankeen. There was a little Per- 
sian slave who sung sweetly to the Vina, and who, 
now and then, lulled the Princess to sleep with 
the ancient ditties of her country, about the loves 
of Wamak and Ezra, 6 the fair-haired Zal and his 



—History of Hindostan, vol. iii. p. 335. See also the curi- 
ous letter of Aurungzebe, given in the Oriental Collections, 
vol. i. p. 320. 

1 " The idol at Jaghernat has two fine diamonds for eyes. 
No goldsmith is suffered to enter the Pagoda, one having 
stole one of these eyes, being locked up all night with the 
Idol." — Tavernier. 

2 See a description of these royal Gardens in " An Account 
of the present state of Delhi, by Lieut. W. Franklin." — 
Jlsiat. Research., vol. iv. p. 417. 

3 " In the neighborhood is Notte Gill, or the Lake of Pearl, 
which receives this name from its pellucid water." — Pen- 
nants Hindostan. 

"Nasir Jung encamped in the vicinity of the Lake of 
Tonoor, amused himself with sailing on that clear and beau- 
tiful water, and gave it the fanciful name of Motee Talah, 
' the Lake of Pearls,' which it stih retains."— Wilks's South 
oflndia. 

•* Sir Thomas Roe, Ambassador from James I. to Jehan- 
guire. 

6 " The romance Wemakweazra, written in Persian verse, 
which contains the loves of Wamak and Ezra, two celebra- 
ted lovers who lived before the time of Mahomet."— Note 
on the Oriental Tales. 

6 Their amour is recounted in the Shah-Nameh of Fer- 
dousi ; and there is much beauty in the passage which de- 
scribes the slaves of Rodahver sitting on the bank of the 



mistress Rodahver ;° not forgetting the combat of 
Rustam with the terrible White Demon. 7 At other 
times she was amused by those graceful dancing- 
girls of Delhi, who had been permitted by the Bra- 
mins of the Great Pagoda to attend her, much to 
the horror of the good Mussulman Fadladeen, 
who could see nothing graceful or agreeable in idol- 
aters, and to whom the very tinkling of their golden 
anklets 8 was an abomination. 

But these and many other diversions were re- 
peated till they lost all their charm, and the nights 
and noondays were beginning to move heavily, when, 
at length, it was recollected that, among the attend- 
ants sent by the bridegroom, was a young poet of 
Cashmere, much celebrated throughout the Valley 
for his manner of reciting the Stories of the East, on 
whom his Royal Master had confen^d the privilege 
of being admitted to the pavilion e* the Princess, 
that he might help to beguile the tediousness of the 
journey by some of his most agreeable recit&.s. At 
the mention of a poet, Fadladeen elevated his 
critical eyebrows, and, having refreshed his faculties 
with a dose of that delicious opium 9 which is dis- 
tilled from the black poppy of the Thebais, gave 
orders for the minstrel to be forthwith introduced 
into the presence. 

The Princess, who had once in her life seen a 
poet from behind the screens of gauze in her Fa- 
ther's hall, and had conceived from that specimen no 
very favorable ideas of the Caste, expected but little 
in this new exhibition to interest her : — she felt 



river and throwing flowers into the stream, in order to draw 
the attention of the young Hero who is encamped on the 
opposite side. — See Champion's translation. 

i Rustam is the Hercules of the Persians. For the partic- 
ulars of his victory over the Sepeed Deeve, or White Demon, 
see Oriental Collections, vol. ii. p. 45. — Near the city of Shi- 
rauz is an immense quadrangular monument, in commemo- 
ration of this combat, called the Kelaat-i-Deev Sepeed, or 
Castle of the White Giant, which Father Angelo, in hisGa- 
zophilacium Persicum, p. 127, declares to have been the 
most memorable monument of antiquity which he had seen 
in Persia. — See Ouselcifs Persian Miscellanies. 

8 " The women of the Idol, or dancing-girls of the Pagoda, 
have little golden bells fastened to their feet, the soft har- 
monious tinkling of which vibrates in unison with the ex- 
quisite melody of their voices." — Maurice's Indian Anti- 
quities. 

"The Arabian courtesans, like the Indian women, have 
little golden bells fastened round their legs, neck, and el- 
bows, to the sound of which they dance before the King. 
The Arabian princesses wear golden rings on their fingers, 
to which little bells are suspended, as well as in the flowing 
tresses of their hair, that their superior rank may be known, 
and they themselves receive in passing the homage due to 
them."— See Calmefs Dictionary, art. Bells. 

9 " Abou-Tige, ville de la Theba'ide, ou il crcit beaucoup 
de pavot noir, dont se fait le meilleur opium "—D'Herbelvt. 



376 



MOORE S WORKS. 



inclined, however, to alter her opinion on the very 
first appearance of Feramorz. He was a youth 
about Lalla Rookh's own age, and graceful as that 
idol of women, Crishna, 1 — such as he appears to their 
young imaginations, heroic, beautiful, breathing mu- 
sic from his very eyes, and exalting the religion of 
his worshippers into love. His dress was simple, yet 
not without some marks of Costliness ; and the La- 
dies of the Princess were not long in discovering 
that the cloth, which encircled his high Tartarian 
cap, was of the most delicate kind that the shawl- 
goats of Tibet supply. 2 Here and there, too, over 
his vest, which was confined by a flowered girdle of 
Kashan, hung strings of fine pearl, disposed with an 
air of studied negligence ; — nor did the exquisite em- 
broidery of his sandals escape the observation of 
these fair critics ; who, however they might give 
way to Fadladeen upon the unimportant topics of 
religion and government, had the spirit of martyrs in 
every thing relating to such momentous matters as 
jewels and embroidery. 

For the purpose of relieving the pauses of recita- 
tion by music, the young Cashmerian held in his 
hand a kitar ; — such as, in old times, the Arab maids 
of the West used to listen to by moonlight in the 
gardens of the Alhambra — and, having premised, 
with much humility, that the story he was about to 
relate was founded on the adventures of that Veiled 
Prophet of Khorassan, 3 who, in the year of the He- 
gira 163, created such alarm throughout the Eastern 
Empire, made an obeisance to the Princess, and thus 
began : — 



i The Indian Apollo.—" He and the three Ramas are de- 
scribed as youths of perfect beauty ; and the princesses of 
Hindustan were all passionately in love with Chrishna, who 
continues to this hour the darling God of the Indian women." 
— Sir W. Jones, on the Gods of Greece, Italy, and India. 

2 See Turner's Embassy for a description of this animal, 
" the most beautiful among the whole tribe of goats." The 
material for the shawls (which is carried to Cashmere) is 
found next the skin. 

3 For the real history of this Impostor, whose original 
name was Hakem ben Haschem, and who was called Mo- 
cannafrom the veil of silver gauze (or, as others say, golden) 
which he always wore, see D'Herbclot. 

4 Khorassan signifies, in the old Persian language, Prov- 
ince or Region of the Sun.— Sir W. Jones. 

5 " The fruits of Meru are finer than those of any other 
place ; and one cannot see in any other city such palaces 
with groves, and streams, and gardens." — Ebn Haukafs 
Geography. 

6 One of the royal cities of Khorassan. 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN 4 

In that delightful Province of the Sun, 
The first of Persian lands he shines upon, 
Where all the loveliest children of his beam, 
Flow'rets and fruits, blush over ev'ry stream, 5 
And, fairest of all streams, the Murga roves 
Among Merou's 6 bright palaces and groves; — 
There on that throne, to which the blind belief 
Of millions raised him, sat the Prophet-Chief, 
The Great Mokanna. O'er his features hung 
The Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had flung 
In mercy there, to hide from mortal sight 
His dazzling brow, till man could bear its light. 
For, far less luminous, his votaries said, 
Were ev'n the gleams, miraculously shed 
O'er Moussa's 7 cheek, 8 when down the Mount he 

trod, 
All glowing from the presence of his God ! 

On either side, with ready hearts and hands, 
His chosen guard of bold Believers stands ; 
Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem their swords, 
On points of faith, more eloquent than words ; 
And such their zeal, there's not a youth with brand 
Uplifted there, but, at the Chief's command, 
Would make his own devoted heart its sheath, 
And bless the lips that doom'd so dear a death! 
In hatred to the Caliph's hue of night, 9 
Their vesture, helms and all, is snowy white ; 
Their weapons various — some equipp'd, for speed, 
With javelins of the light Kathaian reed ; 10 
Or bows of buffalo horn and shining quivers 
Fill'd with the stems 11 that bloom on Iran's rivers ; 12 
While some, for war's more terrible attacks, 
Wield the huge mace and pond'rous battle-axe ; 
And as they wave aloft in morning's beam 
The milk-white plumage of their helms, they seem 

? Moses. 

8 "Ses disciples assuroient qu'il se couvroit le visage, 
pour ne pas eblouir ceux qui l'approchoient par l'eclat de son 
visage comme Moyse." — D" 1 Herbclot. 

a Black was the color adopted by the Caliphs of the House 
of Abbas, in their garments, turbans, and standards.— "II 
faut remarquer ici touchant les habits blancs des disciples 
de Hakem, que la couleur des habits, des coiffures et des 
etendarts des Khalifes Abassides etant la noire, ce chef de 
Rebelles ne pouvoit pas choisir une que lui fut plus opposee." 
— D'HcrMot. 

10 "Our dark javelins, exquisitely wrought of Khaihaian 
reeds, slender and delicate." — Poem of Amru. 

11 Pichula, used anciently for arrows by the Persians. 

" The Persians call this plant Gaz. The celebrated shaft 
of Isfendiar, one of their ancient heroes, was made of it. — 
" Nothing can be more beautiful than the appearance of this 
plant in flower during the rains on the banks of rivers, where 
it is usually interwoven with a lovely twining asclepias." — 
-Sir W. Jones, Botanical Observations on Select Indian Plants. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



377 



Like a chenar-tree grove 1 when winter throws 
O'er all its tufted heads his feath'ring snows. 

Between the porphyry pillars, that uphold 
The rich moresque-work of the l'oof of gold, 
Aloft the Haram's curtain'd galleries rise, 
Where through the silken network, glancing eyes, 
From time to time, like sudden gleams that glow 
Through autumn clouds, shine o'er the pomp be- 
low. — 
What impious tongue, ye blushing saints, would 

dare 
To hint that aught but Heav'n hath placed you 

there? 
Or that the loves of this light world could bind, 
In their gross chain, your Prophet's soaring mind ? 
No — wrongful thought ! — commission'd from above 
To people Eden's bowers with shapes of love, 
(Creatures so bright, that the same lips and eyes 
They wear on earth will serve in Paradise,) 
There to recline among Heav'n's native maids, 
And crown th' Elect with bliss that never fades — 
Well hath the Prophet-Chief his bidding done ; 
And ev'ry beauteous race beneath the sun, 
From those who kneel at Brahma's burning founts, 2 
To the fresh nymphs bounding o'er Yemen's 

mounts ; 
From Persia's eyes of full and fawn-like ray, 
To the small, half-shut glances of Kathay ; 3 
And Georgia's bloom, and Azab's darker smiles, 
And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles ; 
All, all are there ; — each Land its flower hath 

given, 
To form that fair young Nursery for Heav'n ! 

But why this pageant now ? this arm'd array ? 
What triumph crowds the rich Divan to-day 
With turban'd heads, of ev'ry hue and race, 
Bowing before that veil'd and awful face, 
Like tulip-beds, 4 of diff'rent shape and dyes, 
Bending beneath th' invisible West-wind's sighs ! 
What new-made mystery now, for Faith to sign, 
And blood to seal, as genuine and divine, 
What dazzling mimickry of God's own power 
Hath the bold Prophet plann'd to grace this hour 

Not such the pageant now, though not less proud ; 
Yon warrior youth, advancing from the crowd, 

1 The oriental plane. " The chenar is a delightful tree ; 
its bole is of a tine white and smooth bark; and its foliage, 
which grows in a tuft at the summit, is of a bright green." 
— Mower's Travels. 

* The burning fountains of Brahma near Chittogong, es- 
teemed as holy. — Turner. 

s China. 

* " The name of tulip is said to be of Turkish extraction, 



With silver bow, with belt of broider'd crape, 
And fur-bound bonnet of Bucharian shape, 5 
So fiercely beautiful in form and eye, 
Like war's wild planet in a summer sky ; 
That youth to-day, — a proselyte, worth hordes 
Of cooler spirits and less practised swords, — 
Is come to join, all bravery and belief, 
The creed and standard of the heav'n-sent Chief. 

Though few his years, the West already knows 
Young Azim's fame ; — beyond th' Olympian snows 
Ere manhood darken'd o'er his downy cheek, 
O'erwhelm'd in fight, and captive to the Greek, 6 
He linger'd there, till peace dissolved his chains ; — 
Oh, who could, e'en in bondage, tread the plains 
Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit \ 'se 
Kindling within him ? who, with heart and eyes, 
Could walk where liberty hac Ven, nor see 
The shining foot-prints of her l)eity, 
Nor feel those godlike breathings in the air, 
Which mutely told her spirit had been there ? 
Not he, that youthful warrior, — no, too well 
For his soul's quiet work'd th' awak'ning spell ; 
And now, returning to his own dear land, 
Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand, 
Haunt the young heart, — proud views of human 

kind, 
Of men to Gods exalted and refined, — 
False views, like that horizon's fair deceit, 
Where earth and heav'n but seem, alas, to meet ! — 
Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was raised 
To right the nations, and beheld, emblazed 
On the white flag, Mokanna's host unfurl'd, 
Those words of sunshine, " Freedom to the World," 
At once his faith, his sword, his soul obey'd 
Th' inspiring summons ; every chosen blade 
That fought beneath that banner's sacred text 
Seem'd doubly edged, for this world and the next ; 
And ne'er did Faith with her smooth bandage bind 
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind, 
In virtue's cause ; — never was soul inspired 
With livelier trust in what it most desired, 
Than his, th' enthusiast there, who kneeling, pale 
With pious awe, before that Silver Veil, 
Believes the form, to which he bends his knee, 
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free 
This fetter'd world from every bond and stain, 
And bring its primal glories back again ! 



and given to the flower on account of its resembling a tur- 
ban." — Beckmanri's History of Inventions. 

5 " The inhabitants of Bucharia wear a round cloth bonnet, 
shaped much after the Polish fashion, having a large fur 
border. They tie their kaftans about the middle with a gir- 
dle of a kind of silk crape, several times round the body." 
—Account of Independent Tartary, in Pinkerton's Collection. 

6 In the war of the Caliph Mahadi ngainst the Empress 
Irene, for an account of which vide Gibbon, vol. X. 



378 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Low as young Azim knelt, that motley crowd 
Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, 
With shouts of " Alla !" echoing long and loud ; 
While high in air, above the Prophet's head, 
Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, 
Waved, like the wings of the white birds that fan 
The flying throne of star-taught Soliman. 1 
Then thus he spoke : — " Stranger, though new the 

frame 
" Thy soul inhabits now, I've track'd its flame 
" For many an age, 2 in ev'ry chance and change 
" Of that existence, through whose varied range, — 
" As through a torch -race, where, from hand to 

hand 
" The flying youths transmit their shining brand, 
" From frame to frame the unextinguished soul 
" Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal ! 

" Nor think 'tis only the gross Spirits, warm'd 
" With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd, 
" That run this course : — Beings, the most divine, 
" Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. 
" Such was the Essence that in Adam dwelt, 
" To which all Heav'n, except the Proud One, 

knelt : 3 
" Such the refined Intelligence that glow'd 
" In Moussa's 4 frame, — and, thence descending, 

flow'd 
" Through many a Prophet's breast ; 6 — in Issa 

shone, 
" And in Mohammed burn'd ; till, hast'ning on, 
" (As a bright river that, from fall to fall 
" In many a maze descending, bright through all, 
" Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth pass'd, 
" In one full lake of light it rests at last,) 
" That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free 
" From lapse or shadow, centres all in me !" 

Again, throughout th' assembly at these words, 
Thousands of voices rung : the warriors' swords 
Were pointed up to heaven ; a sudden wind 
In th' open banners play'd, and from behind 



i This wonderful Throne was called The Star of the Genii. 
For a full description of it, see the Fragment, translated by 
Captain Franklin, from a Persian MS. entitled " The History 
of Jerusalem." Oriental Collections, vol. i. p. 235.— When 
Soliman travelled, the eastern writers say, " He had a car- 
pet of green silk on which his throne was placed, being of 
a prodigious length and breadth, and sufficient for all his 
forces to stand upon, the men placing themselves on his 
right hand, and the spirits on his left; and that when all 
were in order, the wind, at his command, took up the car- 
pet and transported it, with all that were upon it, wherever 
he pleased ; the army of birds at the same time flying over 
their heads, and forming a kind of canopy to shade them 
from the sun."— Sale's Koran, vol. ii. p. 214, note. 

2 The transmigration of souls was one of his doctrines. — 
Vide D'Herbelot. 



Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen 
The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen 
Waving embroider'd scarves, whose motion gave 
A perfume forth — like those the Houris wave 
When beck'ning to their bow'rs th' immortal 
Brave. 

" But these," pursued the Chief, " are truths 
sublime, 
" That claim a holier mood and calmer time 
" Than earth allows us now ; — this sword must first 
" The darkling prison-house of Mankind burst, 
" Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in 
" Her wakening daylight on a world of sin. 
" But then, — celestial warriors, then, when all 
" Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall ; 
" When the glad Slave shall at these feet lay down 
" His broken chain, the tyrant Lord his crown, 
" The Priest his book, the Conqueror his wreath, 
" And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath 
" Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze 
" That whole dark pile of human mockeries ; — 
" Then shall the reign of mind commence on earth, 
" And starting fresh as from a second birth, 
" Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring, 
" Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing ! 
" Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow 
" Shall cast the Veil that hides its splendors now, 
" And gladden'd Earth shall, through her wide ex- 
panse, 
" Bask in the glories of this countenance ! 

" For thee, young warrior, welcome ! — thou hast 

yet 
" Some tasks to leam, some frailties to forget, 
" Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can 

wave ; — 
" But, once my own, mine all till in the grave I" 

The pomp is at an end — the crowds are gone — 
Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone 
Of that deep voice, which thrill'd like Alla's own ! 



3 " And when we said unto the angels, Worship Adam, 
they all worshipped him, except Eblis, (Lucifer,) who re- 
fused." — The Koran, chap. ii. 

4 Moses. 

5 This is according to D'Herbelot's account of the doc- 
trines of Mokanna:— "Sa doctrine etoit, que Dieu avoit 
pris une forme et figure humaine, depuis qu'il eut com- 
mande aux Anges d'adorer Adam, le premier des hommes. 
Qu'apres la mort d'Adam, Dieu etoit apparu sous la 
figure de plusieurs Prophetes, et aufres grands hommes qu'il 
avoit choisis, jusqu'a ce qu'il pritcelle d'Abu Moslem, Prince 
de Khorassan, lequel professoit l'erreur de la Tenassukhiah 
ou Metempsychose ; et qu'apres la mort de ce Prince, la 
Divinite etoit passee, et descendue en sa personne." 

6 Jesus. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



379 



The Young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, 
The glitt'ring throne, and Haram's half-caught 

glances ; 
The Old deep pond'ring on the promised reign 
Of peace and truth : and all the female train 
Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze 
A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze ! 

But there was one, among the chosen maids, 
Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades, 
One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day 
Has been like death : — you saw her pale dismay, 
Ye wond'ring sisterhood, and heard the burst 
Of exclamation from her lips, when first 
She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, 
Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. 

Ah Zelica ! there was a time, when bliss 
Shone o'er thy heart from ev'iy look of his ; 
When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air 
In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer ; 
When round him hung such a perpetual spell, 
Whate'er he did, none ever did so well. 
Too happy days ! when, if he touch'd a flow'r 
Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour ; 
When thou didst study him till every tone 
And gesture and dear look became thy own,—. 
Thy voice like his, the changes of his face 
In thine reflected with still lovelier grace, 
Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught 
With twice th' aerial sweetness it had brought ! 
Yet now he comes, — brighter than even he 
E'er beam'd before, — but, ah ! not bright for thee ; 
No — dread, unlook'd for, like a visitant 
From th' other world, he comes as if to haunt 
Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, 
Long lost to all but mem'ry's aching sight : — 
Sad dreams ! as Avhen the Spirit of our Youth 
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth 
And innocence once ours, and leads us back, 
In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track 
Of our young life, and points out every ray 
Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way ! 

Once happy pair ! — In proud Bokhara's groves, 
Who had not heard of their first youthful loves ? 
Born by that ancient flood, 1 which from its spring 
In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering, 
Enrich'd by ev'ry pilgrim brook that shines 
With relics from Bucharia's ruby mines, 
And. lending to the Caspian half its strength, 
In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length ; — 



i The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, or Dark 
Mountains, and running nearly from east to west, splits into 



There, on the banks of that bright river born, 
The flow'rs that hung above its wave at morn, 
Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by, 
With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh 
And virgin-glance of first affection cast 
Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd ! 
But war disturb'd this vision, — far away 
From her fond eyes summon'd to join th' array 
Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, 
The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place 
For the rude tent and war-field's dreadful clash ; 
His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash 
Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love's gentle chains 
For bleeding bondage on Byzantium's plains. 

Month after month, in widowhood of soul 
Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll 
Their suns away — but, ah, how cold and dim 
Ev'n summer suns, when not beheld witli him ! 
From time to time ill-omen' d rumors came, 
Like spirit -tongues, mutt'ring the sick man's name, 
Just ere he dies : — at length those sounds of dread 
Fell with'ring on her soul, " Azim is dead !" 
Oh Grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate 
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
In the wide world, without that only tie 
For which it loved to live or fear'd to die ; — 
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken 
Since the sad day its master-chord was broken .' 

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, 
Ev'n reason sunk, — blighted beneath its touch ; 
And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose 
Above the first dead pressure of its woes, . 
Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate 

chain 
Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. 
Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, 
The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray ; — 
A wand'ring bark, upon whose pathway shone 
All stars of heaven, except the guiding one ! 
Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled, 
But 'twas a # lustre, slrange, unreal, wild ; 
And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 
'Twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half pain, 
The bulbuP utters, ere her soul depart, 
When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's pow'rful art, 
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her 

heart ! 

Such was the mood in which that mission found 
Young Zelica, — that mission, which around 



two branches ; one of which falls into the Caspian sea, and 
the other into Aral Nahr, or the Lake of Eagles. 
2 The nightingale. 



380 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The Eastern werid, in every region bless'd 

With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest, 

To gta^e that galaxy of lips and eyes 

Which the Veil'd Prophet destined for the skies : — 

And such quick welcome as a spark receives 

Dropp'd on a bed of Autumn's wither'd leaves, 

Did every tale of these enthusiasts find 

In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. 

All fire at once the madd'ning zeal she caught ; — 

Elect of Paradise ! blest, rapturous thought ! 

Predestined bride, in heaven's eternal dome, 

Of some brave youth — ha ! durst they say " of 

some ?" 
No — of the one, one only object traced 
In her heart's core too deep to be effaced ; 
The one whose mem'ry, fresh as life, is twined 
With every broken link of her lost mind ; 
Whose image lives, though Reason's self be 

wreck'd, 
Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect ! 

Alas, poor Zelica ! it needed all 
The fantasy, which held thy mind in thrall, 
To see in that gay Haram's glowing maids 
A shaded colony for Eden's shades ; 
Or dream that he, — of whose unholy flame 
Thou wert too soon the victim, — shining came 
From Paradise, to people its pure sphere 
With souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd here ! 
No — had not reason's light totally set, 
And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet 
In the loved image, graven on thy heart, 
Which would have saved thee from the tempter's art, 
And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath, 
That purity, whose fading is love's death ! — 
But lost, n^amed, — a restless zeal took place 
Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace ; 
First of the Prophet's favorites, proudly first 
In zeal and charms, — too well th' Impostor 

nursed 
Her soul's delirium, in whose active flame, 
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame, 
He saw more potent sorceries to bind 
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind, 
More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twined. 
No art was spared, no witch'ry ; — all the skill 
His demons taught him was employ'd to fill 
Her mind with gloom and ecstasy by turns — 
That gloom, through which Phrensy but fiercer 

burns ; 
That ecstasy, which from the depth of sadness 
Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is mad- 
ness ! 

'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the sound 
Of poesy and music breathed around, 



Together picturing to her mind and ear 

The glories of that heav'n, her destined sphere, 

Where all was pure, where every stain that lay 

Upon the spirit's light should pass away, 

And, realizing more than youthful love 

E'er wish'd or dream'd, she should forever rove 

Through fields of fragrance by her Azim's side, 

His own bless'd, purified, eternal bride ! — 

'Twas from a scene, a witching trance like this, 

He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss, 

To the dim charnel-house ; — through all its 

steams 
Of damp and death, led only by those gleams 
Which foul Corruption lights, as with design 
To show the gay and proud she too can shine — 
And, passing on through upright ranks of Dead, 
Which to the maiden, doubly crazed by dread, 
Seem'd, through the bluish death-light round them 

cast, 
To move their lips in mutt'rhig& ds sne pass'd — 
There, in that awful place, when each had quafF'd 
And pledged in silence such a fearful draught, 
Such — oh ! the look and taste of that red bowl 
Will haunt her till she dies — he bound her soul 
By a dark oath, in hell's own language framed, 
Never, while earth his mystic presence claim'd, 
While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both, 
Never, by that all-imprecating oath, 
In joy or sorrow from his side to sever. — 
She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, " Never, 



From that dread hour,' entirely, wildly giv'n 
To him and — she believed, lost maid ! — to heav'n ; 
Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, 
How proud she stood, when in full Haram named 
The Priestess of the Faith ! — how flash'd her 

eyes 
With light, alas, that was not of the skies, 
When round, in trances, only less than hers, 
She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate worship- 
pers. 
Well might Mokanna think that form alone 
Had spells enough to make the world his own : — 
Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play 
Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray, 
When from its stem the small bird wings away : 
Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smiled, 
The soul was lost ; and blushes, swift and wild 
As are the momentary meteors sent 
Across th' uncalm, but beauteous firmament. 
And then her look — oh ! where's the heart so 

wise 
Could unbewilder'd meet those matchless eyes ? 
Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal, 
Like those of angels, just before their fall ; 



LALLA ROOKH. 



381 



Now shadow'd with the shames of earth — now 

cross'd 
By glimpses of the Heav'n her heart had lost ; 
In ev'ry glance there broke, without control, 
The flashes of a bright, but troubled soul, 
Where sensibility still wildly play'd, 
Like lightning, round the ruins it had made ! 

And such Was now young Zelica — so changed 
From her who, some years since, delighted ranged 
The almond groves that shade Bokhara's tide, 
All life and bliss, with Azim by her side ! 
So alter'd was she now, this festal day, 
When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array, 
The vision of that Youth whom she had loved, 
Had wept as dead, before her breathed and moved ; — 
When — bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track 
But half-way trodden, he had wander'd back 
.--gain to earth, glist'ning with Eden's light — 
Her beauteous Azim shone before her sight. 

O Reason ! who shall say what spells renew, 
When least we look for it, thy broken clew ! 
Through what small vistas o'er the darken'd brain 
Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again ; 
And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win 
Unhoped-for entrance through some friend within, 
One clear idea, waken'd in the breast 
By mem'ry's magic, lets in all the rest. 
Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee ! 
But though light came, it came but partially ; 
Enough to show the maze, in which thy sense 
Wander'd about, — but not to guide it thence ; 
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave, 
But not to point the harbor which might save. 
Hours of delight and peace, long left behind, 
With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind ; 
But, oh ! to think how deep her soul had gone 
In shame and falsehood since those moments shone ; 
And, then, her oath — there madness lay again, 
And, shudd'ring, back she sunk into her chain 
Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee 
From light, whose every glimpse was agony ! 
Yet, one relief this glance of former years 
Brought, mingled with its pain, — tears, floods of 

tears, 
Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills 
Let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills, 
And gushing warm, after a sleep of frost, 
Through valleys where their flow had long been 

lost. 

Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame 
Trembled with horror, when the summons came 
(A summons proud and rare, which all but she, 
And she, till now, had heard with ecstasy,) 



To meet Mokanna at his place of prayer, 
A garden oratory, cool and fair, 
By the stream's side, where still at close of day 
The Prophet of the Veil retired to pray ; 
Sometimes alone — but, oft'ner far, with one, 
One chosen nymph to share his orison. 

Of late none found such favor in his sight 
As the young Priestess ; and though, since that 

night 
When the oeath-caverns echo'd every tone 
Of the dire oath that made her all his own, 
Th' Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize, 
Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's disguise, 
And utter'd such unheav'nly, monstrous things, 
As ev'n across the desp'rate wanderings 
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out, 
Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt ; — 
Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow, 
The thought, still haunting her, of that bright 

brow, 
Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye conceal'd, 
Would soon, proud triumph ! be to her reveal'd, 
To her alone ; — and then the hope, most dear, 
Most wild of all, that her transgression here M 
Was but a passage through earth's grosser fire, 
From which the spirit would at last aspire, 
Ev'n purer than before, — as perfumes rise 
Through flame and smoke, most welcome to the 

skies — 
And that when Azim's fond, divine embrace 
Should circle her in heav'n, no dark'ning trace 
Would on that bosom he once loved remain, 
But all be bright, be pure, be his again ! — 
These were the wild'ring dreams, whose cursed 

deceit 
Had chain'd her soul beneath the tempter's feet, 
And made her think ev'n damning falsehood sweet. 
But now that Shape, which had appall'd her view, 
That Semblance — oh how terrible, if true ! 
Which came across her phrensy's full career 
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe, 
As when, in northern seas, at midnight dark, 
An isle of ice encounters some swift bark, 
And, startling all its wretches from their sleep, 
By one cold impulse hurls them to the deep ;— 
So came that shock not phrensy's self could bear, 
And waking up each long-lulPd image there, 
But check'd her headlong soul, to sink it in despair ! 

Wan and dejected, through the ev'ning dusk, 
She now went slowly to that small kiosk, 
Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, 
Mokanna waited her — too wrapt in dreams 
Of the fair-rip'ning future's rich success, 
To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, 



382 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



That sat upon his victim's downcast brow, 
Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd now 
From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose light bound 
Came like a spirit's o'er th' unechoing ground, — 
From that wild Zelica, whose every glance 
Was thrilling fire, whose ev'iy thought a trance ! 

Upon his couch the Veil'd Mokanna lay, 
While lamps around — not such as lend their ray, 
Glimm'ring and cold, to those who nightly pray 
In holy Koom, 1 or Mecca's dim arcades, — 
But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids 
Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow 
Upon his mystic Veil's white glitt'ring flow. 
Beside him, 'stead of beads and books of pray'r, 
Which the world fondly thought he mused on there, 
Stood Vases, fill'd with Kishmee's 2 golden wine, 
And the red weepings of the Shiraz vine ; 
CK which his curtain'd lips full many a draught 
Took zealously, as if each drop they quafFd, 
Like Zemzem's Spring of Holiness, 3 had pow'r 
To freshen the soul's virtues into flow'r ! 
And still he drank and ponder'd — nor could see 
Th' approaching maid, so deep his revery ; 
At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which 

broke 
From Eblis at the Fall of Man, he spoke : — 
" Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given, 
" Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with 

heav'n ; 
" God's images, forsooth ! — such gods as he 
" Whom India serves, the monkey deity ; 4 — 
" Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay, 
" To whom if Lucifer, as grandams say, 
" Refused, though at the forfeit of heaven's light, 
" To bend in worship, Lucifer was right ! 5 — 
" Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck 
" Of your foul race, and without fear or check, 
" Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, 
" My deep-felt, long-nursed loathing of man's 



i The cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan are full of 
mosques, mausoleums, and sepulchres of the descendants of 
Ali, the Saints of Persia.— Chardin. 

a An island in the Persian Gulf, celebrated for its white 
wine. 

3 The miraculous well at Mecca ; so called, says Sale, 
from the murmuring of its waters. 

4 The god Hannaman. — " Apes are in many parts of India 
highly venerated, out of respect to the God Hannaman, a 
deity partaking of the form of that race."— Pennant's Hin- 
doos tan. 

See a curious account, in Stephen's Persia, of a solemn 
embassy from some part of the Indies to Goa, when the 
Portuguese were there, offering vast treasures for the re- 
covery of a monkey's tooth, which they held in great vene- 
ration, and which had been taken away upon the conquest 
of the kingdom of Jafanapatan. 

s This resolution of Eblis not to acknowledge the new 



" Soon at the head of myriads, blind and fierce 

" As hooded falcons, through the universe 

" I'll sweep my dark'ning, desolating way, 

" Weak man my instrument, cursed man my prey ! 

" Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull way on 
" By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, 
" Like superstitious thieves, who think the light 
" From dead men's marrow guides them best at 

night 6 — 
" Ye shall have honors — wealth — yes, Sages, yes — 
i" I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness ; 
" Ui dazzled it can track yon starry sphere, 
" But a gilt stick, a bauble blinds it here. 
" How I shall laugh, when trumpeted along, 
" In lying speech, and still more lying son^, 
" By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of thethrabg ; 
" Their wits bought up, their wisdom shrunk so 

small, 
" A sceptre's puny point can wield it all ! 

" Ye too, believers of incredible creeds, 
" Whose faith enshrines the monsters which it 

breeds ; 
" Who, bolder ev'n than Nemrod, think to rise, 
" By nonsense heap'd on nonsense, to the skies ; 
" Ye shall have miracles, ay, sound ones too, 
" Seen, heard, attested, ev'ry thing — but true. 
" Your preaching zealots, too inspired to seek 
" One grace of meaning for the things they speak ; 
" Your martyrs, ready to shed out their blood, 
" For truths too heav'nly to be understood ; 
" And your State Priests, sole venders of the lore, 
" That works salvation ; — as, on Ava's shore, 
" Where none but priests are privileged to trade 
" In that best marble of which Gods are made ; 7 
" They shall have mysteries — ay, precious stuff, 
" For knaves to thrive by — mysteries enough ; 
" Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave, 
" Which simple votaries shall on trust receive, 
" While craftier feign belief, till they believe. 

creature, man, was, according to Mahometan tradition, thus 
adopted : — " The earth (which God had selected for the ma- 
terials of his work) was carried into Arabia to a place be- 
tween Mecca and Tayef, where, being first kneaded by the 
angels, it was afterwards fashioned by God himself into a 
human form, and left to dry for the space of forty days, or, as 
others say, as many years ; the angels, in the mean time, 
often visiting it, and Eblis (then one of the angels nearest to 
God's presence, afterwards the devil) among the rest ; but 
he, not content with looking at it, kicked it with his foot 
till it rung, and knowing God designed that creature to bs 
his superior, took a secret resolution never to acknowledge 
him as such." — Sale on the Koran. 

e A kind of lantern formerly used by robbers, called the 
Head of Glory, the candle for which was made of the fat of 
a dead malefactor. This, however, was rather a western 
than an eastern superstition. 

* The material of which images of Gaudma (the Biiman 



LALLA ROOKH. 



383 



" A Heav n too ye must have, ye lords of dust, — 

" A splendid Paradise, — pure souls, ye must : 

" That Prophet ill sustains his holy call, 

" Who finds not heaves to suit the tastes of all ; 

" Houris for boys, omniscience for sages, 

" And wings and glories for all ranks and ages. 

" Vain things ! — as lust or vanity inspires, 

t: The heav'n of each is but what each desires, 

" And, soul or sense, whate'er the object be, 

" Man would be man to all eternity ! 

" So let him — Eblis ! — grant this crowning curse, 

" But keep him what he is, no Hell were worse." 

" Oh my lost soul !" exclaim'd the shudd'ring 

maid, 
Whose ears had drunk like poison all he said : — 
Mokanxa started — not abash'd, afraid, — 
He knew no more of fear than one who dwells 
Beneath the tropics knows of icicles ! 
But, in those dismal words that reach'd his ear, 
" Oh my lost soul !" there was a sound so drear, 
So like that voice, among the sinful dead, 
In which the legend o'er Hell's Gate is read, 
That, new as 'twas from her, whom naught could 

dim 
Or sink till now, it startled even him. 

" Ha, my fair Priestess !" — thus, with ready 

wile, 
Th' Impostor turn'd to greet her — "thou, whose 

smile 
" Hath inspiration in its rosy beam 
" Beyond th' Enthusiast's hope or Prophet's 

dream; 
" Light of the Faith ! who twin'st religion's zeal 
*' So close with love's, men know not which they 

feel, 
" Nor which to sigh for, in their trance of heart, 
" The heav'n thou preachest or the heav'n thou 

art! 
" What should I be without thee ? without thee 
" How dull were power, how joyless victory ! 
" Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine 
" Bless'd not my banner, 'twere but half divine. 
ic But — why so mournful, child ? those eyes, that 

shone 
1 All life last night — what ! — is their glory gone ? 
' Come, come — this morn's fatigue hath made them 

pale, 
•They want rekindling — suns themselves would 

fail 
' Did not their comets bring, as I to thee, 
' From light's own fount supplies of brilliancy. 



Deity) are made, is held sacred. "Birmans may not pur- 
chase the marble in mass, but are suffered, and indeed en- 



" Thou seest this cup— no juice of earth is here, 
" But the pure waters of that upper sphere, 
" Whose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz flow, 
" Catching the gem's bright color, as they go. 
" Nightly my Genii come and fill these urns — 
" Nay, drink — in ev'ry drop life's essence burns ; 
" 'Twill make that soul all fire, those eyes all light — 
" Come, come, I want thy loveliest smiles to-night : 
" There is a youth — why start ? — thou saw'st him 

then; 
" Look'd he not nobly ? such the godlike men 
" Thou'lt have to woo thee in the bow'rs above ; — 
" Though he, I fear, hath thoughts too stern for love, 
" Too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss 
" The world calls virtue — we must conquer this ; 
" Nay, shrink not, pretty sage ! 'tis not for thee 
" To scan the mazes of Heav'n's mystery : 
" The steel must pass through fire, ere it can yield 
" Fit instruments for mighty hands to wield. 
" This very night I mean to try the art 
" Of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart. 
" All that my Haram boasts of bloom and wit, 
" Of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite, 
" Shall tempt the boy ; — young Mirzala's blue 

eyes, 
" Whose sleepy lid like snow on violets lies ; 
" Arouya's cheeks, warm as a spring-day sun, 
" And lips that, like the seal of Solomon, 
" Have magic in their pressure ; Zeba's lute, 
" And Lilla's dancing feet, that gleam and shoot 
" Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep — 
" All shall combine their witching powers to steep 
" My convert's spirit in that soft'ning trance, 
" From which to heav'n is but the next advance ; — 
" That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast, 
" On which Religion stamps her image best. 
" But hear me, Priestess ! — though each nymph of 

these 
" Hath some peculiar, practised pow'r to please, 
" Some glance or step which, at the mirror tried, 
" First charms herself, then all the world beside ; 
" There still wants one, to make the vict'ry sure, 
" One who in every look joins every lure ; 
" Through whom all beauty's beams concentred 

pass, 
"Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning 

glass ; 
" Whose gentle lips persuade without a word, 
" Whose words, ev'n when unmeaning, are adored, 
" Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine, 
" Which our faith takes for granted are divine ! 
" Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light, 
" To crown the rich temptations of to-night ; 



couraged, to buy figures of the Deity ready made."— Syme , e 
Ava, vol. ii. p. 376. 



384 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" Such the refined enchantress that must be 
" This hero's vanquisher, — and thou art she !" 

With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale, 
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil 
From which these words, like south winds through 

a fence 
Of Kerzrah flow'rs, came filPd with pestilence ;' 
So boldly utter'd too ! as if all dread 
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled, 
And the wretch felt assured that, once plunged in, 
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin ! 

At first, though mute she listen'd, like a dream 
Seem'd all he said: nor could her mind, whose 

beam 
As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme. 
But when, at length, he utter'd, " Thou art she !" 
All flash'd at once, and shrieking piteously, 
" <~*h not for worlds !" she cried — " Great God ! to 

whom 
" I once knelt innocent, is this my doom? 
" Are all my dreams, my hopes of heav'nly bliss, 
" My purity, my pride, then come to this, — 
" To live, the wanton of a fiend ! to be 
" The pander of his guilt — oh infamy ! 
" And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep 
" In its hot flood, drag others down as deep ! 
" Others — ha ! yes — that youth who came to- 
day — 
" Not him I loved — not him — oh ! do but say, 
" But swear to me this moment 'tis not he, 
" And I will serve, dark fiend, will worship even 
thee !" 

" Beware, young raving thing ; — in time be- 
ware, 
" Nor utter what I cannot, must not bear, 
" Ev'n from thy lips. Go— try thy lute, thy voice, 
" The boy must feel their magic ; — I rejoice 
" To see those fires, no matter whence they rise, 
" Once more illuming my fair Priestess' eyes ; 
" And should the youth, whom soon those eyes shall 

warm, 
" Indeed resemble thy dead lover's form, 
" So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom, 
" As one warm lover, full of life and bloom, 
" Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb. 
" Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet ! — those eyes were 

mado 
" For love, not anger — I must be obey'd." 

i " It is commonly said in Persia, that if a man breathe in 
the hot south wind, which in June or July passes over that 
flower, (the Kerzereh,) it will kill him." — Thcvenot. 

2 The humming-bird is said to run this risk for the purpose 
of picking the crocodile's teeth. The same circumstance is 



" Obey'd ! — 'tis well — yes, I deserve it all — 
" On me, on me Heav'n's vengeance cannot fall 
" Too heavily — but Azim, brave and true 
" And beautiful — must he be ruin'd too ? 
" Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven 
" A renegade like me from Love and Heaven ? 
" Like me ? — weak wretch, I wrong him — not like 

me ; 
" No — he's all truth and strength and purity ! 
" Fill up your madd'ning hell-cup to the brim, 
" Its witch'ry, fiends, will have no charm for him. 
" Let loose your glowing wantons from their 

bow'rs, 
" He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers ! 
" Wretch as I am, in his lgeart still I reign 
" Pure as when first we met, without a stain ! 
" Though ruin'd — lost — my mem'ry, like a charm 
" Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm. 
" Oh ! never let him know how deep the brow 
" He kiss'd at parting, is dishonor'd now ; — 
" Ne'er tell him how debased, how sunk is she, 
" Whom once he loved — once ! — still loves do- 

tingly. 
"Thou laugh'st, tormentor — what! — thou'lt brand 

my name ? 
" Do, do — in vain — he'll not believe my shame — 
" He thinks me true, that naught beneath God's sky 
" Could tempt or change me, and — so once 

thought I. 
" But this is pasc — though worse than death my 

lot, 
" Than hell — 'tis nothing: while he knows it not. 
" Far off to some benignted land I'll fly, 
" Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till I die ; 
"Where none will ask the lost one whence she 

came, 
" But I may fade and fall without a name. 
" And thou — cursed man or fiend, whate'er thou 

art, 
" Who found'st this burning plague-spot in my heart, 
" And spread'st it — oh, so quick ! — through soul and 

frame, 
" With more than demon's art, till I became 
" A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame ! — 
" If, when I'm gone " 

" Hold, fearless maniac, hold, 
" Nor tempt my rage — by Heaven, not half so 

bold 
" The puny bird, that dares with teasing hum 
" Within the crocodile's stretch'd jaws to come ; 2 

related of the lapwing, as a fact to which he was witness, 
by Paul Lucas, Voyage fait en 1714. 

The ancient story concerning the Trochilus, or humming- 
bird, entering with impunity into the mouth of the croco- 
dile, is firmly believed at Java. — Barrow 1 s Cochin- China. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



385 



" And so thou'lt fly, forsooth ? — what ! — give up all 

" Thy chaste dominion in the Haram Hall, 

" Where now to Love and now to Alla given, 

" Half mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as even 

" As doth Medina's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven ! 

" Thou'lt fly ? — as easily may reptiles run, 

" The gaunt snake once hath fix'd his eyes upon ; 

" As easily, when caught, the prey may be 

" Pluck'd from his loving folds, as thou from me. 

" No, no, 'tis fir d — let good or ill betide, 

"Thou'rt mine till death, till death Mokanna's 

bride ! 
" Hast thou forgot thy oath ?"— 

At this dread word, 
The Maid, whose spiri%his rude taunts had stirr'd 
Through all its depths, and roused an anger there, 
That burst and light en'd even through her de- 
spair — 
Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the breath 
That spoke that word, and stagger d pale as death. 

" Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in bow'rs 
" Their bridal place — the charnel-vault was ours ! 
" Instead of scents and balms, for thee and me 
" Rose the rich steams of sweet mortality ; 
" Gay, flick'ring death-lights shone while we were 

wed, 
" And, for our guests, a row of goodly Dead, 
" (Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,) 
" From reeking shrouds upon the rite look'd out ! 
'^That oath thou heard'st more lips than thine 

repeat — 
"That cup — thou shudd'rest, ' Lady, — was it 

sweet ? 
u That cup we pledged, the enamel's choicest wine, 
" Hath bound thee — ay — body and soul all mine ; 
" Bound thee by chains that, whether bless'd or cursed 
" No matter now, not hell itself shall burst ! 
" Hence, woman, to the Haram, and look gay, 
" Look wild, look — any thing but sad ; yet 

stay — 
" One moment more — from what this night hath 

pass'd, 
" I see thou know'st me, know'st me well at last 
" Ha ! ha ! and so, fond thing, thou thought'st all 

true, 
" And that I love mankind 1 — I do, I do — 

1 Cirrum easdem ripas (Xili, viz.) ales est Ibis. Ea ser- 
pen tium populatur ova, gratissimamque ex his escam nidis 
suis reiert. — Soli?ius. 

2 '• The feast of Lanterns is celebrated at Yamtcheou with 
more magnificence than anywhere else : and the report goes, 
that the illuminations there are so splendid, that an Empe- 
ror once, not daring openly to leave his Court to go thither, 
committed himself with the Queen and several Princesses 
of his family into the hands of a magician, who promised 
to transport them thither in a trice. He made them in the 



85 



" As victims, love them ; as the sea-dog dotes 
" Upon the small, sweet fry that round him floats ; 
" Or, as the Nile-bird loves the slime that gives 
" That rank and venomous food on which she 
lives J 1 — 

" And, now thou seest my soul's angelic hue, 
" 'Tis time these features were uncurtain'd too ; — 
" This brow, whose light — oh rare celestial light ! 
" Hath been reserved to bless thy favor'd sight ; 
" These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded 

might 
" Thou'st seen immortal Man kneel down and 

quake — 
" Would that they icere heaven's hghtnings for his 

sake ! 
" But turn and look — then wonder, if thou wilt, 
" That I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt, 
" Upon the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth 
" Sent me thus maim'd and monstrous upon earth ; 
" And on that race who, though more vile they be 
" Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to me ! 
'•' Here — judge if hell, with all its power to damn, 
" Can add one curse to the foid thing I am !" — 

He raised his veil — the Maid turn'd slowly 
round, 
Look'd at him — shriek'd — and sunk upon the 
ground! 



On their arrival, next night, at the place of en- 
campment, they were surprised and delighted to find 
the groves all around illuminated ; some artists of 
Yamtcheou 2 having been sent on previously for the 
purpose. On each side of the green alley which led 
to the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo- 
work 1 were erected, representing arches, minarets, 
and towers, from which hung thousands of silken 
lanterns, painted by the most delicate pencils of 
Canton. — Nothing could be more beautiful than the 
leaves of the mango-trees and acacias, shining in 
the light of the bamboo-scenery, which shed a lustrie 
round as soft as that of the nisrhts of Peristan. 



night to ascend magnificent thrones that were borne up by 
swans, which in a moment arrived at Yamtcheou. The 
Emperor saw at his leisure all the solemnity, being carried 
upon a cloud that hovered over the city and descended by- 
degrees ; and came back again with the same speed and 
equipage, nobody at court perceiving his absence." — The 
Present State of China, p. 156 

3 See a description of the nuj.,ials of Vizier Alee in the 
Asiatic Annual Register of 1804. 



386 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much occu- 
pied by the sad story of Zelica and her lover, to 
give a thought to any thing else, except, perhaps, 
him who related it, hurried on through this scene of 
splendor to her pavilion, — greatly to the mortifica- 
tion of the poor artists of Yamtcheou, — and was 
followed with equal rapidity by the Great Chamber- 
lain, cursing, as he went, that ancient Mandarin, 
whose parental anxiety in lighting up the shores of 
the lake, where his beloved daughter had wandered 
and been lost, was the origin of these fantastic Chi- 
nese illuminations. 1 

Without a moment's delay, young Feramorz was 
introduced, and Fadladeen, who could never make 
up his mind as to the merits of a poet till he knew 
the religious sect to which he belonged, was about 
to ask him whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when 
Lalla Rookh impatiently clapped her hands for 
silence, and the youth, being seated upon the 
musnud near her, proceeded : — 



Prepare thy soul, young Azim ! — thou hast 
braved 
The bands of Greece, still mighty though en- 
slaved ; 
Hast faced her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame, 
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ; 
All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow ; 
But a more perilous trial waits thee now, — 
Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes 
From every land where woman smiles or sighs ; 
Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise 
His black or azure banner in their blaze ; 
And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash 
That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash, 

1 "The vulgar ascribe it to an accident that happened in 
the family of a famous Mandarin, whose daughter, walking 
one evening upon the shore of a lake, fell in and was 
drowned : this afflicted father, with his family, ran thither, 
and, the better to find her, he caused a great company of lan- 
terns to be lighted. All the inhabitants of the place thronged 
after him with torches. The year ensuing they made fires 
upon the shores the same day ; they continued the ceremo- 
ny every year, every one lighted his lantern, and by degrees 
it commenced into a custom." — Present State of China. 

2 "Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes." 
— Sol. Song. 

3 "They tinged the ends of her fingers scarlet with Henna, 
so that they resembled branches of coral."— Story of Prince 
Futtun in Bahardanush. 

4 " The women blacken the inside of their eyelids with a 
powder named the black Kohol." — Russel. 



To the sly, stealing splendors, almost hid, 
Like swords half-she ath'd, beneath the downcast 
Such, Azim, is the lovely, luminous host [lid ; — 
Now led against thee ; and, let conqu'rors boast 
Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms 
A young, warm spirit against beauty's -charms, 
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, 
Is the best, bravest conqu'ror of them all. 

Now, through the Haram chambers, moving 

lights 
And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites ; — 
From room to room the ready handmaids hie, 
Some skill'd to wreath the turban tastefully, 
Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade, 
O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, 
Who, if between the folds but one eye shone, 
Like Seba's Queen coulpl vanquish with that 

one : 2 — 
While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue 
The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue, 3 
So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem 
Like tips of coral branches in the stream : 
And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye, 
To give that long, dark languish to the eye, 4 
Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to 

cull 
From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful. 
All is in motion ; rings, and plumes, and pearls 
Are shining ev'ry where : — some younger girls 
Are gone by moonlight to the garden-beds, 
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads ; — ■ 
Gay creatures ! sweet, though mournful, 'tis to see 
How each prefers a garland from that tree 
Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day 
And the dear fields and friendships far away. 
The maid of India, bless'd again to hold 
In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, 5 
Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood, 
Her little playmates scatter'd many a bud 
Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam 
Just dripping from the consecrated stream ; 

"None of these ladies," says Shaw, "take themselves to 
be completely dressed, till they have tinged the hair and 
edges of their eyelids with the powder of lead-ore. Now, 
as this operation is performed by dipping first into the pow- 
der a small wooden bodkin of the thickness of a quill, and 
then drawing it afterwards through the eyelids over the ball 
of the eye, we shall have a lively image of what the Pro- 
phet (Jer. iv. 30) may be supposed to mean by rending- the 
eyes with painting. This practice is no doubt of great anti- 
quity ; for besides the instance already taken notice of, we 
find that where Jezebel is said (2 Kings, ix. 30) to have 
painted her face, the original words are, she adjusted her eyes 
with the powder of lead-ore." — Shaw's Travels. 

6 "The appearance of the blossoms of the gold-colored 
Champac on the black hair of the Indian women has sup- 
plied the Sanscrit Poets with many elegant allusions."— 
See Asiatic Researches, vol. iv. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



387 



While the young Arab, haunted by the smell 
Of her own mountain flow'rs, as by a spell, — 
The sweet Elcaya, 1 and that courteous tree 
Which bows to all who seek its canopy, 2 
Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents, 
The well, the camels, and her father's tents ; 
Sighs for the home she left with little pain, 
And wishes evn its sorrows back again ! 

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, 
Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls 
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound 
From many a jasper fount, is heard around, 
Young Azim roams bewilder'd, — nor can guess 
What means this maze of light and loneliness. 
Here, the way leads, o'er tesselated floors 
Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors, 
Where, ranged in cassolets and silver urns, 
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; 
And spicy rods, such as illume at night 
The bow'rs of Tibet, 3 send forth odorous light, 
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road 
For some pure Spirit to its blest abode :•— 
And here, at once, the glittering saloon 
Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon ; 
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays 
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays 
-High as th' enamell'd cupola, which tow'rs 
All rich with Arabesques of gold and flow'rs 
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through 
The sprinkling of that fountain's silv'ry dew, 
Like the wet, glist'ning shells, of ev'ry dye, 
That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. 

Here too he traces the kind visitings 
Of woman's love in those fair, living things 
Of laud and wave, whose fate — in bondage thrown 
For then weak loveliness — is like her own ! 
On one side gleaming with a sudden grace 
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase 
In which it undulates, small fishes shine, 
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine ! — 

i A tree famous for its perfume, and common on the hills 
of Yemen. — Niebuhr. 

2 Of the genus mimosa, " which droops its branches when- 
ever any person approaches it, seeming as if it saluted those 
who retire under its shade." — Ibid. 

3 " Cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition of 
the perfumed rods, which men of rank keep constantly burn- 
ing in their presence."— Turner's Tibet. 

* " C'est d'ou vient le bois d'aloes, que les Arabes appel- 
lent Oud Comari, et celui du sandal, qui s'y trouve en grande 
quantite." — D'HerbeloL 

5 " Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral-trees." 
— Barrow. 

6 " In Mecca there are quantities of blue pigeons, which 
none will affright or abuse, much less kill." — Pitt's Account 
of the Mahometans. 

7 " The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among the first chor- 



While, on the other, latticed lightly in 

With odoriferous woods of Comorin, 4 

Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen ; — 

Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between 

The crimson blossoms of the coral tree 5 

In the warm isles of India's sunny sea : 

Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, 6 and the thrush 

Of Hindostan, 7 whose holy warblings gush, 

At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ; — 

Those golden birds that, in the spice -time, drop 

About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food 8 

Whose scent hath lured them o'er the summer flood f 

And those that under Araby's soft sun 

Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ; 1C 

In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly 

Through the pure element, here calmly lie 

Sleeping in light, like the green birds 11 that dwell 

In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel I 

So on, through scenes past all imagining, 
More like the luxuries of that impious King, 12 
Whom Death's dark Angel, with his lightning torch, 
Struck down and blasted ev'n in Pleasure's porch, 
Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, 
Arm'd with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchise- 
ment — 
Young Azim wander'd, looking sternly round, 
His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound 
But ill according with the pomp and grace 
And silent lull of that voluptuous place. 

" Is this, then," thought the youth, " is this the 
way 
" To free man's spirit from the dead'ning sway 
" Of worldly sloth, — to teach him while he lives, 
" To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, 
" And when he dies, to leave his lofty name 
" A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame ? 
" It was not so, Land of the generous thought 
" And daring deed, thy godlike sages taught ; 
" It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, 
" Thy Freedom nursed her sacred energies ; 

isters of India. It sits perched on the sacred pagodas, and 
from thence delivers its melodious song."— Pennant's Hin- 
dostan. 

8 Tavernier adds, that while the Birds of Paradise lie in 
this intoxicated state, the emmets come and eat off their 
legs ; and that hence it is they are said to have no feet. 

9 Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come in 
flights from the southern isies to India ; and " the strength of 
the nutmeg," says Tavernier, " so intoxicates them that they 
fall dead drunk to the earth." 

10 " That bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildeth its nest 
with cinnamon."— .Brown's Vulgar Errors. 

""The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the crops 
of green birds." — Gibbon, vol. ix., p. 421. 

H Shedad, who made the delicious gardens of Mm, in imi- 
tation of Paradise, and was destroyed by lightning the first 
time he attempted to enter them. 



388 



xMOORE'S WORKS. 



Oh ! not beneath th' enfeebling, with'ring glow 
Of such dull lux'ry did those myrtles grow, 
With which she wreath'd her sword, when she 

would dare 
Immortal deeds ; but in the bracing air 
Of toil, — of temperance, — of that high, rare, 
Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe 
Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath. 
Who, that surveys this span of earth we press, — 
This speck of life in time's great wilderness, 
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, 
The past, the future, two eternities ! — 
Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, 
When he might build him a proud temple there, 
A name, that long shall hallow all its space, 
And be each purer soul's high resting-place. 
But no — it cannot be, that one, whom God 
Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's 

rod, — 
A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws 
Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane its 



cause 
With the world's 



vulgar pomps; — no, no, — I 



" He thinks me weak — this glare of luxury 
" Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze 
" Of my young soul — shine on, 'twill stand 
blaze !" 



the 



So thought the youth ; — but, ev'n while he defied 
This witching scene, he felt its witch'ry glide 
Through ev'ry sense. The perfume breathing 

round, 
Like a pervading spirit ; — the still sound 
Of falling waters, lulling as the song 
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng 
Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep 
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep ; l 
And music, too — dear music ! that can touch 
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much — 
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem 
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream ; 
All was too much for him, too full of bliss, 
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this : 
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave 
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid ; 
He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid, 
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs, 
They sat and look'd into each other's eyes, 
Silent and happy — as if God had giv'n 
Naught else worth looking at on this side heav'n. 



J " My Pandits assure me that the plant before us (the 
Nilica) is their Sephalica, thus named because the bees are 
supposed to sleep on its blossoms."' — Sir W. Jones. 



" Oh, my loved mistress, thou, whose spirit still 
" Is with me, round me, wander where I will — 
" It is for thee, for thee alone I seek 
" The paths of glory ; to light up thy cheek 
" With warm approval — in that gentle look, 
" To read my praise, as in an angel's book, 
" And think all toils rewarded, when from thee 
" I gain a smile worth immortality ! 
" How shall I bear the moment, when restored 
" To that young heart where I alone am Lord, 
" Though of such bliss unworthy, — since the 

best 
" Alone deserve to be the happiest : — 
" When from those lips, unbreath'd upon for years, 
" I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, 
" And find those tears warm as when last they 

started, 
" Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted. 
" O my own life ! — why should a single day, 
" A moment keep me from those arms away ?" 

While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze 
Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, 
Each note of whicn but adds new, downy links 
To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. 
He turns him tow'rd the sound, and far away 
Through a long vista, sparkling with the play 
Of countless lamps, — like the rich track which 

Day 
Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us, 
So long the path, its light so tremulous ; — 
He sees a group of female forms advance, 
Some chain'd together in the mazy dance 
By fetters, forged in the green sunny bow'rs, 
As they were captives to the King of Flow'rs ; 2 
And some disporting round, unlink'd and free, 
Who seem'd to mock their sisters' slavery ; 
And round and round them still, in wheeling flight 
Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night ; 
While others waked, as gracefully along 
Their feet kept time, the very soul of song 
From psalt'ry, pipe, and lutes of heav'nly thrill, 
Or their own youthful voices, heav'nlier still. 
And now they come, now pass before his eye, 
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would 

vie 
With Fancy's pencil, and give birth to things 
Lovely beyond its fairest picturings. 
Awhile they dance before him, then divide, 
Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide 
Around the rich pavilion of the sun, — 
Till silently dispersing, one by one, 



a "They deferred it till the King of Flowers should ascend 
his throne of enamelled foliage. '—The Bahardanush. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



389 



Through many a path, that from the chamber leads 
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads, 
Their distant laughter comes upon the wind, 
And but one trembling nymph remains behind, — 
Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are gone, 
And she is left in all that light alone : 
.No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow, 
In its young bashfulness more beauteous, now ; 
But a light golden chain-work round her hair, 1 
Such as the maids of Yezd 2 and Shiras wear, 
From which, on either side, gracefully hung 
A golden amulet, in th' Arab tongue, 
Engraven o'er with some immortal line 
From Holy Writ, or bard scarce less divine ; 
While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, 
Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, 
Which, once or twice, she touch'd with hurried 

strain, 
Then took her trembling fingers off again. 
But when at length a timid glance she stole 
At Azim, the sweet gravity of soul 
She saw through all his features calm'd her fear, 
And, like a half-tamed antelope, more near, 
Though shrinking still, she came ; — then sat her 

down 
Upon a musnud's 3 edge, and, bolder grown, . 
In the pathetic mode of Isfahan 4 
Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began : — 

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's 6 stream, 
And the nightingale sings round it all the day 
long; 
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet 
dream, 
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song 

That bower and its music I never forget, 

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, 

I think — is the nightingale singing there yet? 

Are the roses still bright by the calm Bende- 



No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, 

But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly 

they shone, 

And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that 

gave 

All the fragrance of summer, when summer was 

g° ne - 9 

i " One of the head-dresses of the Persian women is 
composed of a light golden chain-work, set with small 
pearls, with a thin gold plate pendent, about the bigness of 
a crown-piece, on which is impressed an Arabian prayer, and 
which hangs upon the cheek below tin ear."— Uanwaifs 
Travels. 

3 " Certainly the women of Yezd are the handsomest 
women in Persia. The proverb is, that to live happy a man 



Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, 
An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 

Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, 
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bende- 



" Poor maiden !" thought the youth, " if thou 
wert sent, 
" With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment, 
" To wake unholy wishes in this heart, 
" Or tempt its troth, thou little know'st the art. 
" For though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong, 
" Those vestal eyes would disavow its song. 
" But thou hast breathed such purity, thy lay 
" Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day, 
" And leads thy soul — if e'er it wander'd thence — 
" So gently back to its first innocence, 
" That I would sooner stop the unchain'd dove, 
" When swift returning to its home of love, 
" And round its snowy w\ng new fetters twine, 
" Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine !" 

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling 
through 
The gently open'd curtains of light blue 
That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes, 
Peeping like stars through the blue ev'ning skies, 
Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair 
That sat so still and melancholy there : — 
And now the curtains fly apart, and in 
From the cool air, 'mid show'rs of jessamine 
Which those without fling after them in play, 
Two lightsome maidens spring, — lightsome as they 
Who live hi th' air on odors, — and around 
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, 
Chase one another, in a varying dance 
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance, 
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit : — 
While she, who sung so gently to the lute 
Her dream of home, steals timidly away, 
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray, — 
But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh, 
We sometimes giva to forms that pass us by 
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, 
Creatures of light we never see again ! 

Around the white necks of the nymphs who 
danced 
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanced 

must have a wife of Yezd, eat the bread of Yezdecas, and 
drink the wine of Shiraz." — Tavcrnier. 

3 Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for per- 
sons of distinction. 

« The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musi- 
cal modes or Perdas by the names of different countries or 
cities, as the mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, &c. 

6 A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar. 



390 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



More brilliant than the sea-glass glitt'ring o'er 

The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore ;* 

While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall 

Of curls descending, bells as musical 

As those that, on the golden-shafted trees 

Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze, 2 

Rung round their steps, at ev'ry bound more sweet, 

As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet. 

At length the chase was o'er, and they stood 

wreath'd 
Within each other's arms ; while soft there breathed 
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs 
Of moonlight fiow'rs, music that seem'd to rise 
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose ; 
And, as it swell'd again at each faint close, 
The ear could track through all that maze of chords 
And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words : 

A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh 
Is burning now through ^arth and air; 

Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh, 
Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there ! 

His breath is the soul of fiow'rs like these, 
And his floating eyes — oh ! they resemble 3 

Blue water-lilies, 4 when the breeze 

Is making the stream around them tremble. 

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling pow'r ! 

Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 

By the fair and brave 

Who blushing unite, 
Like the sun and wave, 

When they meet at night ; 

By the tear that shows 

When passion is nigh, 
As the rain-drop flows 

From the heat of the sky ; 

1 "To the north of us (on the coast of the Caspian, near 
Bariku) was a mountain, which sparkled like diamonds, ari- 
sing from the sea-glass and crystals with which it abounds." 
— Journey of the Russian Embassador to Persia, 1746. 

2 '• To which will be added the sound of the bells, hanging 
on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind pro- 
ceeding from the throne of God, as often as the blessed wish 
for music." — Sale- 

a " Whose wanton eyes resemble blue water-lilies, agi- 
tated by the breeze." — Jayadeva. 

* The blue lotus, which grows in Cashmere and in Persia. 

5 It has been generally supposed that the Mahometans 
prohibit all pictures of animals ; but Toderini shows that, 
though the practice is forbidden by the Koran, they are not 
more averse to painted figures and images than other people. 
From Mr. Murphy's work, too, we find that the Arabs of 
Spain had no objection to the introduction of figures into 
painting. 

s This is not quite astronomically true. "Dr. Hadley 



By the first love-beat 

Of the youthful heart, 
By the bliss to meet, 

And the pain to part ; 

By all that thou hast 

To mortals given, 
Which — oh, could it last, 

This earth were heaven I 

We call thee hither, entrancing Power! 

Spirit of Love ! Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 

Impatient of a scene, whose lux'ries stole, 
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, 
And where, midst all that the young heart loves 

most, 
Fiow'rs, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, 
The youth had started up, and turn'd away 
From the light nymphs, and their luxurious lay, 
To muse upon the pictures that hung round, 6 — 
Bright images, that spoke without a sound, 
And views, like vistas into fairy ground. 
But here again new spells came o'er his sense r, — 
All that the pencil's mute omnipotence 
Could call up into life, of soft and fair, 
Of fond and passionate, was glowing there ; 
Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with that fine art 
Which paints of pleasure but the purer part ; 
Which knows ev'n Beauty when half-veil'd is 

best, — 
Like her own radiant planet of the west, 
Whose orb when half retired looks loveliest. 6 
There hung the history of the Genii-King, 
Traced through each gay, voluptuous wandering 
With her from Saba's bowers, in whose bright 

eyes 
He read that to be blest is to be wise ; 7 — 

(says Keil) has shown that Venus is brightest when she is 
about forty degrees removed from the sun ; and that then 
but only a fourth pari of her lucid disk is to be seen from the 
earth." 

f For the loves of King Solomon, (who was supposed to 
preside over the whole race of Genii,) with Balkis, the Queen 
of Sheba or Saba, see D'Herbelot, and the Notes on the Koran, 
chap. 2. 

" In the palace which Solomon ordered to be built against 
the arrival of the Queen of Saba, the floor or pavement was 
of transparent glass, laid'ftver running water, in which fish 
were swimming." This led the Queen into a very natural 
mistake, which the Koran has not thought beneath its 
dignity to commemorate. "It was said unto her, 'Enter 
the palace.' And when she saw it she imagined it to be a 
great water ; and she discovered her legs, by lifting up her 
robe to pass through it. Whereupon Solomon said to her, 
'Verily, this is the place evenly floored with glass."*— 
Chap. 27. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



391 



Here fond Zuleika 1 woos with open arms 
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms, 
Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone, 
Wishes that Heav'n and she could both be won ; 
And here Mohammed, bom for love and guile, 
Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile ; — 
Then beckons some kind angel from above 
With a new text to consecrate their love. 2 

With rapid step, yet pleased and ling'ring eye, 
Did the youth pass these pictured stories by, 
And hasten'd to a casement, where the light 
Of the calm moon came in, and freshly bright 
The. fields without were seen, sleeping as still 
As if no life remain'd in breeze or rill. 
Here paused he, while the music, now less near, 
Breathed with a holier language on his ear, 
As though the distance, and that heav'nly ray 
Through which the sounds came floating, took 

away 
All that had been too earthly in the lay. 

Oh ! could he listen to such sounds unmoved, 
And by that light — nor dream of her he loved? 
Dream on, unconscious boy ! while yet thou may'st ; 
'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste. 
Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, 
Ere all the light, that made it dear, depart 
Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last, 
Clear, beautiful, by naught of earth o'ercast ; 
Recall her tears, to thee at parting giv'n, 
Pure as they weep, if angels weep, in Heav'n. 
Think, in her own still bower she waits thee now, 
With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, 
Yet shrined in solitude — thine all, thine only, 
Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely. 
Oh ! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy'd, 
Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy'd ! 

The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are 

flown, 
And he is left, musing of bliss, alone ; — 
Alone 1 — no, not alone — that heavy sigh, 
That sob of grief, which broke from some one 

nigh— 
Whose could it be ? — alas ! is misery found 
Here, even here, on this enchanted ground ? 
He turns, and sees a female form, close veil'd, 
Leaning, as if both heart and strength had fail'd, 

i The wife of Potiphar, thus named by the Orientals. 

" The passion which this frail beauty of antiquity conceiv- 
ed for her young Hebrew slave, has given rise to a much-es- 
teemed poem in the Persian language, entitled Yusef vau Ze- 
likha, by Noureddin Jami; the manuscript copy of which, 
in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, is supposed to be the 
finest in the whole world."— Note vpon Notts Translation 
of Hafez. 



Against a pillar near ; — not glitt'ring o'er 

With gems and wreaths, such as the others wore, 

But in that deep-blue, melancholy dress, 3 

Bokhara's maidens wear in mindfulness 

Of friends or kindred, dead or far away ; — 

And such as Zelica had on that day 

He left her — when, with heart too full to speak, 

He took away her last warm tears upon his cheek. 

A strange emotion stirs within him, — more 
Than mere compassion ever waked before ; 
Unconsciously he opes his arms, while she 
Springs forward, as with life's last energy, 
But, swooning in that one convulsive bound, 
Sinks, ere she reach his arms, upon the ground ;— 
Her veil falls off — her faint hands clasp his knees — 
'Tis she herself! — 'tis Zelica he sees ! 
But, ah, so pale, so changed — none but a lover 
Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover 
The once-adored divinity — ev'n he 
Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly 
Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gazed 
Upon those lids, where once such lustre blazed, 
Ere he could think she was indeed his own, 
Own darling maid, whom he so long had known 
In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both ; 
Who, ev'n when grief was heaviest — when loath 
He left her for the wars — in that worst hour 
Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night -flow'r, 4 
When darkness brings its weeping glories out, 
And spreads its sighs like frankincense about. 

" Look up, my Zelica — one moment show 
" Those gentle eyes to me, that I may know 
" Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, 
" But there, at least, shines as it ever shone. 
" Come, look upon thy Azim — one dear glance, 
" Like those of old, were heav'n ! whatever chance 
" Hath brought thee here, oh, 'twas a blessed on? ! 
" There — my loved lips — they move — that kiss haul 

run 
" Like the first shoot of life through every vein, 
" And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again. 
" Oh the delight — now, in this very hour, 
" When had the whole rich world been in my pow'r, 
" I should have singled out thee, only thee, 
" From the whoie world's collected treasury — 
" To have thee here — to hang thus fondly o'er 
" My own, best, purest Zelica once more !" 

2 The particulars of Mahomet's amour with Mary, the Cop- 
tic girl, in justification of which he added a new chapter to 
the Koran, may be found in Gagnier's Notes vpon Abulfeda, 
p. 151. 

3 "Deep blue is their mourning color." — Uanway. 

4 The sorrowful nyctanthes, which begins to spread its 
rich odor after sunset. 



392 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



It was indeed the touch of those fond lips 
Upon her eyes that chased their short eclipse, 
And, gradual as the snow, at Heaven's breath, 
Melts off and shows the azure flow'rs beneath, 
Her lids unclosed, and the bright eyes were seen 
Gazing on his — not, as they late had been, 
Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully serene ; 
As if to lie, ev'n for that tranced minute, 
So near his heart, had consolation in it ; 
And thus to wake in his beloved caress 
Took from her soul one half its wretchedness. 
But, when she heard him call her good and pure, 
Oh, 'twas too much — too dreadful to endure ! 
Shudd'ring she broke away from his embrace, 
And, hiding with both hands her guilty face, 
Said, in a tone whose anguish would have riv'n 
A heart of very marble, " Pure ! — oh Heav'n !"— 

That tone — those looks so changed — the wither- 
ing blight, 
That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light ; 
The dead despondency of those sunk eyes, 
Where once, had he thus met her by surprise, 
He would have seen himself, too happy boy, 
Reflected in a thousand lights of joy ; 
And then the place, — that bright, unholy place, 
Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace 
And charm of lux'ry, as the viper weaves 
Its wily cov'ring of sweet balsam leaves, 1 — 
All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold 
As death itself ; — it needs not to be told — 
No, no — he sees it all, plain as the brand 
Of burning shame can mark — whate'er the hand, 
That could from Heav'n and him such brightness 

sever, 
'Tis done — to Heav'n and him she's lost forever ! 
It was a dreadful moment ; not the tears, 
The ling'ring, lasting misery of years 
Could match that minute's anguish — all the worst 
Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst 
Broke o'er his soul, and, with one crash of fate, 
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate. 

" Oh ! curse me not," she cried, as wild he toss'd 
His desp'rate hand tow'rds Heav'n — " though I am 

lost, 
" Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall, 
" No, no — 'twas grief, 'twas madness did it all ! 
" Nay, doubt me not — though all thy love hath 



" I know it hath — yet, yet believe, at least, 
" That every spark of reason's light must be 
" Quench'd in this brain, ere I could stray from thee. 

i " Concerning the vipers, which Pliny says were frequent 
among the balsam-trees, I made very particular inquiry ; 



" They told me thou wert dead — why, Azim, why 

" Did we not, both of us, that instant die 

" When we were parted ? oh ! couldst thou but 

know 
" With what a deep devotedness of wo 
" I wept thy absence — o'er and o'er again 
"Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew 

pain, 
" And mem'ry, like a drop that, night and day, 
" Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away. 
" Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home, 
" My eyes still turn'd the way thou wert to come, 
" And, all the let g, long night of hope and fear, 
" Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear — 
" Oh God ! thou wouldst not wonder that, at last, 
" When every hope was all at once o'ercast, 
" When I heard frightful voices round me say 
" Azim is dead ! — this wretched brain gave way, 
" And I became a wreck, at random driven, 
" Without one glimpse of reason or of Heav'n — 
" All wild — and even this quenchless love within 
" Turn'd to foul fires to light me into sin ! — 
" Thou pitiest me — I knew thou wouldst — that 

sky 
" Hath naught beneath it half so lorn as I. 
" The fiend, who lured me hither — hist ! come 

near, 
" Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear — 
" Told me such things — oh ! with such dev'lish art, 
" As would have ruin'd ev'n a holier heart — 
" Of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere, 
" Where bless'd at length, if I but served him here, 
" I should forever live in thy dear sight, 
" And drink from those pure eyes eternal light. 
" Think, think how lost, how madden'd I must be, 
" To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee ! 
" Thou weep'st for me — do weep — oh, that I durst 
" Kiss off that tear ! but, no — these lips are cursed, 
" They must not touch thee ; — one divine caress, 
" One blessed moment of forgetfulness 
" I've had within those arms, and that shall lie, 
" Shrined in my soul's deep mem'ry till I die ; 
" The last of joy's last relics here below, 
" The one sweet drop, in all this waste of wo,< 
" My heart has treasured from affection's spring, 
"To sooth and cool its deadly withering! 
" But thou — yes, thou must go — forever go ; 
" This place is not for thee — for thee ! oh no : 
" Did I but tell thee half, thy tortured brain 
" Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again ! 
" Enough, that Guilt reigns here — that hearts, once 

good, 
" Now tainted, chill'd, and broken, are his food. — 



several were brought me alive both to Yambo and Jidda."- 
Bruce. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



393 



" Enough, that we are parted — that there rolls 
" A flood of headlong fate between our souls, 
" Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee 
" As hell from heav'n, to all eternity !" 

" Zelica, Zelica !" the youth exclaim'd, 
In all the tortures of a mind inflamed 
Almost to madness — " by that sacred Heav'n, 
" Where yet, if pray'rs can move, thou'lt be for- 

giv'n, 
" As thou art here — here, in this writhing heart, 
" All sinful, wild, and ruin'd as thou art ! 
" By the remembrance of our once pure love, 
" Which, like a churchyard light, still burns above 
" The grave of our lost souls — which guilt in thee 
" Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me ! 
" I do conjure, implore thee to fly hence — 
" If thou hast yet one spark of innocence, 
" Fly with me from this place" — 

" With thee ! oh bliss ! 
" 'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this. 
" What ! take the lost one with thee ? — let her rove 
" By thy dear side, as in those days of love, 
" When we were both so happy, both so pure— 
" Too heav'nly dream ! if there's on earth a cure 
" For the sunk heart, 'tis this — day after day 
•* To be the bless'd companion of thy way ; 
" To hear thy angel eloquence — to see 
" Those virtuous eyes forever turn'd on me ; 
" And, in their light rechasten'd silently, 
" Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun, 
" Grow pure by being purely shone upon ! 
" And thou wilt pray for me — I know thou wilt — 
<*At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt 
"Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou'lt lift thine 

eyes, 
" Full of sweet tears, unto the dark'ning skies, 
" And plead for me with Heav'n, till I can dare 
" To fix my own weak, sinful glances there ; 
" Till the good angels, when they see me cling 
" Forever nea/ thee, pale and sorrowing, 
" Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiv'n, 
" And bid thee take thy weeping slave to Heav'n ! 

" Oh yes, I'll fly with thee " 

Scarce had she said 
Theso breathless words, when a voice deep and 

dread 
As that of Monker, waking up the dead 
From their first sleep — so startling 'twas to both — 
Rung through the casement near, " Thy oath ! thy 

oath !" 
Oh Heav'n, the ghastliness of that Maid's look ! — 
" 'Tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook 



1 " In the territory of Istkahax there is a kind of apple, 
half of which is sweet and half sour."— Ebn Haukal. 



Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes, 
Though through the casement, now, naught but 

the skies 
And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before — 
" 'Tis he, and I am his — all, all is o'er — 
" Go — fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd too — 
" My oath, my oath, oh God ! 'tis all too true, 
" True as the worm in this cold heart it is — 
" I am Mokanna's bride — his, Azim, his— 
" The Dead stood round us, while I spoke that vow, 
" Their blue lips echo'd it — I hear them now ! 
" Tlieir eyes glared on me, while I pledged that bowl, 
" 'Twas burning blood — I feel it in my soul ! 
"And the Veil'd Bridegroom — hist! I've seen to- 
night 
" What angels know not of — so foal a sight, 
" So horrible — oh ! never may'st thou see 
" What there lies hid from all but hell and me ! 
" But I must hence — off, off— I am not thine, 
"Nor Heav'n's, nor Love's, nor aught that is 

divine — 
" Hold me not — ha ! think'st thou the fiends that 

sever 
"Hearts, cannot sunder hands? — thus, then — for- 



With all that strength, which madness lends the 
weak, I 

She flung away his arm ; and, with a shriek, 
Whose sound, though he should linger out more 

years 
Than wretch e'er told, can never leave his ears — > 
Flew up through that long avenue of light, 
Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of night, 
Across the sun, and soon was out of sight ! 



Lalla Rookh could think of nothing all day but 
the misery of these two young lovers. Her gayety 
was gone, and she looked pensively even upo. 
FitDLADEEN. She felt, too, without knowing why, 
a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that Azim 
must have been just such a youth as Feraiviorz ; 
just as worthy to enjoy all the blessings, without 
any of the pangs, of that illusive passion, which too 
often, like the sunny apples of Istkahar, 1 is all 
sweetness on one side, and all bitterness on the 
other. 

As they passed along a sequestered river after 
sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the 
bank, 2 whose employment seemed to them so 



2 For an account of this ceremony, see Grandpres Voyage 
in the Indian Ocean. 



394 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



strange, that they stopped their palankeens to ob- 
serve her. She had lighted a small lamp, filled with 
oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen dish, 
adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it 
with a trembling hand to the stream ; and was now 
anxiously watching its progress down the current, 
heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up 
beside her. Lalla Rookh was all curiosity; — 
when one of her attendants, who had lived upon 
the banks of the Ganges, (where this ceremony is 
so frequent, that often, in the dusk of the evening, 
the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like 
the Oton-Tala, or Sea of Stars, 1 ) informed the 
Princess that it was the usual way in which the 
friends of those who had gone on dangerous 
voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If 
the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was dis- 
astrous; but if it went shining down the stream, 
and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the 
return of the beloved object was considered as 
certain. 

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than 
once looked back, to observe how the young Hin- 
doo's lamp proceeded ; and while she saw with 
pleasure that it was still unextinguished, she could 
not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were 
no better than that feeble light upon the river. The 
remainder of the journey was passed in silence. 
She now, for the first time, felt that shade of 
melancholy which comes over the youthful maid- 
en's heart, as sweet and transient as her own breath 
upon a mirror ; nor was it till she heard the lute of 
Feramokz, touched lightly at the door of her 
pavilion, that she waked from the revery in which 

i " The place where the Whangho, a river of Thibet, rises, 
and where there are more than a hundred springs, which 
sparkle like stars ; whence it is called Hotun-nor, that is, the 
Sea of Stars." — Description of Thibet in Pinkerton. 

2 "The Lescar or Impend Camp is divided, like a regular 
town, into squares, alleys, and streets, and from a rising 
ground furnishes one of the most agreeable prospects in the 
world. Starting up in a few hours in an uninhabited plain, 
it raises the idea of a city built by enchantment. Even those 
who leave their houses in cities to follow the Prince in his 
progress, are frequently so charmed with the Lescar, when 
situated in a beautiful and convenient place, that they can- 
not prevail with themselves to remove. To prevent this in- 
convenience to the court, the Emperor, after sufficient time 
is allowed to the tradesmen to follow, orders them to be 
burnt out of their tents."— Dow , s Hindostan. 

Colonel Wilks gives a lively picture of an Eastern en- 
campment :— " His camp, like that of most Indian armies, 
exhibited a motley collection of covers from the scorching 
sun and dews of the night, variegated according to the taste 
or means of each individual, by extensive enclosures of col- 
ored calico surrounding superb suites of tents; by ragged 
clothes or blankets stretched over sticks or branches ; palm 
leaves hastily spread over similar supports ; handsome tents 
and splendid canopies ; horses, oxen, elephants, and camels ; 
all intermixed without any exterior mark of order or design, 



she had been wandering Instantly her eyes were 
lighted up with pleasure ; and, after a few unheard 
remarks from Fadladeen upon the indecorum of a 
poet seating himself in presence of a Princess, 
every thing was arranged as on the preceding eve- 
ning, and all listened with eagerness, while the story 
was thus continued : — 



Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way, 
Where all was waste and silent yesterday ? 
This City of War which, in a few short hours, 
Hath sprung up here, 2 as if the magic powers 
Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star, 
Built the high pillar'd ha Js of Chilmlnar,* 
Had conjured up, far as the eye can see, 
This world of leiits, and domes, and sun -bright 

armory : — 
Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold 
Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold " — 
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun, 
Their chains and poitrels glitt'ring in the sun ; 
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells,* 
Shaking in every breeze their light-toned bells I 

But yester-eve, so motionless around, 
So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound 
But the far torrent, or the locust bird 5 
Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ; — 
Yet hark ! what discords now, of ev'ry kind, 
Shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in th* 

wind ; 
The neigh of cavalry ; — the tinkling throngs % 

Of laden camels and their drivers' 



except the flags of the chiefs, which usually mark the cen- 
tres of a congeries of these masses ; the only regular part of 
the encampment being the streets of shops, each of which 
is constructed nearly in the manner of a booth at an English 
fair." — Historical Sketches of the South of India. 

3 The edifices of Chilminar and Balbec are supposed to 
have been built by the Genii, acting under the orders of Jan 
ben Jan, who governed the world long before the time of 
Adam 

4 "A superb camel, ornamented with strings &nd tufts of 
small shells."— Mi Bey. 

5 A native of Khorassan, and allured southward by means 
of the water of a fountain hetween Shiraz and Ispahan, 
called the Fountain of Birds, of which it is so fond that it 
will follow wherever that water is carried. 

6 " Some of the camels have bells about their necks, and 
some about their legs, like those which our carriers put about 
their fore-horses' necks, which, together with the servants, 
(who belong to the camels, and travel on foot,) singing all 
night, make a pleasant noise, and the journey passes away 
delightfully."— Pitt's Account of the Mahometans. 

" The camel-driver follows the camels singing, and some- 
times playing upon his pipe ; the louder he sings and pipes, 
the faster the camels go. Nay, they will stand still when 
he gives over his music." — Tavernier. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



395 



Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze 
Of streamers from ten thousand canopies ; — 
War-music, bursting out from time to time, 
With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ; — 
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute, 
The mellow breathings of some horn or flute, 
That far off, broken by the eagle note 
Of th' Abyssinian trumpet, 1 swell and float. 

Who leads this mighty army? — ask ye " who?" 
And mark ye not those banners of dark hue, 
The Night and Shadow, 2 over yonder tent? — 
It is the Caliph's glorious armament. 
Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms, 
That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms, 
And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd 
Defiance fierce at Islam 3 and the world, — 
Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind 
The veils of his bright Palace calm reclined, 
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should stain, 
Thus unrevenged, the evening of his reign ; 
But, having sworn upon the Holy Grave 4 
To conquer or to perish, once more gave 
His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze, 
And with an army, nursed in victories, 
Here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun 
His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun. 

Ne'er did the march of Mahadi display 
Such pomp before ; — not ev'n when on his way 
To Mecca's Temple, when both land and sea 
Were spoil'd to feed the Pilgrim's luxury ; 6 
When round him, mid the burning sands, he saw 
Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, 
And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the glow 
Of Mecca's sun, with urns of Persian snow : 6 — 
Nor e'er did armament more grand than that 
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliph at. 

i " This trumpet is often called, in Abyssinia, nesser cano, 
which signifies the Note of the Eagle."— Note of Br'uce's 
Editor. 

2 The two black standards borne before the Caliphs of the 
House of Abbas were called, allegorical ly, The Night and 
The Shadow.— See Gibbon. 

3 The Mahometan religion. 

4 " The Persians swear by the Tomb of Shah Besade, who 
is buried at Casbin ; and when one desires another to assev- 
erate a matter, he will ask him if he dare swear by the Holy 
Grave." — Struy. 

6 Mahadi, in a single pilgrimage to Mecca, expended six 
millions of dinars of gold. 

6 Nivem Meccam apportavit, rem ibi aut nunqur.m aut 
raro visam. — Abulfeda. » 

7 The inhabitants of Hejaz or Arabia Petraa, called by an 
Eastern writer "The People of the Rock."— Ebn Haukal. 

8 " Those horses, called by the Arabians Kochlani, of 
whom a written genealogy has been kept for 2000 years. 
They are said to derive their origin from King Solomon's 
steeds." — Niebuhr. 

9 " Many of the figures on the blades of their swords are 



First, in the van, the People of the Rock, 7 
On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock : 8 
Then, chieftains of Damascus, proud to see 
The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry f — 
Men, from the regions near the Volga's mouth, 
Mix'd with the rude, black archers of the South ; 
And Indian lancers, in white turban'd ranks, 
From the far Sinde, or Attock's sacred banks, 
With dusky legions from the Land of Myrrh, 30 
And many a mace-arm'd Moor and Mid-sea islander 

Nor less in number, though more new and rude 
In warfare's school, was the vast multitude * 

That, fired by zeal, or by oppression wrong'd, 
Round the white standard of th' impostor throng'd. 
Beside his thousands of Believers — blind, 
Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind — 
Many who felt, and more who fear'd to feel 
The bloody Islamite's converting steel, 
Flock'd to his banner ; — Chiefs of th' Uzbek race, 
Waving their heron crests with martial grace ; u 
Turkomans, countless as their flocks, led forth 
From th' aromatic pastures of the North ; 
Wild warriors of the turquoise hills, 32 — and those 
Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows 
Of Hindoo Kosh, 13 in stormy freedom bred, 
Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed. 
But none, of all who own'd the Chief's com- 
mand, 
Rush'd to that battle-field with bolder hand, 
Or sterner hate, than Iran's outlaw'd men, 14 
Her Worshippers of Fire — all panting then 
For vengeance on th' accursed Saracen ; 
Vengeance at last for their dear country spurn'd, 
Her throne usurp'd, and her bright shrines o'er- 

turn'd. 
From Yezd's 15 eternal Mansion of the Fire, 
Where aged saints in dreams of Heav'n expire : 

wrought in gold or silver, or in marquetry with small gems." 
— Jlsiat. Misc. v. i. 

™ Azab or Saba. 

11 "The chiefs of the Uzbek Tartars wear a plume of 
white heron's feathers in their turbans." — Account of Inde- 
pendent Tartary. 

w In the mountains of Nishapour and Tons (in Khoras- 
san) they find turquoises. — Ebn Haukal. 

13 For a description of these stupendous ranges of moun- 
tains, see Elphinstone' s Caubul. 

" The Ghebers or Guebres, those original natives of Per- 
sia who adhered to their ancient faith, the religion of Zoro- 
aster, and who, after the conquest of their country by the 
Arabs, were either persecuted at home, or forced to become 
wanderers abroad. 

j5 »Yezd, the chief residence of tho^e ancient natives, 
who worship the Sun and the Fire, which latter they have 
carefully kept lighted, without being once extinguished for 
a moment, about 3000 years, on a mountain near Yezd, 
called Ater Quedah, signifying the House or Mansion of the 
Fire. He is reckoned very unfortunate who dies oil' that 
mountain." — Stephen's Persia. 



396 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



From Badku, and those fountains of blue flame 
That burn into the Caspian, 1 fierce they came, 
Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, 
So vengeance triumph'd, and their tyrants bled. 

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, 
That high in air their motley banners toss'd 
Around the Prophet-Chief — all eyes still bent 
L'pon that glittering Veil, where'er it went, 
That beacon through the battle's stormy flood, 
That rainbow of the field, whose showers were 
blood ! 

Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set, 
And risen again, and found them grappling yet; 
While streams of carnage in his noontide blaze, 
Smoke up to Heav'n — hot as that crimson haze, 
By which the prostrate Caravan is awed, 2 
In the red Desert, when the wind's abroad. 
" On, Swords of God !" the panting Caliph calls, — 
" Thrones for the living — Heav'n for him who 

falls !"— 
" On, brave avengers, on," Mokanna cries, 
" And Eblis blast the recreant slave that flies !" 
Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day— 
They clash — they strive — the Caliph's troops give 

way ! 
Mokanna's self plucks the black Banner down, 
And now the Orient World's Imperial crown 
Is just within his grasp — when, hark, that shout ! 
Some hand hath check'd the flying Moslem's rout ; 
And now they turn, they rally — at their head 
A warrior, (like those angel youths who led, 
In glorious panoply of Heav'n's own mail, 
The Champions of the Faith through Beder's 

vale, 3 ) 
Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, 
Turns on the fierce pursuer's blades, and drives 
At once the multitudinous torrent back — 
While hope and courage kindle in his track ; 
And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes 
Terrible vistas through which vict'ry breaks ! 
In vain Mokanna, midst the general flight, 
Stands, like the red moon, on some stormy night, 
Among the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by, 
Leave only her unshaken in the sky — 



i " When the weather is hazy, the springs of Naphtha (on 
an island near Baku) boil up the higher, and the Naphtha 
often takes fire on the surface of the earth, and runs in a 
flame into the sea to a distance almost incredible." — Han- 
way on the Everlasting Fire at Baku. 

2 Savary says of the south wind, which blows in Egypt 
from February to May, "Sometimes it appears only in the 
shape of an impetuous whirlwind, which passes rapidly, and 
is fatal to the traveller, surprised in the middle of the deserts. 
Torrents of burning sand roll before it, the firmament is en- 



In vain he yells his desperate curses out, 
Deals death promiscuously to all about, 
To foes that charge and coward friends that fly, 
And seems of all the Great Arch-enemy. 
The panic spreads — " A miracle !" throughout 
The Moslem ranks, " a miracle !" they shout, 
All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems 
A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams ; 
And ev'ry sword, true as o'er billows dim 
The needle tracks the load-star, following him ! 

Right tow'rds Mokanna now he cleaves his 

path, 
Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath 
He bears from Heav'n withheld its awful burst 
From weaker heads, and souls but half way cursed, 
To break o'er Him, the mightiest and the worst ! 
But vain his speed — though, in that hour of 

blood, 
Had all God's seraphs round Mokanna stood, 
With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, 
Mokanna's soul would have defied them all ; 
Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong 
For human force, hurries ev'n him along : 
In vain he struggles 'mid the wedged array 
Of flying thousands — he is borne away ; 
And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, 
In this forced flight, is — murd'ring as he goes ! 
As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might 
Surprises in some parch'd ravine at night, 
Turns, ev'n in drowning, on the wretched flocks, 
Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, 
And, to the last, devouring on his way, 
Bloodies the stream ho hath not power to stay. 

" Alia ilia Alia !" — the glad shout renew — 
" Alia Akbar !" 4 — the Caliph's in Merou. 
Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, 
And light your shrines and chant your ziraleets. 5 
The Swords of God have triumph'd- on his 

throne 
Your Caliph sits, and the veil'd Chief hath flown. 
Who does not envy that young warrior now, 
To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow, 
In all the graceful gratitude of power, 
For his throne's safety in that perilous hour? 



velopcd in a thick veil, and the sun appears of the color of 
blood. Sometimes whole caravans are buried in it." 

3 In the great victory gained by Mahomet at Beder, he was 
assisted, say the Mussulmans, by three thousand angels, led 
by Gabriel, mounted on his horse Hiazum.— See The Koran 
and its Commentators. 

* The Tecbir, or cry of the Arabs. " Aila Acbar i" says 
Ockley, means, "God is most mighty." 

5 The ziraleet is a kind of chorus, which the women of 
the East sing upon joyful occasions.— Russel. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



397 



Who doth not wonder, when, amidst th' acclaim 
Of thousands, heralding to heaven his name — 
'Mid all those holier harmonies of fame, 
Which sound along the path of virtuous souls, 
Like music round a planet as it rolls,— 
He turns away — coldly, as if some gloom 
Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume ; — 
Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze 
Though glory's light may play, in vain it plays. 
Yes, wretched Azim ! thine is such a grief, 
Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief ; 
A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break, 
Or warm or brighten, — like that Syrian Lake, 1 
Upon whose surface morn and summer shed 
Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead ! — 
Hearts there have been, o'er which this weight of wo 
Came by long use of sufFring, tame and slow ; 
But thine, lost youth ! was sudden — over thee 
It broke at once, when all seem'd ecstasy ; 
When Hope look'd up, and saw the gloomy Past 
Melt into splendor, and Bliss dawn at last — 
'Twas then, evn then, o'er joys so freshly blown, 
This mortal blight of misery came down ; 
Ev'n then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart 
Were check'd — like fount-drops, frozen as they 

start — 
And there, like them, cold, sunless relics hang, 
Each fix'd and chill'' d into a lasting pang. 

One sole desire, one passion now remains 
To keep life's fever still within his veins, 
Vengeance ! — dire vengeance on the wretch who 

cast 
O'er him and all he loved that ruinous blast. 
For this, when rumors reach'd him in his flight 
Far, far away, after that fatal night, — 
Rumors of armies, thronging to th' attack 
Of the VeiFd Chief, — for this he wing'd him back, 
Fleet as the vultmri speeds to flags unfurl'd, 
And, when all hope seem'#desp'rate, wildly hurl'd 
Himself into the scale, and saved a world. 
For this he still lives on, careless of all 
The wreaths that Glory on his path lets fall ; 
For this alone exists — like lightning-fire, 
To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire ! 

But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives ; 
With a small band of desp'rate fugitives, 
The last sole stubborn fragment, left unriw'n, 
Of the proud host that late stood fronting Heav'n, 



i The Dead Sea, which contains neither animal nor vege- 
table life. 
8 The ancient Oxus. 

* A city of Transoxiana. 

* " You never can cast your eyes on this tree, but you 
areet theu? either blossoms or fruit ; and as the blossom drops 



He gain'd Merou — breathed a short curse of 

blood 
O'er his lost throne — then pass'd the Jihon's 

flood, 2 
And gath'ring all, whose madness of belief 
Still saw a Saviour in their down-fall'n Chief, 
Raised the white banner within Neksheb's gates, 3 
And there, untamed, th' approaching conq'ror waits. 

Of all his Haram, all that busy hive 
With music and with sweets sparkling alive, 
He took but one, the partner of his flight, 
One — not for love — not for her beauty's light — 
No, Zelica stood with'ring 'midst the gay, 
Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday 
From th' Alma tree and dies, while overhead 
To-day's young flow'r is springing in its stead/ 
Oh, not for love — the deepest Damn'd must be 
Touch'd with Heaven's glory, ere such fiends as he I 
Can feel one glimpse of Love's divinity. 
But no, she is his victim ; — there lie all 
Her charms for him — charms that can never pall, 
As long as hell within his heart can stir, 
Or one faint trace of Heaven is jjit in her. 
To work an angel's ruin, — to behold 
As white a page as Virtue e'er unrcll'd 
Blacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll 
Of damning sins, seal'd with a burning soul — 
This is his triumph ; this the joy accursed, 
That ranks him among demons all but first : 
This gives the victim, that before him lies 
Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes, 
A light like that with which hell-fire illumes 
The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes ! 

But other tasks now wait him — tasks that need 
All the deep daringness of thought and deed 
With which the Dives 6 have gifted him — for 

mark, 
Over yon plains, which night had else made dark, 
Those lanterns, countless as the winged lights 
That spangle India's fields on show'ry nights, 6 — 
Far as their formidable gleams they shed, 
The mighty tents of the beleaguerer spread, 
Glimm'ring along th' horizon's dusky line, 
And thence in nearer circles, till they shine 
Among the founts and groves, o'er which the town 
In all its arm'd magnificence looks down. 
Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements 
Mokanna views that multitude of tents ; 



underneath on the ground (which is frequently covered with 
these purple-colored flowers) others come forth in their 
stead," &c. &cc.—JVieuhoff. 

5 The Demons of the Persian mythology. 

6 Carreri mentions the fire-flies in India during the rainy 
season. — See his Travels 



398 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Nay, smiles to think that, though entoiled, beset, 
Not less than myriads dare to front him yet ; — 
That friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay, 
Ev'n thus a match for myriads such as they. 
" Oh, for a sweep of that dark Angel's wing, 
" Who brush'd the thousands of th' Assyrian 

King 1 
" To darkness in a moment, that I might 
" People Hell's chambers with yon host to-night ! 
" But, come what may, let who will grasp the 

throne, 
" Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall groan ; 
" Let who will torture him, Priest — Caliph — 

King — 
" Alike this loathsome world of his shall ring 
" With victims' shrieks and howlings of the slave, — 
" Sounds, that shall glad me ev'n within my 

grave !" 
Thus, to himself — but to the scanty train 
Still left around him, a far different strain : — 
" Glorious Defenders of the sacred Crown 
" I bear from Heav'n, whose light nor blood shall 

drown 
" Nor shadow of earth eclipse ; — before whose 

gems 
" The paly pomp of this world's diadems, 
" The crown of Gerashid, the pillar'd throne 
" Of Parviz, 2 and the heron crest that shone, 3 
" Magnificent, o'er Ali's beauteous eyes, 4 
" Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies : 
" Warriors, rejoice — the port to which we've pass'd 
" O'er Destiny's dark wave, beams out at last ! 
' v ict'ry's our own — 'tis written in that Book 
" Upon whose leaves none but the angels look, 
" That Islam's sceptre shall beneath the power 
" Of her great foe fall broken in that hour, 
" When the moon's mighty orb, before all eyes, 
" From Neksheb's Holy Well portentously shall 

rise ! 

i Sennacherib, called by the Orientals King of Moussal. — 
D'Herbelot. 

2 Chosroes. For the description of his Throne or Palace, 
see Gibbon and Z>' Herbelot. 

There were said to be under this Throne or Palace of 
Khosrou Parviz a hundred vaults filled with " treasures so 
immense that some Mahometan writers tell us, their Prophet, 
to encourage his disciples, carried them to a rock, which at 
his command opened, and gave them a prospect through it 
of the treasures of Khosrou." — Universal History. 

3 "The crown of Gerashid is cloudy and tarnished before 
the heron tuft of thy turban." — From one of the elegies or 
songs in praise of AH, written in characters of gold round 
the gallery of Abbas's tomb. — See Char din. 

■> The beauty of Ali's eyes was so remarkable, that when- 
ever the Persians would describe any thing as very lovely 
they say it is Ayn Hali, or the Eyes of Ali. — Chardin. 

5 We are not told more of this trick of the Impostor, than 
that it was "une machine, qu'il disoit etre la Lune." Ac- 
cording to Richardson, the miracle is perpetuated in Neks- 
cheb.— "Nakshab, the name of a city in Transoxiana, where 



" Now turn and see !" 

They turn'd, and, as he spoke, 
A sudden splendor all around them broke, 
And they beheld an orb, ample and bright, 
Rise from the Holy Well, 6 and cast its light 
Round the rich city and the plain for miles, 6 — 
Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded tiles 
Of many a dome and fair-roof 'd imaret, 
As autumn suns shed round them when they set 
Instant from all who saw th' illusive sign 
A murmur broke — " Miraculous ! divine !" 
The Gheber bow'd, thinking his idol star 
Had waked, and burst impatient through the bar 
Of midnight, to inflame him to the war ; 
While he of Moussa's creed saw, in that ray, 
The glorious Light which, in his freedom's day, 
Had rested on the Ark, 7 and now again 
Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain. 

" To victory !" is at once i>e cry of all — 
Nor stands Mokanna loit'ring at that call ; 
But instant the huge gates are flung aside, 
And forth, like a diminutive mountain-tide 
Into the boundless sea, they speed their course 
Right on into the Moslem's mighty force. 
The watchmen of the camp, — who, in their rounds, 
Had paused, and ev'n forgot the punctual sounds 
Of the small drum with which they count the night, 8 
To gaze upon that supernatural light, — 
Now sink beneath an unexpected arm, 
And in a death-groan give their last alarm. 
" On for the lamps, that light yon lofty screen, 9 
" Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean ; 
" There rests the Caliph — speed — one lucky lance 
" May now achieve mankind's deliverance." 
Desp'rate the die — such as they only cast, 
Who venture for a world, and stake their last. 
But Fate's no longer with him — blade for blade 
Springs up to meet them thro' the glimm'ring shade, 

they say there is a well, in which the appearance of the 
moon is to be seen night and day." 

c "Ilamusa pendant deux mois le peuple de la ville de 
Nekhscheb, en faisant sortir toutes les nuits du fond d'un 
puits un corps lumineux semblable a la Lune, qui portoit 
sa lumiere jusqu'a la distance de plusieurs milles."— D'Her- 
belot. Hence he was called Sazendehmah, or the Moon- 
maker. 

7 The Shechinah, called Sakinat in the Koran.— See Sale's 
Note, chap. ii. 

8 The parts of the night are made known as well by in- 
struments of music, as by the rounds < f the watchmen with 
cries and small drums. — See Burdens Oriental Customs, vol. 
i., p. 119. 

9 The Serrapurda, high screens of red cloth, stiffened with 
cane, used to enclose a considerable space round the royal 
tents. — JV tes on the Bahardanush . 

The teii ts of Princes were generally illuminated. Norden 
tells us lh.it the tent of the Bey of Girge was distinguished 
from the other tents by forty lanterns being suspended before 
it. — See Harrier's Observations on Job. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



399 



And, as the clash is heard, new legions soon 
Pour to the spot, like bees of Kauzeroon 1 
To the shrill timbrel's summons, — till, at length, 
The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength, 
And back to Neksheb's gates, covering the plain 
With random slaughter, drives the adventurous 

train ; 
Among the last of whom the Silver Veil 
Is seen glitt'ring at times, like the white sail 
Of some toss'd vessel, on a stormy night, 
Catching the tempest's momentary light ! 

And hath not this brought the proud spirit low ? 
Nor dash'd his brow, nor check'd his daring ? No. 
Though half the wretches, whom at night he led 
To thrones and vict'ry, he disgraced and dead, 
Yet morning hears him with unshrinking crest, 
Still vaunt of thrones, and vict'ry to the rest ; — 
And they believe him ! — oh, the lover may 
Distrust that look which steals his soul away ; — 
The babe may cease to think that it can play 
With Heaven's rainbow ; — alchymists may doubt 
The shining gold their crucible gives out ; 
But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast 
To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. 

And well th' Impostor knew all hues and arts, 
That Lucifer e'er taught to tangle hearts ; 
Nor, 'mid these last bold workings of his plot 
Against men's souls, is Zelica forgot. 
Ill-fated Zelica ! had reason been 
Awake, through half the horrors thou hast seen, 
Thou never couldst have borne it — Death had come 
At once, and taken thy wrung spirit home. 
But 'twas not so — a torpor, a suspense 
Of thought, almost of life, came o'er the intense 
And passionate struggles of that fearful night, 
"When her last hope of peace and heav'n took flight : 
And though, at times, a gleam of phrensy broke, — 
As though some dull volcano's vale of smoke 



1 "From the sroves of orange trees atKauzeroon the bees 
cull a celebrated honey. " — JSIorier's Travels. 

2 " A custom still subsisting at this day, seems to me to 
prove that the Egyptians formerly sacrificed a young virgin 
to the God of the Nile ; for they now make a statue of earth 
in shape of a girl, to which they give the name of the Be- 
trothed Bride, and throw it into the river."— Savary. 

3 That they knew the secret of the Greek fire among the 
Mussulmans early in the eleventh century, appears from 
Dow's Account of Mamood I. " When he arrived at Moul- 
tan, finding that the country of the Jits was defended by- 
great rivers, he ordered fifteen hundred boats to be built, 
each of which he armed with six iron spikes, projecting from 
their prows and sides, to prevent their being boarded by the 
enemy, who were very expert in that kind of war. When 
he had launched this fleet, he ordered twenty archers into 
each boat, and five others with fire-balls, to burn the craft 
of the Jits, and naphtha to set the whole river on fire." 

The agnee aster, too, in Indian poems the Instrument of 



Ominous flashings now and then will start, 
Which show the fire's still busy at its heart , 
Yet was she mostly wrapp'd in solemn gloom,— > 
Not such as Azlm's, brooding o'er its doom, 
And calm without, as is the brow of death, 
While busy worms are gnawing underneath — 
But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free 
From thought or pain, a seal'd-up apathy, 
Which left tier oft, with scarce one living thrill, 
The cold, pale victim of her tort'rer's will. 

Again, as in Merotj, he hu 1 her deck'd 
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect ; 
And led her glitt'ring forth before the eyes 
Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice, — 
Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride 
Of the fierce Nile, when, deck'd in all the pride 
Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide. 2 
And while the wretched maid hung down her head, 
And stood, as one just risen from the dead, 
Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell 
His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell 
Possess'd her now, — and from that darken' d trance 
Should dawn ere long their Faith's deliverance. 
Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shame, 
Her soul was roused, and words of wildness came, 
Instant the bold blasphemer would translate 
Her ravings into oracles of fate, 
Would hail Heav'n's signals in her flashing eyes, 
And call her shrieks the language of the skies ! 

But vain at length his arts — despair is seen 
Gath'ring around ; and famine comes to glean 
All that the sword had left unre?/d: — in vain 
At morn and eve across the nor .hern plain 
He looks impatient for the promised spears 
Of the wild Hordes and Tartar mountaineers ; 
They come not — while lus fierce beleaguerers 

pour 
Engines of havoc in, unknown hefore, 8 

Fire, whose flame cannot be extinguished, is supposed to 
signify the Greek Fire.— See Wilks's South of India, vol. i. 
p. 471. — And in the curious Javan poem, the Brata, Yudha, 
given by Sir Stamford Raffles in his History of Java, we 
find, "He aimed at the heart of Soeta with the sharp- 
pointed Weapon of Fire." 

The mention of gunpowder as in use among the Arabians, 
long before its supposed discovery in Europe, is introduced by 
Ebn Fadkl, the Egyptian geographer, who lived in the thir- 
teenth century. "Bodies," he says, "in the form of scor- 
pions, bound round and filled with nitrous powder, glide 
along, making a gentle noise ; then, exploding, they lighten, 
as it were, and burn. But there are others which, cast into 
the air, stretch along like a cloud, roaring horribly, as thun- 
der roars, and on all sides vomiting out flames, burst, burn, 
and reduce to cinders whatever comes in their way." The 
historian Ben Jlbdalla, in speaking of the sieges of Abulu- 
alid in the year of the Hegira 712, says, " A fiery globe, by 
means of combustible matter, with a mighty noise suddenly 



400 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And horrible as new f — javelins, that fly 
fcawreatti'd with smoky flames through the dark 

sky, 
And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mount, 
Discharge, as from a kindled Naphtha fount, 3 
Show'rs of consuming fire o'er all below ; 
Looking, as through th' illumined night they go, 
Like those wild birds 3 that by the Magians oft, 
At festivals of fire, were sent aloft 
Into the air, with blazing fagots tied 
To their huge wings, scatt'ring combustion wide. 
All night the groans of wretches who expire, 
In agony, beneath these darts of fire, 
Ring through the city — while, descending o'er 
Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore, — 
Its lone bazars, with their bright cloths of gold, 
Since the last peaceful pageant left unrolFd, — 
Its beauteous marble baths, whose idle jets 
Now gash with blood, — and its tall minarets, 
That late have stood up in the evening glare 
Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer ; — 
O'er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bclcs fall, 
And death and conflagration throughout all 
The desolate city hold high festival ! 

Mokanna sees the world is his no more ; — 
One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er. 
" What ! drooping now ?" — thus, with unblushing 

cheek, 
He hails the few, who yet can hear him speak, 
Of all those famish'd slaves around him lying, 
And by the light of blazing temples dying ; — 
" What ! — drooping now ? — now, when at length we 

press 
" Home o'er the vt ry threshold of success ; 
" When Alla from our ranks hath thinn'd away 
" Those grosser branches, that kept out his ray 
" Of favor from us, and we stand at length 
" Heirs of his light and children of his strength, 
" The chosen few, who shall survive the fall 
" Of Kings and Thrones, triumphant over all ! 



emitted, strikes with the force of lightning, and shakes the 
citadel." — See the extracts from CasirVs Biblioth. Arab. 
Hispan. in the Appendix to Bcrington's literary History of 
the Middle Ages. 

i The Greek fire, which was occasionally lent by the em- 
perors to their allies. "It was," says Gibbon, "either 
launched in red-hot balls of stone and iron, or darted in ar- 
rows and javelins, twisted round with flax and tow, which 
had deeply imbibed the inflammable oil." 

2 See Hu.nwaifs Account of the Springs of Naphtha at Baku 
(which is called by Lieutenant Pottinger Joala Mookee, or, 
the Flaming Mouth) taking fire and running into the sea. 
Dr. Cooke, in' his Journal, mentions some wells in Circassia, 
strongly impregnated with this inflammable oil, from which 
issues boiling water. "Though the weather," he adds, 
" was now very cold, the warmth of these wells of hot water 
produced near them the verdure and flowers of spring." 



" Have you then lost, weak murm'rers as you are, 

" All faith in him, who was your Light, your Star ? 

" Have you forgot the eye of glory, hid 

" Beneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid 

" Could, like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither 

" Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither ? 

" Long have its lightnings slept — too lo:Ag — but 

now 
" All earth shall feel th' unveiling of this brow ! 
" To-night — yes, sainted men ! this very night, 
" I bid you all to a fair festal rite, 
" Where — having deep refresh'd each weary limb 
" With viands, such as feast Heav'n's cherubim, 
" And kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim, 
" With that pure wine the Dark-eyed Maids above 
" Keep, seal'd with precious musk, for those they 

love, 4 — 
" I will myself uncurtain in your sight 
" The wonders of this brow's ineffable light ; 
" Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse 
" Yon myriads, howling through the universe !" 

Eager they listen — while each accent darts 
New life into their chill'd and hope-sick hearts ; 
Such treach'rous life as the cool draught supplies 
To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies ! 
Wildly they point their lances to the light 
Of the fast-sinking sun, and shout " To-night !" — 
" To-night," their Chief re-echoes in a voice 
Of fiend-like mock'ry that bids hell rejoice. 
Deluded victims ! — never hath this earth 
Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth. 
Here, to the few, whose iron frames had stood 
This racking waste of famine and of blood, 
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout 
Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out : — 
There, others, lighted by the smould'ring fire, 
Danced, like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre, 
Among the dead and dying, strew'd around ; — 
While some pale wretch look'd on, and from his 
wound 



Major Scott Waring says, that naphtha is used by the 
Persians, as we are told it was in hell, for lamps. 

many a row 

Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed 
With naphtha and asphaltus, yielding light 
As from a sky. 

8 " At the great festival of fire, called the Sheb Seze, they 
used to set fire to large bunches of dry combustibles, fasten- 
ed round wild beasts and birds, which being then let loose, 
the air and earth appeared one great illumination ; and as 
these terrified creatures naturally fled to the woods for shel- 
ter, it is easy to conceive the conflagrations they produced." 
— Richardson's Dissertation. 

4 " The righteous shall be given to drink of pure wine, 
sealed ; the seal whereof shall be musk."— Koran, chap, 
lxxxiii. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



401 



Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled, 
In ghastly transport waved it o'er his head ! 

'Tv/as more than midnight now — a fearful pause 
Had follow'd the long shouts, the wild applause, 
That lately from those Royal Gardens burst, 
Where the Veil'd demon held his feast accursed, 
When Zelica — alas, poor ruin'd heart, 
In ev'ry horror doom'd to bear its part ! — 
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave, 
Who, while his quiv'ring lip the summons gave, 
Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave 
Compass'd him round, and, ere he could repeat 
His message through, fell lifeless at her feet ! 
Shudd'ring she went — a soul-felt pang of fear, 
A presage that her own dark doom was near, 
Roused ev'ry feeling, and brought Reason back 
Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack. 
All round seem'd tranquil — ev'n the foe had ceased, 
As if aware of that demoniac feast, 
His fiery bolts ; and though the heav'ns iook'd red, 
'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread. 
But hark — she stops — she listens — dreadful tone ! 
'Tis her Tormentor's laugh — and now, a groan, 
A long death-groan comes with it : — can this be 
The place of mirth, the bower of revelry? 
She enters — Holy Alla, what a sight 
Was there before her ! By the glimm'ring light 
Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare of brands 
That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless 

hands, 
She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread, 
Rich censers breathing — garlands overhead — 
The urns, the cups, from which they late had 

quaff'd 
All gold and gems, but — what had been the draught ? 
Oh ! who need ask, that saw those livid guests, 
With their swoll'n heads sunk black'ning on their 

breasts, 
Or looking pale to Heav'n with glassy glare, 
As if they sought but saw no mercy there ; 
As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through, 
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two ! 
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train 
Of their false Chief, who *n the battle-plain 
Would have met death with transport by his side, 
Here mute and helpless gasp'd ; — but, as they died, 
Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes' last 

strain, 
And clench'd the slack'ning hand at him in vain. 

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, 
The stony look of horror and despair, 

1 "The Afghauns believe each of the numerous solitudes 
and deserts of their country to be inhabited by a lonely de- 
mon, whom they call the Ghoolee Beeabau, or Spirit of the 



26 



Which some of these expiring victims cast 

Upon their souls' tormentor to the last ; — 

Upon that mocking Fiend, whose veil, now raised, 

Show'd them, as in death's agony they gazed, 

Not the long promised light, the brow, whose 

beaming 
Was to come forth, all conqu'ring, all redeeming, 
But features horribler than Hell e'er traced 
On its own brood ; — no Demon of the Waste, 1 
No churchyard Ghole, caught ling'ring in the 

light 
Of the blest sun, e'er blasted human sight 
With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those 
Th' Impostor now, in grinning mock'ry, shows : — 
" There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your 

Star— 
" Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are. 
" Is it enough ? or must I, while a thrill 
" Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still ? 
" Swear that the burning death ye feel within 
" Is but the trance with which Heav'n's joys be- 
gin ; 
" That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgraced 
" Ev'n monstrous man, is — after God's own taste ; 
" And that — but see ! — ere I have half-way said 
" My greetings through, th' uncourteous souls are 

fled. 
" Farewell, sweet spirits ! not in vain ye die, 
" If Eblis loves you half so well as I. — 
" Ha, my young bride ! — 'tis well — take thou thy 



shudd'ring — didst thou never 
-they graced our wedding, 



" Nay come — no 

meet 
"The Dead before ?- 

sweet ; 
" And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so 

true 
" Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too. 
" But — how is this ? — all empty ? all drunk up ? 
" Hot lips have been before thee in the cup, 
" Young bride — yet stay — one precious drop re- 
mains, 
" Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins ; — 
" Here, drink — and should thy lover's conqu'ring 

arms 
" Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms, 
" Give him but half this venom in thy kiss, 
" And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss ! 

" For me — I too must die — but not like these 
" Vile, rankling things, to fester in the breeze ; 
" To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown, 
" With all death's grimness added to its own, 

Waste. They often illustrate the wildness of any seques- 
tered tribe, by saying, they are wild as the Demon of the 
Waste."— Elphinstone's Caubul. 



402 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes 

" Of slaves, exclaiming, ' There his Godship lies !' 

"No — cursed race — since first my soul drew 

breath, 
" They've been my dupes, and shall be ev'n in 

death. 
" Thou ses'st yon cistern in the shade — 'tis fill'd 
" With burning drugs, for this last hour dis- 

till'd r 1 — 
" There will I plunge me in that liquid flame — 
" Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet's frame ! — 
" There perish, all — ere pulse of thine shall fail — 
" Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale. 
" So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave, 
" Proclaim that Heav'n took back the Saint it 



" That I've but vanish'd from this earth awhile, 
" To come again, with bright, unshrouded smile ! 
" So shall they build me altars in their zeal, 
"Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall 

kneel ; 
" Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell, 
" Written in blood — and Bigotry may swell 
" The sail he spreads for Heav'n with blasts from 

hell ! 
" So shall my banner, through long ages, be 
" The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy ; — 
" Kings yet unborn shall rue Mokanna's name, 
" And, though I die, my spirit, still the same, 
" Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife, 
" And guilt, and blood, that were its bliss in life. 
" But, hark ! their batt'ring engine shakes the 

wall — 
" Why, let it shake — thus I can brave them all. 
41 No trace of me shall greet them, when they come, 
44 And I can trust thy faith, for — thou'lt be dumb. 
" Now mark how readily a wretch like me, 
" In one bold plunge commences Deity !" 

He sprung and sunk, as the last words were 
said — 
Quick closed the burning waters o'er his head, 
And Zelica was left — within the ring 
Of those wide walls the only living thing 
The only wretched one, still cursed with breath, 
In all that frightful wilderness of death ! 
More like some bloodless ghost — such as, they tell, 
In the Lone Cities of the Silent 2 dwell, 
And there, unseen of all but Alla, sit 
Each by its own pale carcass, watching it. 



i " II donna du poison dans le vin a tous ses gens, et se 
jeta lui-meme ensuite dans une cuve pleine de drogues bru- 
lantes et consumantes, afin qu'il ne restat rien de tous les 
ir.embres de son corps, et que ceux qui restoient de sa secte 
puissent croire qu'il etoit monte &xi ciel, ce qui ne inanqua 
pas d'arriver."— D'Herbelot. 



But morn is up, and a fresh warfare stirs 
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers. 
Their globes of fire (the dread artill'ry lent 
By Greece to conqu'ring Mahadi) are spent ; 
And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent 
From high balistas, and the shielded throng 
Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, 
All speak th' impatient Islamite's intent 
To try, at length, if tower and battlement 
And bastion'd wall be not less hard to win, 
Less tough to break down than the hearts within 
First in impatience and in toil is he, 
The burning Azim — oh ! could he but see 
Th' Impostor once alive within his grasp, 
Not the gaunt lion's hug, nor boa's clasp, 
Could match that gripe of vengeance, or >eep pace 
With the fell heartiness of Hate's embrace ! 

Loud rings the pond'rous ram against the walls ; 
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls, 
But still no breach — " Once more, one mighty swing 
" Of all your beams, together thundering !" 
There — the wall shakes — the shouting troops 

exult, 
" Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult 
" Right on that spot, and Neksheb is our own !" 
'Tis done — the battlements come crashing down, 
And the huge wall, by that stroke riv'n in two, 
Yawning, like some old crater, rent anew, 
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking through. 
But strange ! no signs of life — naught living seen 
Above, below — what can this stillness mean ? 
A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes — 
" In through the breach," impetuous Azim cries ; 
But the cool Caliph, fearful of some wile 
In this blank stillness, checks the troops awhile, — 
Just then, a figure, with slow step, advanced 
Forth from the ruin'd walls, and, as there glanced 
A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see 
The well-known Silver Veil !— « 'Tis He, 'tis He, 
" Mokanna, and alone !" they shout around ; 
Young Azim from his steed springs to the ground — 
" Mine, Holy Caliph ! mine," he cries, " the task 
" To crush yon daring wretch — 'tis all I ask." 
Eager he darts to meet the demon foe, 
Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow 
And falteringly comes, till they are near ; 
Then, with a bound, rushes on Azim's spear, 
And, casting off the Veil in falling, shows — 
Oh ! — 'tis his Zelica's life-blood that flows ! 



> " They have all a great reverence for burial-grounds, 
which they sometimes call by the poetical name of Cities of 
the Silent, and which they people with the ghosts of the 
departed, who sit each at the head of his own grave, invis- 
ible to mortal eyes." — Elphinstone. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



40: 



* I meant not, Azim," soothingly she said, 
As on his trembling arm she lean'd her head, 
And, looking in his face, saw anguish there 
Beyond all wounds the quiv'ring flesh can bear — 
" I m^JLit not thou shonldst have the pain of this : — 
" Though death, with thee thus tasted, is a bliss 
" Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but 

know 
" How oft I've pray'd to God I might die so ! 
" But the Fiend's venom was too scant and slow ; — 
" To linger on were madd'ning — and I thought 
" If once that Veil — nay, look not on it — caught 
" The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I should be 
u Struck by a thousand death-darts instantly. 
" But this is sweeter — oh ! believe me, yes — 
" I would not change this sad, but dear caress, 
<•' This death within thy arms I would not give 
" For the most smiling life the happiest live ! 
" All, that stood dark and drear before the eye 
" Of my strayM soul, is passing swiftly by ; 
" A light comes o'er me from those looks of love, 
" Like the first dawn of mercy from above ; 
" And if thy lips but tell me I'm forgiv'n, 
" Angels will echo the blest words in Heav'n ! 
'■' But live, my Azim ; — oh ! to call thee mine 
" Thus once again ! my Azim — dream divine ! 
" Live, if thou ever lov'dst me, if to meet 
" Thy Zelica hereafter would be sweet, 
" Oh, live to pray for her — to bend the knee 
" Morning and night before that Deity, 
" To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, 
" As thine are, Azim, never breathed in vain, — 
" And pray that He may pardon her, — may take 
" Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake, 
" And, naught rememb'ring but her love to thee, 
" Make her all thine, all His, eternally ! 
" Go to those happy fields where first we twined 
" Our youthful hearts together — every wind 
" That meets thee there, fresh from the well-known 

flow'rs, 
'^ Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours 
" Back to thy soul, and thou mayst feel again 
" For thy poor Zelica as thou didst then. 
" So shall thy orisons, like dew that flies 
" To Heav'n upon the morning's sunshine, rise 
" With all love's earliest ardor to the skies ! 
" And should they — but, alas, my senses fail— 
" Oh for one minute ! — should thy prayers pre- 
vail — 

i " The celebrity of Mazagong is owing to its mangoes, 
which are certainly the best fruit I ever tasted. The parent- 
tree, from which all those of this species have been grafted, 
is honored during the fruit-season by a guard of sepoys ; 
and in the reign of Shah Jehan, couriers were stationed be- 
tween Delhi and the Mahratta coast, to secure an abundant 
and fresh supply of mangoes for the royal table."— Mrs. 
Grakan. $ Journal of a Residence in India. 



" If pardon'd souls may, from that World of Bliss, 

'•' Reveal their joy to those they love in this — 

" I'll come to thee — in some sweet dream — and 

tell— 
" Oh Heav'n — I die — dear love ! farewell, fare- 
well." 

Time fleeted — years on years had pass'd away. 
And few of those who, on that mournful day, 
Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see 
The maiden's death, and the youth's agony, 
Were living still — when, by a rustic grave, 
Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave, 
An aged man, who had grown aged there 
By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, 
For the last time knelt down — and, though the 

shade 
Of death hung dark'ning ovrr him, there play'd 
A gleam of rapture on his <*ye and cheek, 
That brighten' d even Death — like the last streak 
Of intense glory on th' horizon's brim, 
When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim. 
His soul had seen a Vision, while he slept ; 
She, for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept 
So many years, had come to him, all dress'd 
In angel smiles, and told him she was blest ! 
For this the old man breathed his thanks, and 

died. — 
And there, upon the banks of that loved tide, 
He and his Zelica sleep side by side. 



The story of the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan 
being ended, they were now doomed to hear 
Fadladeen's criticisms upon it. A series of 
disappointments and accidents had occurred to 
this learned Chamberlain during the journey. 
In the first place, those couriers stationed, as in 
the reign of Shah Jehan, between Delhi and 
the Western coast of India, to secure a constant 
supply of mangoes for the Royal Table, had, 
by some cruel irregularity, failed in their duty : 
and to eat any mangoes but those of Mazagoug 
was, of course, impossible. 1 In the next place, 
the elephant, laden with his fine antique porce- 
lain, 2 had, in an unusual fit of liveliness, abat- 
is This old porcelain is found in digging, and "if it is es- 
teemed, it is not because it has acquired any new degree of 
beauty in the earth, but because it has retained its ancient 
beauty ; and this alone is of great importance in China, where 
they give large sums for the smallest vessels which were used 
under the Emperors Yan and Chun, who reigned many ages 
before the dynasty of Tang, at which time porcelain began to 
be used by the Emperors," (about the year 442.)— Dunn's 



404 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



tered the whole set to pieces : — an irreparable 
loss, as many of the vessels were so exquisitely- 
old, as to have been used under the Emperors 
Yan and Chun, who reigned many ages before 
the dynasty of Tang. His Koran, too, sup- 
posed to be the identical copy between the 
leaves of which Mahomet's favorite pigeon 
used to nestle, had been mislaid by his Koran- 
be aier three whole days ; not without much 
spiritual alarm to Fadladeen, who, though pro- 
fessing to hold with other loyal and orthodox 
Mussulmans, that salvation could only be found 
in the Koran, was strongly suspected of believ- 
ing in his heart, that it could only be found in 
his own particular copy of it. When to all these 
grievances is added the obstinacy of the cooks, 
in putting the pepper of Canara into his dishes 
instead of the cinnamon of Serendib, we may easily 
suppose that he came to the task of criticism with, 
at least, a sufficient degree of irritability for the 
purpose. 

" In order," said he, importantly swinging about 
his chaplet of pearls, " to convey with clearness 
my opinion of the story this young man has related, 
it is necessary to take a review of all the stories 

that have ever " — " My good Fadladeen !" 

exclaimed the Princess, interrupting him, " we 
really do not deserve that you should give your- 
self «• much trouble. Your opinion of the poem 
v/e h&'e just heard, will, I have no doubt, be 
abundantly edifying, without any further waste of 
your valuable erudition." — " If that be all," re- 
plied the critic, — evidently mortified at not being 
allowed to show how much he knew about every 
thing but the subject immediately before him — 
" if that be all that is required, the matter is easily 
dispatched." He then proceeded to analyze the 
poem, in that strain (so well known to the unfor- 
tunate bards of Delhi) whose censures were an 
infliction from which few recovered, and whose 
veiy praises were like the honey extracted from 
the bitter flowers of the aloe. The chief person- 
ages of the story were, if he rightly understood 
them, an ill-favored gentleman, with a veil over 
his face ; — a young lady, whose reason went and 
came, according as it suited the poet's convenience 
to be sensible or otherwise ; — and a youth in one 
of those hideous Bucharian bonnets, who took the 
aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a Divinity. 



Collection of Curious Observations, &c. ;— a bad translation 
of some parts of the Lettres Edifiantes et Curieuses of the 
Missionary Jesuits. 

i " La lecture de ces Fables plaisoit si fort aux Arabes, que, 
quand Mahomet les entretenoit de l'Histoire de l'Ancien Tes- 
tament, ils les meprisoient, lui disant que celles que Nasser 



" From such materials," said he, " what can be 
expected ? — after rivalling each other in long 
speeches and absurdities, through some thousands 
of lines as indigestible as the filberts of Berdaa, 
our friend in the veil jumps into a tub of aqua- ' 
fortis ; the young lady dies in a set speech, whose 
only recommendation is that it is her last ; and the 
lover lives on to a good old age, for the laudable 
purpose of seeing her ghost, which he at last hap- 
pily accomplishes, and expires. This, you will 
allow, is a fair summary of the story ; and if 
Nasser, the Arabian merchant, told no better, our 
Holy Prophet (to whom be all honor and glory !) 
had no need to be jealous of his abilities for story- 
telling." 1 

With respect to the style, it was worthy of the 
matter ; — it had not even those politic contrivances 
of structure, which make up for the commonness 
of the thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner, 
nor that stately poetical phraseology by which 
sentiments mean in themselves, like the black- 
smith's 2 apron converted into a banner, are so 
easily gilt and embroidered into consequence. 
Then, as to the versification, it was, to say no 
worse of it, execrable : it had neither the copious 
flow of Ferdosi, the sweetness of Hafez, nor the 
sententious march of Sadi ; but appeared to him, 
in the uneasy heaviness of its movements, to have 
been modelled upon the gait of a very tired dro- 
medary. The licenses, too, in which it indulged, 
were unpardonable ; — for instance this line, and the 
poem abounded with such ; — 

Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream. 

" What critic that can count," said Fadladeen, 
" and has his full complement of fingers to count 
withal, would tolerate for an instant such syllabic 
superfluities?" — He here looked round, and dis- 
covered that most of his audience were asleep ; 
while the glimmering lamps seemed inclined to 
follow their example. It became necessary, there- 
fore, however painful to himself, to put an end to 
his valuable animadversions for the present, and 
he accordingly concluded, with an air of dignified 
candor, thus : — " Notwithstanding the observa- 
tions which I have thought it my duty to make, 
it is by no means my wish to discourage the young 
man: — so far from it, indeed, that if he will but 
totally alter his style of writing and thinking, I 



leur racontoient etoient beaucoup plus belles. Cette pre- 
ference attira a Nasser la malediction de Mahomet et de tous 
se3 disciples." — D'Herbelot. 

3 The blacksmith Gao, who successfully resisted the ty- 
rant Zohak, and whose apron became the Royal Standard of 
Persia. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



405 



have very little doubt that I shall be vastly pleased 
with him." 

Son?#3 days elapsed, after this harangue of the 
Grea; Dhamberlain, before Lalla Rookh could 
venture to ask for another story. The youth was 
still a welcome guest in the pavilion — to one heart, 
perhaps, too dangerously welcome ; — but all men- 
tion of poetry was, as if by common consent, 
avoided. Though none of the party had much 
respect for Fadladeen, yet his censures, thus 
magisterially delivered, evidently made an impres- 
sion on them all. The Poet, himself, to whom 
criticism was quite a new operation, (being wholly 
unknown in that Paradise of the Indies, Cash- 
mere,) felt the shock as it is generally felt at first, 
till use has made it more tolerable to the patient ; 
— the Ladies began to suspect that they ought not 
to be pleased, and seemed to conclude that there 
must have been much good sense in what Fad- 
ladeen said, from its having set them all so 
soundly to sleep ; — while the self-complacent Cham- 
berlain was left to triumph in the idea of having, 
for the hundred and fiftieth time in his life, extin- 
guished a Poet. Lalla Rookh alone — and Love 
knew why — persisted in being delighted with all 
she had heard, and in resolving to hear more as 
speedily as possible. Her manner, however, of 
first returning to the subject was unlucky. It was 
while they rested during the heat of noon near a 
fountain, on which some hand had rudely traced 
those well-known words from the Garden cf Sadi, 
— " Many, like me, have viewed this fountain, but 
they are gone, and their eyes are closed forever !" 
— that she took occasion, from the melancholy 
beauty of this passage, to dwell upon the charms 
of poetry in general. " It is true," she said, " few 
poets can imitate that sublime bird, which flies 
always in the ah and never touches the earth: 1 



1 *' The Huma, a bird peculiar to the East. It is supposed 
to fly constantly in the air, and never touch the ground ; it is 
looked upon as a bird of happy omen ; and that every head 
it overshades will in time wear a crown."— Richardson. 

In the terms of alliance made by Fuzzel Oola Khan with 
Hyder m 1760, one of the stipulations was, "that he should 
hav<j the distinction of two honorary attendants standing 
behind him, holding fans composed of the feathers of the 
humma, according to the practice of his family." — Wilks's 
South of India. He adds in a note: — "The Humma is a 
fabulous bird. The head over which its shadow once passes 
will assuredly be circled with a crown. The splendid little 
bird suspended over the throne of Tippoo Sultaun, found at 
Seringapatam in 1709, was intended to represent this poeti- 
cal fancT " 

2 "To the pilgrims to Mount Sinai we must attribute the 
inscriptions, figures, &c, on those rocks which have from 
thence acquired the name of the Written Mountain." — 
Volney. M. Gebelin and others have been at much pains to 



— it is only once in many ages a Genius appears, 
whose words, like those on the Written Mountain, 
last forever: 2 — but stiil there are some, as de- 
lighted, perhaps, though not so wonderful, who, if 
not stars over our head, are at least flowers along 
our path, and whose sweetness of the moment we 
ought gratefully to inhale, without calling upon 
them for a brightness and a durability beyond 
their nature. In short," continued she, blushing, 
as if conscious of being ->aught in an oration, " it 
is quite cruel that a poet cannot wander through 
his regions oi enchantment, without having a critic 
forever, like the old Man of the Sea, upon his 
back !" 3 — Fadladeen, it was plain, took this last 
luckless allusion to himself, and would treasure it 
up in his mind as a whetstone for his next criti- 
cism. A sudden silence ensued ; and the Princess, 
glancing a look at Feramorz, saw plainly she 
must wait for a more courageous moment. 

But the glories of Nature, and her wild, fra- 
grant airs, playing freshly over the current of youth- 
ful spirits, will soon heal even deeper wounds than 
the dull Fadladeens of this " T orld can inflict. In 
an evening or two after, they came to the small 
Valley of Gardens, which had been planted by 
order of the Emperor, for his favorite sister Ro- 
chinara, during their progress to Cashmere, some 
years before ; and never was there a more spark- 
ling assemblage of sweets since the Gulzar-e-Irem, 
or Rose -bower of Irem. Every precious flower 
was there to be found, that poetry, or love, or re- 
ligion, has ever consecrated; from the dark hya- 
cinth, to which Hafez compares his mistress's hair, 4 
to the Cdmalatd, by whose rosy blossoms the 
heaven of Indra is scented. 5 As they sat in the 
cool fragrance of this delicious spot, and Lalla 
Rookh remarked that she could fancy it the 
abode of that Flower-loving Nymph whom they 



attach some mysterious and important meaning to these in- 
scriptions ; but Niebuhr, as well as Volney, thinks that they 
must have been executed at idle hours by the travellers to 
Mount Sinai, "who were satisfied with cutting the unpol- 
ished rock with any pointed instrument; adding to their 
names and the date of their journeys some rude figures, 
which bespeak the hand of a people but little skilled in the 
arts." — Niebuhr . 

3 The Story ofSinbad. 

4 See JfotVs Hafez, Ode v. 

5 " The Camalata (called by Linnaeus, Ipomsea) is the most 
beautiful of its order, both in the color and form of its leaves 
and flowers ; its elegant blossoms are ' celestial rosy red, 
Love's proper hue,' and have justly procured it the name of 
Camalata, or Love's Creeper." — Sir TV. Jones. 

" Camalata may also mean a mythological plant, by which 
all desires are granted to such as inhabit the heaven -of In- 
dra ; and if ever flower was worthy of paradise, it is our 
charming Ipomasa." — lb. 



406 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



worship in the temples of Kathay, 1 or of one of 
those Peris, those beautiful creatures of the air, 
who live upon perfumes, and to whom a place 
like this might make some amends for the Para- 
dise they have lost, — the young Poet, in whose 
eyes she appeared, while she spoke, to be one of 
the bright spiritual creatures she was describing, 
said hesitatingly that he remembered a Story of a 
Peri, which, if the Princess had no objection, he 
would venture to 1 elate. " It is," said he, with an 
appealing look to Fadladeen, "in a lighter and 
humbler strain than the other ;" then, striking a 
few careless but melancholy chords on his kitar, he 
thus began : — 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. 

One morn a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
And as she listen'd to the Springs 

Of Life within, like music flowing, 
And caught the light upon her wings 

Through the half-open portal glowing, 
She wept to think her recreant race 
Should e'er have lost that glorious place ! 

" How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, 
" Are the holy Spirits who wander there, 

" Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall ; 
" Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, 
" And the stars themselves have flowers for me, 

" One blossom of Heaven outblooms them all ! 

" Though sunny the Lake of cool. Cashmere, 
" With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear, 2 

" And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall ; 
" Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay, 
" And the golden floods that thitherward stray, 3 
" Yet — oh, 'tis only the Blest can say 

" How the waters of Heaven outshine them all ! 

i " According to Father Premare, in his tract on Chinese 
Mythology, the mother of Fo-hi was the daughter of heaven, 
surnamed Flower-loving; and as the nymph was walking 
alone on the bank of a river, she found herself encircled by 
a rainbow, after which she became pregnant, and, at the 
end of twelve years, was delivered of a son radiant as her- 
self."— Jlsiat. Res. 

2 " Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake of 
Cashmere. One is called Char Chenaur, from the plane- 
trees upon it'' — Foster. 

3 " The Altan Kol or Golden River of Tibet, which runs 
into the Lakes 'of Sing-su-hay, has abundance of gold in its 
sands, which employs the inhabitants all the summer in 
gathering it."— Description of Tibet in Pinkcrton. 

* " The Brahmins of this province insist that the blue 
campac flowers only in Paradise." — Sir W. Jones. It ap- 
pears, however, from a curious letter of the Sultan of Me- 



" Go, wing thy flight from star to star, 
" From world to luminous world, as far 

" As the universe spreads its flaming wall • 
" Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, 
" And multiply each through endless years, 

" One minute of Heaven is worth them all !" 

The glorious Angel, who was keeping 
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 
And, as he nearer drew and listen'd 
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd 
Within his eyelids, like the spray 

From Eden's fountain, when it lies 
On the blue flow'r, which — Bramins say — 

Blooms nowhere but in Paradise. 4 

" Nymph of a fair but erring line !" 
Gently he sand — " One hope is thine. 
" Tis written in the Book of Fate, 

" The Peri yet may be forgitfn 
" Who brings to this Eternal gate 

" The Gift that is most dear to Heav'n ! 
" Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin — 
" 'Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in." 

Rapidly as comets run 

To th' embraces of the Sun ; — 

Fleeter than the starry brands 

Flung at night from angel hands 5 

At those dark and daring sprites 

Who would climb th' empyreal heights, 

Down the blue vault the Peri flies, 

And, lighted earthward by a glance 
That just then broke from morning's eyes, 

Hung hov'ring o'er our world's expanse. 

But whither shall the Spirit go 

To find this gift for Heav'n ? — " I know 

" The wealth," she cries, " of every urn, 

" In which unnumber'd rubies burn, 

" Beneath the pillars of Chilminar ; 6 

" I know where the Isles of Perfume are, 7 

nangcabow, given by Marsden, that one place on earth may 
lay claim to the possession of it. " This is the Sultan, who 
keeps the flower champaka that is blue, and to be found in 
no other country but his, being yellow elsewhere."— Mars- 
den's Sumatra. 

6 "The Mahometans suppose that falling stays are the 
firebrands wherewith the good angels drive away the bad, 
when they approach too near the empyrean or verge of 
the heavens." — Fryer. 

6 The Forty Pillars ; so the Persians call the ruins of Per- 
sepolis. It is imagined by them that this palace and the 
edifices at Balbec were built by Genii, for the purpose of 
hiding in their subterraneous caverns immense treasures, 
which still remain there. — D'Uerbelot, Volney. 

7 Diodorus mentions the Isle of Panchaia, to the sotth of 
Arabia Felix, where there was a temple of Jupiter. This 
island, or rather cluster of isles, has disappeared, " sunk (says 





1 1 ■ ■ 'i : .1 i eri so: th_e 1 1 

isolate 



LALLA ROOKH. 



407 



Many a fathom down in the sea, 

To the south of sun-bright Araby j 1 

I know, too, where the Genii hid 

The jewell'd cup of their King Jamshid, 8 

With Life's elixir sparkling high — 

But gifts like these are not for the sky. 

Where was there ever a gem that shone 

Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne? 

And the Drops of Life — oh ! what would they be 

In the boundless Deep of Eternity ?" 

While thus she mused, her pinions fann'd 
The air of that sweet Indian land, 
Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads 
O'er coral rocks, and amber beds ; 3 
Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam 
Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 
Whose rivulets are like rich brides, 
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides ; 
Whose sandal groves and bow'rs of spice 
Might be a Peri's Paradise ! 
But crimson now her rivers ran 

With human blood — the smell of death 
Came reeking from those spicy bow'rs, 
And man, the sacrifice of man, 

Mingled his taint with ev'ry breath 
Upwafted from th' innocent flow'rs. 
Land of the Sun ! what foot invades 
Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades 4 — 
Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones, 
Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones ? 6 
'Tis He of Gazna 6 — fierce in wrath 

He comes, and India's diadems 
L^ «!catter'd in his ruinous path. — 

His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, 
Torn from the violated necks 

Of many a young and loved Sultana ; 7 



Grandpre) in the abyss made by the fire beneath 'heir 
foundations." — Voyage tc l\i Indian Ocean. 
i The Isles of Panchaia. 

2 " The cup of Jamshid, discovered, they say, when dig- 
ging for the foundations of Persepolis." — Richardson. 

3 " It is not like the Sea of India, whose bottom is rich 
with pearls and ambergris, whose mountains of the coast are 
stored with gold and precious stones, whose gulfs breed 
creatures that yield ivory, and among the plants of whose 
shores are ebony, red wood, and the wood of Hairzan, aloes, 
camphor, cloves, sandal-wood, and all other spices and 
aromatics ; where parrots and peacocks are birds of the 
forest, and musk and civet are collected upon the lands."— 
Travels of two Mohammedans. 

4 in the ground 

The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow 

About the mother-tree, a pillar'd shade, 

High overarch'd, and echoing walks between. Milton. 

For a particular description and plate of the Banyan-tree, 
see Cordiner's Ceylon. 

6 " With this immense treasure Mahmood returned to 
Ghizni, and in the year 400 prepared a magnificent festival, 



Maidens, within their pure Zenana, 

Priests in the very fane he slaughters, 

And chokes up with the glitt'ring wrecks 

Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 

Downward the Peri turns her gaze, 
And, through the war-field's bloody haze 
Beholds a youthful warrior stand, 

Alone beside his native river, — 
The red blade broken in his hand, 

And the last arrow in his quiver. 
" Live," said the Conqu'ror, " live to share 
" The trophies and the crowns I bear !" 
Silent that youthful warrior stood — 
Silent he pointed to the flood 
All crimson with his country's blood, 
Then sent his last remaining dart, 
For answer, to th' Invader's heart. 

False flew the shaft, though pointed well ; 
The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell !— 
Yet mark'd the Peri where he lay, 

And, when the rush of war was past, 
Swiftly descending on a ray 

Of morning light, she caught the last — 
Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 
Before its free-bom spirit fled ! 

" Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, 
" My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 
" Though foul are the drops that oft distil 

" On the field of warfare, blood like this, 

" For Liberty shed, so holy is, 8 
" It would not stain the purest rill, 

" That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss . 
" Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
" A boon, an offering Heav'n holds dear, 

where he displayed to the people his wealth in golden thrones 
and in other ornaments, in a great plain without the city of 
Ghizni." — Ferishta. 

6 "Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who conquered India 
in the beginning of the 11th century." — See his History in 
Dow and Sir J. Malcolm. 

7 " It is reported that the hunting equipage of the Sultan 
Mahmood was so magnificent, that he kept 400 greyhounds 
and bloodhounds, each of which wore a collar set with jew- 
els, and a covering edged with gold and pearls." — Universal 
History, vol. iii. 

8 Objections may be made to my use of the word Liberty in 
this.and more especially in the story that follows it, as totally 
inapplicable to any state of things that has ever existed in the 
East; but though I cannot, of course, mean to employ it in 
that enlarged and noble sense which is so well understood at 
the present day, and, I grieve to say, so little acted upon, yet 
it is no disparagement to the word to apply it to that national 
independence, that freedom from the interference and dicta- 
tion of foreigners, without which, indeed, no liberty of any 
kind can exist; and for which both Hindoos and Persians 
fought against their Mussulman invaders with, in many 
cases, a bravery that deserved much better success. 



408 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws 
. " From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her 
cause ! ; 



i" 



" Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 

The gift into his radiant hand, 
" Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 

" Who die thus for their native Land. — 
" But see — alas ! — the crystal bar 
" Of Eden moves not — holier far 
" Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, 
" That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee !" 

Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, 

Now among Afric's lunar Mountains, 1 
Far to the South, the Peri lighted ; 

And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains 
Of that Egyptian tide — whose birth 
Is hidden from the sons of earth 
Deep in those solitary woods 
Where oft the Genii of the Floods 
Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 
And hail the new-born Giant's smile. 2 
Thence over Egypt's palmy groves, 

Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings, 3 
The exiled Spirit sighing roves ; 
And now hangs list'ning to the doves 
In warm Rosetta's vale 4 — now loves 

To watch the moonlight on the wings 
Of the white pelicans that break 
The azure calm of Mceris' Lake. 5 
'Twas a fair scene — a Land more bright 

Never did mortal eye behold ! 
Who could have thought, that oaw this night 

Those valleys and their fruits of gold 
Basking in Heav'n's serenest light ; — 
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending 

Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads, 
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending 

Warns them to their silken beds ; 6 — 
Those virgin lilies, all the night 

1 " The Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Lunse of 
antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to arise." 
— Bruce. 

" Sometimes called," says Jackson., " Jibbel Kumrie, or the 
white or lunar-colored mountains ; so a white horse is called 
by the Arabians a moon-colored horse." 

2 " The Nile, which the Abyssinians know by the names of 
Abey and Alawy, or the Giant." - Asiat. Research, vol.i. p.387. 

3 See Perry's View of the Levant for an account of the 
sepulchres in Upper Thebes, and the numberless grots 
covered all over with hieroglyphics in the mountains of 
Upper Egypt. 

4 " The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtle-doves." 
— Sonnini. 

6 Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake Mceris. 

e "The superb date-tree, whose head languidly reclines, 
like that of a handsome woman overcome with sleep."— 
Dafard el Hadad. 



Bathing their beauties in the lake, 
That they may rise more fresh and bright, 

When their beloved Sun's awake ; — 
Those ruin'd shrines and tow'rs that seem 
The relics of a splendid dream ; 

Amid whose fairy loneliness 
Naught but the lapwing's cry is heard, 
Naught seen but (when the shadows, flitting 
Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam,) 
Some purple-wing'd Sultana 7 sitting 

Upon a column, motionless 
And glitt'ring like an Idol bird ! — 
Who could have thought, that there, ev'n there, 
Amid those scenes so still and fair, 

The Demon of the Plague hath cast 

From his hot wing a deadlier blast, 
More mortal far than ever came 
From the red Desert's sands of flame ! 
So quick, that ev'ry living thing 
Of human shape, touch'd by his wing, 

Like plants, where the Simoom hath pass'd 
At once falls black and withering ! 
The sun went down on many a ^row 

Which, full of bloom and freshness then, 
Is rankling in the pest-house now, 

And ne'er will feel that sun again. 
And, oh ! to see th' unburied heaps 
On which the lonely moonlight sleeps — 
The very vultures turn away, 
And sicken at so foul a prey ! 
Only the fierce hyaena stalks 8 
Throughout the city's desolate walks 9 
At midnight, and his carnage plies : — 

Wo to the half-dead wretch, who meets 
The glaring of those large blue eyes 10 

Amid the darkness of the streets ! 

' Poor race of men !" said the pitying Spirit, 
" Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall — 

" Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit, 

" But the trail of the Serpent is over them all !" 

7 " That beautiful bird, with plumage of the finest shi- 
ning blue, with purple beak and legs, the natural and living 
ornament of the temples and palaces of the Greeks and 
Romans, which, from the stateliness of its part, as well as 
the brilliancy of its colors, has obtained the title of Sul 
tana." — Sonnini. 

8 Jackson, speaking of the plague that occurred in West 
Barbary, when he was there, says, " The birds of the air 
fled away from the abodes of men. The hysenas, on the 
contrary, visited the cemeteries," &c. 

8 " Gondar was full of hyeenas from the time it turned 
dark, till the dawn of day, seeking the different pieces of 
slaughtered carcasses, which this cruel and unclean people 
expose in the streets without burial, and who firmly believe 
that these animals are Falashta from the neighboring moun- 
tains, transformed by magic, and come down to eat human 
flesh in the dark in safety."— Bruce. 

io Ibid. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



409 



She wept — the air grew pure and clear 
Around her, as the bright drops ran ; 

For there's a magic in each tear, 
Such kindly Spirits weep for man ! 

Just then beneath some orange trees, 
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
Were wantoning together, free, 
Like age at play with infancy — 
Beneath that fresh and springing bower, 

Close by the Lake, she heard the moan 
Of one who, at this silent hour, 

Had thither stol'n to die alone. 
One who in life where'er he moved, 

Drew after him the hearts of many ; 
Yet now, as though he ne'er were loved, 

Dies here unseen, unwept by any ! 
None to watch near him — none to slake 

The fire that in his bosom lies, 
With ev'n a sprinkle from that lake, 

Which shines so cool before his eyes. 
No voice, well known through many a day, 

To speak the last, the parting word, 
Which, when all other sounds decay, 

Is still like distant music heard ; — 
That tender farewell on the shore 
Of this rude world, when all is o'er, 
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark 
Puts ofFinto the unknown Dark. 

Deserted youth ! one thought alone 

Shed joy around his soul in death — 
That she, whom he for years had known, 
And loved, and might have call'd his own, 

Was safe from this foul midnight's breath, — ■ 
Safe in her father's princely halls, 
Where the cool airs from fountain falls, 
Freshly perfumed by many a brand 
Of the sweet wood from India's land, 
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd 

But see — who yonder comes by stealth, 1 

This melancholy bow'r to seek, 
Like a young envoy, sent by Health, 

With rosy gifts upon her cheek? 
! Tis she — far off, through moonlight dim, 

He knew his own betrothed bride, 
She, who would rather die with him, 

Than live to gain the world beside ! — 
Her arms are round her lover now, 

His livid cheek to hers she presses, 
And dips, to bind his burning brow, 

In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. 

•» This circumstance has been often introduced into poetry ; 
— by Vincentius Fabricius, by Darwin, and lately, with very 
powerful effect, by Mr. Wilson. 



Ah ! once, how little did he think 

An hour would come, when he should shrink 

With horror from that dear embrace, 

Those gentle arms, that were to him 
Holy as is the cradling place 

Of Eden's infant cherubim ! 
And now he yields — now turns away, 
Shudd'ring as if the venom lay 
■ All in those proffer'd lips alone — 

Those lips that, then so fearless grown, 
Never until that instant came 
Near his unask'd or without shame. 
" Oh ! let me only breathe the air, 

" The blessed air, that's breathed by thee, 
" And, whether on its wings it bear 

" Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me ! 
" There — drink my tears, while yet they fall — 

" Would that my bosom's blood were balm, 
" And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, 

" To give thy brow one minute's calm. 
" Nay, turn not from me that dear face — 

" Am I not thine — thy own loved bride— 
" The one, the chosen one, whose place 

" In life or death is by thy side ? 
" Think'st thou that she, whose only light 

" In this dim world, from thee hath shone, 
" Could bear the long, the cheerless night, 

" That must be hers when thou art gone ? 
" That I can live, and let thee go, 
" Who art my life itself ?— No, no— 
" When the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
" Out of its heart must perish too ! 
" Then turn to me, my Own love, turn, 
" Before, like thee, I fade and burn ; 
" Cling to these yet cool lips, and share 
" The last pure life that lingers there !" 
She fails — she sinks — as dies the lamp 
In charnel airs, or cavern-damp, 
So quickly do his baleful sighs 
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. 
One struggle — and his pain is past — 

Her lover is no longer living ! 
One kiss the maiden gives, one last, 

Long kiss, which she expires in giving ! 

" Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stol» 
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, 
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast - 
" Sleep on, in visions of odor rest, 
" In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd 
" Th' enchanted pile of that lonely bird, 
" Who sings at the last his own death-lay, 2 
" And in music and perfume dies away !" 

2 "In the East, they suppose the Phcp.nix to have fifty 
orifices in his bill, which are continued to his tail ; ami that, 
after living one thousand years, he builds hiraself a funeral 



410 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Thus saying, from her lips she spread 

Unearthly breathings through the place, 
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed 

Such lustre o'er each paly face, 
That like two lovely saints they seera'd, 

Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
From their dim graves, in odor sleeping ; 

While that benevolent Peri beam'd 
Like their good angel, calmly keeping 

Watch o'er them till their souls would waken. 

But morn is blushing in the sky ; 

Again the Peri soars above, 
Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh 

Of pure, self-sacrificing love. 
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate, 

Th' Elysian palm she soon shall win, 
For the bright Spirit at the gate 

Smiled as she gave that off 'ring in ; 
And she already hears the trees 

Of Eden, with their crystal bells 
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze 

That from the throne of Alia swells ; 
And she can see the starry bowls 

That lie around that lucid lake, 
Upon whose banks admitted Souls 

Their first sweet draught of glory take I 1 

But, ah ! ev'n Peris' hopes are vain — 

Again the Fates forbade, again 

Th' immortal barrier closed — " Not yet," 

The Angel said, as, with regret, 

He shut from her that glimpse of glory — 

" True was the maiden, and her story 

" Written in light o'er Alla's head, 

" By seraph eyes shall long be read. 

" But, Peri, see — the crystal bar 

" Of Eden moves not — holier far 

" Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be 

" That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee." 

Now, upon Syria's land of roses 2 
Softly the light of Eve reposes, 
And, like a glory, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 

pile, sings a melodious air of different harmonies through his 
fifty organ pipes, flaps his wings with a velocity which sets 
fire to the wood, and consumes himself." — Richardson. 

1 " On the shores of a quadrangular lake stand a thousand 
goblets, made of stars, out of which souls predestined to enjoy 
felicity drink the crystal wave."— From Chdteaubriand's 
Description of the Mahometan Paradise, in his Beauties of 
Christianity. 

2 Richardson thinks that Syria had its name from Suri, a 
beautiful and delicate species of rose, for which that country 
has been always famous ;— hence, Suristan, the Land of 
Roses. 

s " The number of lizards I saw one day in the great court 



Whose head in wintry grandeur tow'rs, 

And whitens with eternal sleet, 
While summer, in a vale of fiow'rs, 

Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 

To one, who look'd from upper air 
O'er all th' enchanted regions there, 
How beauteous must have been the glow, 
The life, the sparkling from below ! 
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks 
Of golden melons on their banks, 
More golden where the sun-light falls ; — 
Gay lizards, glitt'ring on the walls 3 
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright 
As they were all alive with light ; 
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks 
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, 
With their rich restless wings, that gleam 
Variously in the crimson beam 
Of the warm West, — as if inlaid 
With brilliants from the mine, or made 
Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
Th' unclouded skies of Perisi \s. 
And then the mingling sounds that come, 
Of shepherd's ancient reed, 4 with hum 
Of the wild bees of Palestine, 5 

Banqueting through the flow'ry vales ; 
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, 

And woods, so full of nightingales. 8 

But naught can charm the luckless Peri ; 
Her soul is sad — her wings are weary — 
Joyless she sees the Sun look down 
On that great Temple, once his ow^, 7 
Whose lonely columns stand sublime, 

Flinging their shadows from on high, 
Like dials, which the wizard, Time, 

Had raised to count his ages by ! 

Yet haply there may lie conceal'd 
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, 

Some amulet of gems, anneal'd 

In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
With the great name of Solomon, 
Which, spell'd by her illumined eyes, 

of the Temple of the Sun at Balbec amounted to many thou- 
sands ; the ground, the walls, and stones of the ruined 
buildings, were covered with them." — Bruce. 

4 " The Syrinx, or Pan's pipe, is still a pastoral instrument 
in Syria."— Russel. 

5 "Wild bees, frequent in Palestine, in hollow trunks or 
branches of trees, and the clefts of rocks. Thus it is said, 
(Psalm lxxxi.,) ' honey out of the stony rock.'' " — Burder's 
Oriental Customs. 

6 "The river Jordan is on both sides beset with little, 
thick, and pleasant woods, among which thousands of night- 
ingales warble all together."— Thevenot. 

7 The Temple of the Sun at Balbec. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



411 



May teach her where, beneath the moon, 
In earth or ocean, lies the boon, 
The charm, that can restore so soon 
An erring Spirit to the skies. 

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither ;- 

Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, 

Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
In the rich West begun to wither ; — 
When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging 

Slowly, she sees a child at play, 
Among the rosy wild-fiow'rs singing, 

As rosy and as wild as they ; 
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, 
The beautiful blue damsel-flies, 1 
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems, 
Like winged flow'rs or flying gems : — 
And, near the boy, who tired with play 
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, 
She saw a wearied man dismount 

From his hot steed, and on the brink 
Of a small imaret's rustic fount 2 

Impatient fling him down to drink. 
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 

To the fair child, who fearless sat, 
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd 

Upon a brow more fierce than that, — 
Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, 
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ; 
In which the Peri's eye could read 
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; 
The ruin'd maid — the shrine profaned — 
Oaths broken — and the threshold stain'd 
With blood of guests ! — there written, all, 
Black as the damning drops that fall 
From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
Ere Mercy weeps them out again. 

Yet tranquil now that man of crime 
(As if the balmy evening time 
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay, 
Watching the rosy infant's play : — 
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 



* "You behold there a considerable number of a remark- 
able species of beautiful insects, the elegance of whose ap- 
pearance, and their attire procured for them the name of 
Damsels.'" — Sonnini. 

2 Imaret, " hospice ou on loge et ncurrit, gratis, les pele- 
rins pendant trois jours." — Toderini, translated by the Jlbbc 
de Cournand. — See also Castellan's Mceurs des Othomans, 
torn, v., p. 145. 

3 " Such Turks as at the common hours of prayer are on 
the road, or so employed as not to find convenience to attend 
the mosques, are still obliged to execute that duty ; nor are 
they ever known to fail, whatever business they are then 
about, but pray immediately when the hour alarms them, 



Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, 
As torches, that have burn'd all night 
Through some impure and godless rite, 

Encounter morning's glorious rays. 

But, hark ! the vesper call to pray'r, 

As slow the orb of daylight sets, 
Is rising sweetly on the air, 

From Syria's thousand minarets ! 
The boy has started from the bed 
Of flow'rs, where he had laid his head, 
And down upon the fragrant sod 

Kneels 3 with his forehead to the south, 
Lisping th' eternal name of God 

From Purity's own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while his hands and eyes 
Are lifted to the glowing skies, 
Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
Just lighted on that flow'ry plain, 
And seeking for its home again. 
Oh ! 'twas a sight — that Heav'n — that child— 
A scene, which might have well beguiled 
Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh 
For glories lost and peace gone by ! 

And how felt he, the wretched Man 
Reclining there — while memory ran 
O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, 
Nor found one sunny resting-place, 
Nor brought him back one branch of grace. 
" There was a time," he said, in mild, 
Heart-humbled tones — "thou blessed child I 
" When, young and haply pure as thou, 
" I look'd and pray'd like thee — but now" — 
He hung his head — each nobler aim, 

And hope, and feeling, which had slept 
From boyhood's hour, that instant came 

Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! 

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 

In whose benign, redeeming flow 
Is felt the first, the only sense 

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 



whatever they are about, in that very place they chance to 
stand on ; insomuch that when a janizary, whom you have 
to guard you up and down the city, hears the notice which 
is given inm from the steeples, he will turn about, stand 
still, and beckon with his hand, to tell his charge he must 
have patience for awhile, when, taking out his handker- 
chief, he spreads it on the ground, sits cross-legged there- 
upon, and says his prayers, though in the open market, 
which having ended, he leaps briskly up, salutes the per- 
son whom he undertook to convey, and renews his journey 
with the mild expression of Ghell gohnnum ghell, or Come, 
dear, follow me."— Aaron Hill's Travels. 



412 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



There's a drop," said the Peri, " that down from 

the moon 
Falls through the withering airs of June 
Upon Egypt's land, 1 of so healing a pow'r, 
So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour 
: That drop descends, contagion dies, 
And health reanimates earth and skies ! — 
Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 

" The precious tears of repentance fall ? 
Though foul thy fiery plagues within, 

" One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all !" 

And now — behold him kneeling there 
By the child's side, in humble pray'r, 
While the same sunbeam shines upon 
The guilty and the guiltless one, 
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heav'n 
The triumph of a Soul Forgiv'n*! 

'Twas when the golden orb had set, 
While on their knees they linger'd yet, 
There fell a light more lovely far 
Than ever came from sun or star, 
Upon the tear that, warm and meek, 
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek. 
To mortal eye this light might seem 
A northern flash or meteor beam — 
But well th' enraptured Peri knew 
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw 
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
Her harbinger of glory near ! 

" Joy, joy forever ! my task is done — 

" The gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won ! 

" Oh ! am I not happy ? I am, I am — 

" To thee, sweet Eden ! how dark and sad 
" Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam, 2 

" And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad ! 

" Farewell, ye odors of Earth, that die 
" Passing away like a lover's sigh ; — 
" My feast is now of the Tooba Tree, 8 
M Whose scent is the breath of Eternity ! 

' Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone 
" In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief; — 



* The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which falls in Egypt 
t&n\se\y on St. John's day, in June, and is supposed to 
have the effect of stopping the plague. 

» The Country of Delight — the name of a province in the 
kingdom of Jinnistan, or Fairy Land, the capital of which 
'a called the City of Jewels. Amberabad is another of fte 
jities of Jinnistan. 

3 The tree Tooba, that stands in Paradise, in the palace 
of Mahomet. See Sale's Prelim. Disc. — Tooba, says D'Hcr- 
bclot, signifies beatitude, or eternal happiness. 

* Mahomet is described, in the 53d chapter of the Koran, 



" Oh ! what are the brightest that e'er have 

blown, 
" To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's throne, 4 

" Whose flowers have a soul in eveiy leaf. 
" Joy, joy forever ! — my task is done — 
" The Gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won !" 



" And this," said the Great Chamberlain, " is 
poetry ! this flimsy manufacture of the brain, which, 
in comparison with the lofty and durable monu- 
ments of genius, is as the gold filigree-work of 
Zamara beside the eternal architecture of Egypt !" 
After this gorgeous sentence, which, with a few 
more of the same kind, Fadladeen kept by him 
for rare and important occasions, he proceeded to 
the anatomy of the short poem just recited. The 
lax and easy kind of metre in which it was written 
ought to be denounced, he said, as one of the 
leading causes of the alarming growth of poetry 
in our times. If some check were not given to 
this lawless facility, we should soon be overrun 
by a race of bards as numerous and as shallow as 
the hundred and twenty thousand Streams of 
Basra. 5 They who succeeded in this style de- 
served chastisement for their very success ; — as 
warriors havr been punished, even after gaining a 
victory, because they had taken the liberty of 
gaining it in an irregular or unestablished manner. 
What, then, was to be said to those who failed ? to 
those who presumed, as in the present lamentable 
instance, to imitate the license and ease of the 
bolder sons of song, without any of that grace or 
vigor which gave a dignity even to negligence ; — 
who, like them, flung the jereed 6 carelessly, but 
not, like them, to the mark ; — " and who," said 
he, raising his voice to excite a proper degree of 
wakefulness in his hearers, " contrive to appear 
heavy and constrained in the midst of all the 
latitude they allow themselves, like one of those 
young pagans that dance before the Princess, who 
is ingenious enough to move as if her limbs were 



as having seen the angel Gabriel "by the lote-tree, beyond 
which there is no passing : near it is the Garden of Eternal 
Abode." This tree, say the commentators, stands in the 
seventh Heaven, on the right hand of the Throne of God. 

6 " It is said that the rivers or streams of Basra were 
reckoned in the time of Pelal ben Abi Bordeh, and amount- 
ed to the number of one hundred and twenty thousand 
streams." — Ebn Hankal. 

6 The name of the javelin with which the Easterns exer- 
cise. Sec Castellan, Jllmurs des Othomans, torn. iii. p. 161. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



413 



fettered, in a pair of the lightest and loosest drawers 
of Masulipatam !" 

It was but little suitable, he continued, to the 
grave march of criticism to follow this fantastical 
Peri, of whom they had just heard, through all 
her nights and adventures between earth and 
heaven ; but he could not help adverting to the 
puerile conceitedness of the Three Gifts which 
she is supposed to carry to the skies, — a drop of 
blood, forsooth, a sigh, and a tear ! How the first 
of these articles was delivered into the Angel's 
" radiant hand" he professed himself at a loss to dis- 
cover ; and as to the safe carriage of the sigh and 
the tear, such Peris and such poets were beings by 
far too incomprehensible for him even to guess 
how they managed such matters. " But, in short," 
said he, " it is a waste of time and patience to dwell 
longer upon a thing so incurably frivolous, — puny 
even among its own puny race, and such as only 
the Banyan Hospital 1 for Sick Insects should un- 
dertake." 

In vain did Lalla Rookh try to soften this inex- 
orable critic ; in vain did she resort to her most 
eloquent common-places, — reminding him that 
poets were a timid and sensitive race, whose 
sweetness was not to be drawn forth, like that of 
the fragrant grass near the Ganges, by crushing 
and trampling upon them f — that severity often 
extinguished every chance of the perfection which 
it demanded ; and that, after all, perfection was 
like the Mountain of the Talisman, — no one had 
ever yet reached its summit. 3 Neither these gen- 
tle axioms, nor the still gentler looks with which 
they were inculcated, could lower for one instant 
the elevation of Fadla keen's eyebrows, or charm 
him into any thing like encouragement, or even 
toleration, of her poet. Toleration, iivleed, was 
not among the weaknesses of Fadladeen: — he 
carried tho same spirit into matters of poetry and 
of religion, and, though little versed in the beau- 
ties and sublimities of either, was a perfect master 
of the art of persecution in both. His zeal was 
the same, too, in either pursuit ; whether the game 



" This account excited a desire of visiting the Banyan 
Hospital, as I had heard much of their benevolence to all 
kinds of animals that were either sick, lame, or infirm, 
through age or accident. On my arrival, there were presented 
to my view many horses, cows, and oxen, in one apartment ; 
in another, dogs, sheep, goats, and monkeys, with clean 
straw for them to repose on. Above stairs were deposito- 
ries for seeds of many sorts, and flat, broad dishes for water 
for the use of birds and insects." — Parson's Travels. 

It is said that all animals know the Banyans, that the 
most timid approach them, and that birds will fly nearer to 
them than to other people. — See Grandpre. 



before him was pagans or poetasters, — worshippers 
of cows, or writers of epics. 

They had now arrived at the splendid city of 
Lahore, whose mausoleums and shrines, magnifi- 
cent and numberless, where Death appeared to 
share equal honors with Heaven, would have pow- 
erfully affected the heart and imagination of Lal- 
la Rookh, if feelings more of this earth had not 
taken entire possession of her already. She was 
here met by messengers, dispatched from Cash- 
mere, who informed her that the King had ar- 
rived in the Valley, and was himself superintend- 
ing the sumptuous preparations that were then 
making in the Saloons of the Shalimar for her 
reception. The chill she felt on receiving this 
intelligence, — which to a r bride whose heart was 
free and light would have brought only images 
of affection and pleasure, — convinced her that her 
peace was gone forever, and that she was in lore., 
irretrievably in love, with young Ferajiorz. The 
veil had fallen off in which this passion zt first 
disguises itself, and to know that she loved was 
now as painful as to love without knowing it had 
been delicious. Feramorz, too, — what misery 
would be his, if the sweet hours of intercourse so 
imprudently allowed them should have stolen into 
his heart the same fatal fascination as into hers ; — 
if, notwithstanding her rank, and the modest hom- 
age he always paid to it, even he should have yield- 
ed to the influence of those long and happy inter- 
views, where music, poetry, the delightful scenes 
of nature, — all had tended to bring their hearts 
close together, and to waken by eveiy means that 
too ready passion, which often, like the young of 
the desert-bird, is warmed ;sO life by the e\-es 
alone ! 4 She saw but one way to preserve herself 
from being culpable as well as unhappy, and this, 
however painful, she was resolved to adopt. Fer- 
amorz must no more be admitted to her presence. 
To have strayed so far into the dangerous laby- 
rinth was wrong, but to linger in it, while the clew 
was yet in her hand, would be criminal. Though 
the heart she had to offer to the King of Bucha- 
ria might be cold and broken, it should at least 



2 " A very fragrant grass from the banks of the Ganges, 
near Heridwar, which in some places covers whole acres, 
and diffuses, when crushed, a strong odor." — Sir W. Jones 
on the Spikenard of the Ancients. 

3 "Near this is a curious hill, called Koh Talism, the 
Mountain of the Talisman, because, according to the tradi- 
tions of the country, no person ever succeeded in gaining its 
summit." — Kinneir. 

* " The Arabians believe that the ostriches hatch their 
young by only looking at them."— P. Vanslebe, Relat. 
d'Egypte. 



414 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



be pure ; and she must only endeavor to forget 
the short dream of happiness she had enjoyed, 
— like that Arabian shepherd, who, in wander- 
ing into the wilderness, caught a glimpse of the 
Gardens of Irim, and then lost them again for- 



The arrival of the young Bride at Lahore was 
celebrated in the most enthusiastic manner. The 
Rajas and Omras in her train, who had kept at 
a certain distance during the journey, and never 
encamped nearer to the Princess than was strictly 
necessary for her safeguard, here rode in splendid 
cavalcade through the city, and distributed the 
most costly presents to the crowd. Engines were 
erected in all the squares, which cast forth 
showers of confectionary among the people ; while 
the artisans, in chariots 2 adorned with tinsel and 
flying streamers, exhibited the badges of their 
respective trades through the streets. Such bril- 
liant displays of life and pageantry among the 
palaces, and domes, and gilded minarets of La- 
hore, made the city altogether like a place of en- 
chantment ; — particularly on the day when Lalla 
Rookh set out again upon her journey, when she 
was accompanied to the gate by all the fairest 
and richest of the nobility, and rode along between 
ranks of beautiful beys and girls, who kept waving 
over their heads plates of gold and silver flowers, 3 
and then threw them around to be gathered by the 
populace. 

For many days after their departure from La- 
hore, a considerable degree of gloom hung over 
the whole party. Lalla Rookh, who had in- 
tended to make illness her excuse for not admit- 
ting the young nfnstrel, as usual, to the pavilion, 
soon found that to feign indisposition was unne- 
cessary ; — Fadladeen felt the loss of the good 
road they had hitherto travelled, and was very 
near cursing Jehan-Guire (of blessed memory!) 
for not having continued his delectable alley of 
trees, 4 at least as far as the mountains of Cash- 
mere ; — while the Ladies, who had nothing now 
to do all day but, to be fanned by peacocks' feath- 
ers and listen to Fadladeen, seemed heartily 
weary of the life they led, and, in spite of all the 
Great Chamberlain's criticisms, were so tasteless 
as to wish for the poet again. One evening, as 



i See Sale's Koran, note, vol. ii. p. 484. 

2 Oriental Tales. 

s Ferishta. " Or rather," says Scott, upon the passage of 
Ferishta, from which this is taken, " small coins, stamped 
with the figure of a flower. They are still used in India to 
distribute in charity, and, on occasion, thrown by the purse- 
bearers of the great among the populace." 



they were proceeding to their place of rest for the 
night, the Princess, who, for the freer enjoyment 
of the air, had mounted her favorite Arabian pal- 
frey, in passing by a small grove heard the notes 
of a lute from within its leaves, and a voice, which 
she but too well knew, singing the following 
words : — 

Tell me not of joys above, 

If that world can give no bliss, 
Truer, happier than the Love 

Which enslaves our souls in this. 

Tell me not of Houris' eyes ; — 
Far from me their dangerous glow, 

If those looks that light the skies 
Wound like some that burn below. 

Who, that feels what Love is here, 

All its falsehood — all its pain — 
Would, for ev'n Elysium's sphere, 



Risk the fatal dream 



again 



Who, that midst a desert's heat 

Sees the waters fade away, 
Would not rather die than meet 

Streams again as false as they ? 

The tone of melancholy defiance in which these 
words were uttered, went to Lalla Rookh's heart ; 
— and, as she reluctantly rode on, she could not help 
feeling it to be a sad but still sweet certainty, that 
Feramorz was to the full as enamored and misera- 
ble as herself. 

The place where they encamped that evening 
was the first delightful spot they had come to 
since they left Lahore. On one side of them 
was a grove full of small Hindoo temples, and 
planted with the most graceful trees of the East ; 
where the tamarind, the cassia, and the silken 
plantains of Ceylon were mingled in rich contrast 
with the high fan-like foliage of the Palmyra, — 
that favorite tree of the luxurious bird that lights 
up the chambers of its nest with fire-flies. 5 In 
the middle of the lawn where the pavilion stood 
there was a tank surrounded by small mango- 
trees, on the clear cold waters of which floated 



4 The fine road made by the Emperor Jehan-Guire from 
Agra to Lahore, planted with trees on each side. This road 
is 250 leagues in length. It has '? littlfl pyramids or turrets," 
says Bcrnier, "erected every hall kwrgue, to mark the ways, 
and frequent wells to afford drink to passengers, and to wa- 
ter the young trees." 

s " The Baya, or Indian Gross-beak."— Sir TV. Jones. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



415 



multitudes of the beautiful red lotus ; x while at a 
distance stood the ruins of a strange and awful- 
looking tower, which seemed old enough to have 
been the temple of some religion no longer known, 
and which spoke the voice of desolation in the 
midst of all that bloom and loveliness. This singu- 
lar ruin excited the wonder and conjectures of all. 
Lalla Rookh guessed in vain, and the all-pretend- 
ing Fadladeen, who had never till this journey been 
■beyond the precincts of Delhi, was proceeding most 
learnedly to show that he knew nothing whatever 
about the matter, when one of the Ladies suggested 
that perhaps Feramorz could satisfy their curiosity. 
They were now approaching his native mountains, 
and this tower might perhaps be a relic of some of 
those dark superstitions, which had prevailed in that 
country before the light of Islam dawned upon it. 
The Chamberlain, who usually preferred his own 
ignorance to the best knowledge that any one else 
could give him, was by no means pleased with this 
officious reference ; and the Princess, too, was about 
to interpose a faint word of objection, but, before 
either of them could speak, a slave was dispatched 
for Feramorz, who, in a very few minutes, made 
his appearance before them — looking so pale and 
unhappy in Lalla Rookh's eyes, that she repented 
already of her cruelty in having so long excluded 
him. 

That venerable tower, he told them, was the 
remains of an ancient Fire-Temple, built by those 
Ghebers or Persians of the old religion, who, many 
hundred years since, had fled hither from their Arab 
conquerors, 2 preferring liberty and their altars in a 
foreign land to the alternative of apostacy or perse- 
cution in their own. It was impossible, he added, 
not to- feel interested in the many glorious but un- 
successful struggles, which h^d been made by these 
original natives of Persia to cast off the yoke of 
their bigoted conquerors. Like their own Fire in 
the Burning Field at Bakou, 3 when suppressed in 
one place, they had but broken out with fresh flame 
in another ; and, as a native of Cashmere, of that 
fair and Holy Valley, which had in the same man- 



i " Here is a large pagoda by a tank, on the water of which 
float multitudes of the beautiful red lotus : the flower is 
larger than that of the white water-lily-, and is the most 
lovely of the nymphaeas I have seen." — Mrs. Graham's 
Journal of a Residence in India. 

2 " On les voit persecutes par les Khalifes se retirer dans 
les montagnes du Kerman : plusieurs choisirent pour retraite 
la Tartarie et la Chine ; d'autres s'arreterent sur les bords 
du Gange, a Test de Delhi." — M. Jlnquctil, Memoires de 
l'Acadcmie, torn. x\xi., p. 346. 

8 The " Ager ardens" described by Kempfer, Ammnitat. 
Exot. 

4 " Cashmere (says its historians) had its own princes 4000 



ner become the prey of strangers, 4 and seen her 
ancient shrines and native princes swept away be- 
fore the march of her intolerant invaders, he felt a 
sympathy, he owned, with the sufferings of the 
persecuted Ghebers, which every monument like 
this before them but tended more powerfully to 
awaken. 

It was the first time that Feramorz had ever 
ventured upon so much prose before Fadladeen, 
and it may easily be conceived what effect such 
prose as this must have produced upon that most 
orthodox and most pagan-hating personage. He 
sat for some minutes aghast, ejaculating only at 
intervals, " Bigoted conquerors ! — sympathy with 
Fire -worshippers !" 5 — while Feramorz, happy to 
take advantage of this almost speechless horror of 
the Chamberlain, proceeded to say that he knew a 
melancholy story, conuected with the events of one 
of those struggles of the brave Fire-worshippers 
against their Arab masters, which, if the evening 
was not too far advanced, he should have much 
pleasure in being allowed to relate to the Princess. 
It was impossible for Lalla Rookh to refuse ; — he 
had never before looked half so animated ; and 
when he spoke of the Holy Valley his eyes had 
sparkled, she thought, like the talismanic characters 
on the cimeter of Solomon. Her consent was 
therefore most readily granted ; and while Fadla- 
deen sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting treason 
and abomination in every line, the poet thus began 
his story of the Fire-worshippers : — 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

'Tis moonlight over Oman's Sea f 
Her banks of pearl and palmy isles 

Bask in the night-beam beauteously, 
And her blue waters sleep in smiles. 

'Tis moonlight in Harmozia's 7 walls, 

And through her Emir's porphyry halls, 



years before its conquest by Akbar in 1585. Akbar would 
have found some difficulty to reduce this paradise of the 
Indies, situated as it is within such a fortress of mountains, 
but its monarch, Yusef-Khan, was basely betrayed by his 
Omrahs."— Penna?t«. 

6 Voltaire tells us that in his Tragedy, '« Les Guebres," he 
was generally supposed to have alluded to the Jansenists. I 
should not be surprised if this story of the Fire-worshippers 
were found capable of a similar doubl<mess of application. 

6 The Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, which separates 
the shores of Persia and Arabia. 

i The present Gombaroon, a town on the Persian sido of 
the Gulf. 



416 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Where, some hours since, was heard the swell 


Never was Iran doom'd to bend 


Of trumpet and the clash of zel, 1 


Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. 


Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell ; — 


Her throne had fall'n — her pride was crush'd— 


The peaceful sun, whom better suits 


Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd, 


The music of the bulbul's nest, 


In their own land, — no more their own, — 


Or the light touch of lovers' lutes, 


To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 


To sing him to his golden rest. 


Her tow'rs, where Mithra once had burn'd, 


All hush'd — there's not a breeze in motion ; 


To Moslem shrines — oh shame ! — were turn'd, 


The shore is silent as the ocean. 


Where slaves, converted by the sword, 


If zephyrs come, so light they come, 


Their mean, apostate worship pour'd, 


Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven ;- 


And cursed the faith their sires adored. 


The wind-tower on the Emir's dome 2 


Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill, 


Can hardly win a breath from heaven. 


O'er all this wreck high buoyant still 




With hope and vengeance ; — hearts that yet — 


Ev'n he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps 


Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays 


Calm, while a nation round him weeps ; 


They've treasured from the sun that's set, — 


While curses load the air he breathes, 


Beam all the light of long-lost days ! 


And falchions from unnumber'd sheaths 


And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow 


Are starting to avenge the shame 


To second all such hearts can dare ; 


His race hath brought on Iran's 3 name. 


As he shall know, well, dearly know, 


Hard, heartless Chief, unmoved alike 


Who sleeps in moonlight lux'ry there, 


Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike ; — 


Tranquil as if his spirit lay 


One of that saintly, murd'rous brood, 


Becalm'd in Heav'n's approving ray. 


To carnage and the Koran giv'n, 


Sleep on — for purer eyes than thine 


Who think through unbelievers' blood 


Those waves are hush'd, those pla'nets shine ; 


' Lies their directest path to heav'n ; — 


Sleep on, and be thy rest unmoved 


One, who will pause and kneel unshod 


By the white moonbeam's dazzling power ;— 


In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd, 


None but the loving and the loved 


To mutter o'er some text of God 


Should be awake at this sweet hour. 


Engraven on his reeking sword ; 4 — 




Nay, who can coolly note the line, 


And see — where, high above those rocks 


The letter of those words divine, 


That o'er the deep their shadows fling, 


To which his blade, with searching art, 


Yon turret stands ; — where ebon locks, 


Had sunk into its victim's heart ! 


As glossy as a heron's wing 




Upon the turban of a king, 6 


Just Alla ! what must be thy look, 


Hang from the lattice, long and wild, — 


When such a wretch before thee stands 


'Tis she, that Emir's blooming child, 


Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,— 


All truth, and tenderness, and grace, 


Turning the leaves with blood-stain'd hands, 


Though born of such ungentle race ; — 


And wresting from its page sublime 


An image of Youth's radiant Fountain 


His creed of lust, and hate, and crime ; — 


Springing in a desolate mountain P 


Ev'n as those bees of Trebizond, 




Which, from the sunniest flow'rs that glad 


Oh what a pure and sacred thing 


With their pure smile the gardens round, 


Is Beauty, curtain'd from the sight 


Draw venom forth that drives men mad. 6 


Of the gross world, illumining 




One only mansion with her light ! 


Never did fierce Arabia send 


Unseen by man's disturbing eye, — 


A satrap forth more direly great ; 


The flow'r that blooms beneath the sea, 


i A Moorish instrument of music. 


s "There is a kind of Rhododendros about Trebizond, 


2 " At Gombaroon and other places in Persia, they have 


whose flowers the bee feeds upon, and the honey thence 


towers for the purpose of catching the wind, and cooling the 


drives people mad."— Tournefort. 


houses." — Le Bruyn. 


6 " Their kings wear plumes of black herons' feathers up- 


3 " Iran is the true general name for the empire of Persia." 


on the right side, as a badge of sovereignty." — Hanway. 


— Asiat. Res., Disc. 5. 


i "The Fountain of Youth, by a Mahometan tradition, is 


4 " On the blades of their cimeters some verse from the 


situated in some dark region of the East." — Richardson. 


Koran is usually inscribed."— Russel. 





LALLA ROOKH. 



417 



Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie 

Hid in more chaste obscurity. 
So, Hinda, have thy face and mind, 
Like holy myst'ries, lain enshrined. 
And oh, what transport for a lover 

To lift the veil that shades them o'er ! — 
Like those who, all at once, discover 

In the lone deep some fairy shore, 

Where mortal never trod before, 
And sleep and wake in scented airs 
No lip had ever breathed but theirs. 

Beautiful are the maids that glide, 

On summer-eves, through Yemen's 1 dales, 
And bright the glanciug looks they hide 

Behind their litters' roseate veils ; — 
And brides, as delicate and fair 
As the white jasmine flow'rs they wear, 
Hath Yemen in her blissful clime, 

Who, lull'd in cool kiosk or bow'r, 2 
Before their mirrors count the time, 3 

And grow still lovelier ev'ry hour. 
But never yet hath bride or maid 

In Araby's gay Haram smiled, 
Whose boasted brightness would not fade 

Before Al Hassan's blooming child. 

Light as the angel shapes that bless 
An infant's dream, yet not the less 
Rich in all woman's loveliness ; — 
With eyes so pure, that from their ray 
Dark Vice would turn abash'd away, 
Blinded like serpents, when they gaze 
Upon the em'rald's virgin blaze ; 4 — 
Yet fill'd with all youth's sweet desires, 
Mingling the meek and vestal fires 
Of other worlds with all the bliss, 
The fond, weak tenderness of this : 
A soul, too, more than half divine, 

Where, through some shades of earthly feeling, 
Religion's soften' d glories shine, 

Like light through summer foliage stealing, 

1 Arabia Felix. 

2 "In the midst of the garden is the chiosk, that is, a large 
room, commonly beautified with a fine fountain in the midst 
of it. It is raised nine or ten steps, and enclosed with gilded 
lattices, round which vines, jessamines, and honeysuckles, 
make a sort of green wall ; large trees are planted round 
this place, which is the scene of their greatest pleasures." 
— Lady M. TV. .Montagu. 

3 The women of the East are never without their looking- 
glasses. "In Barbary," says Skaw, "they are so fond of 
their looking-glasses, which they hang upon their breasts, 
that they will not lay them aside, even when after the 
drudgery of the day they are obliged to go two or three miles 
with a pitcher or a goat's skin to fetch water." — Travels. 

In other parts of Asia they wear little looking-glasses on 
their thumbs. " Hence (and from the lotus being consider- 



27 



Shedding a glow of such mild hue, 
So warm, and yet so shadowy too, 
• As makes the very darkness there 
More beautiful than light elsewhere. 

Such is the maid who, at this hour, 

Hath risen from her restless sleep, 
And sits alone in that high bow'r, 

Watching the still and shining deep. 
Ah ! 'twas not thus — with tearful eyes 

And beating heart, — she used to gaze 
On the magnificent earth and skies, 

In her own land, in happier days. 
Why looks she now so anxious down 
Among those rocks, whose rugged frown 

Blackens the mirror of the deep ? 
Whom waits she all this lonely night ? 

Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, 
For man to scale that turret's height ! — 

So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire, 

When high, to catch the cool night-air, 
After the day -beam's with'ring fire, 5 

He built her bow'r of freshness there, 
And had it deck'd with costliest skill, 

And fondly thought it safe as fair : — 
Think, reverend dreamer ! think so still, 

Nor wake to learn what Love can dare ; — 
Love, all-defying Love, who sees 
No charm in trophies won with ease ; — 
Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss 
Are pluck'd on Danger's precipice ! 
Bolder than they, who dare not dive 

For pearls, but when the sea's at rest, 
Love, in the tempest most alive, 

Hath ever held that pearl the best 
He finds beneath the stormiest water. 
Yes — Araby's unrivall'd daughter, 
Though high that tow'r, that rock-way rude, 

There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek, 
Would climb th' untrodden solitude, 

Of Ararat's tremendous peak, 6 

ed the emblem of beauty) is the meaning of the following 
mute intercourse of two lovers before their parents :— 
" ' He with salute of defrence due, 
A lotus to his forehead press'd ; 
She raised her mirror to his view, 
Then turn'd it inward to her breast.' " 

Asiatic Miscellany, vol. ii. 
4 " They say that if a snake or serpent fix his eyes on the 
lustre of those stones, (emeralds,) he immediately becomes 
blind."— Ahmed, ben Mdalaziz, Treatise on Jewels. 

6 " At Gombaroon and the Isle of Ormus it is sometimes 
so hot, that the people are obliged to lie all day in the wa- 
ter." — Marco Polo. 

6 This mountain is generally supposed to be inaccessible. 
Struy says, " I can well assure the reader that their opinion is 
not true, who suppose this mount to be inaccessible." He 



418 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And think its steeps, though dark and dread, 

Heav'n's pathways, if to thee they led ! 

Ev'n now thou seest the flashing spray, • 

That lights his oar's impatient way ; 

Ev'n now thou hear'st the sudden shock 

Of his swift bark against the rock, 

And stretch est down thy arms of snow, 

As if to lift him from below ! 

Like her to whom, at dead of night, 

The bridegroom, with his locks of light, 1 

Came, in the flush of love and pride, 

And scaled the terrace of his bride ; — 

When, as she saw him rashly spring, 

And midway up in danger cling, 

She flung him down her long black hair, 

Exclaiming, breathless, " There, love, there !" 

And scarce did manlier nerve uphold 

The hero Zal in that fond hour, 
Than wings the youth who, fleet and bold, 

Now climbs the rocks to Hinda's bower. 
See — light as up their granite steeps 

The rock-goats of Arabia clamber, 3 
Fearless from crag to crag he leaps, 

And now is in the maiden's chamber. 

She loves — but knows not whom she loves, 

Nor what his race, nor whence he came ; — 
Like one who meets, in Indian groves, 

Some beauteous bird without a name, 
Brought by the last ambrosial breeze, 
From isles in th' undiscover'd seas, 
To show his plumage for a day 
To wond'ring eyes, and wing away ! 
Will he thus fly — her nameless lover ? 

Alla forbid ! 'twas by a moon 
As fair as this, while singing over 

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon, 3 
Alone, at this same witching hour, 

She first beheld his radiant eyes 
Gleam through the lattice of the bow'r, 

Where nightly now they mix their sighs ; 
And thought some spirit of the air 
(For what could waft a mortal there ?) 
Was pausing on his moonlight way 
To listen to her lonely lay ! 
This fancy ne'er hath left her mind: 

And — though, when terror's swoon had pass'd, 

adds, that " the lower part of the mountain is cloudy, misty, 
and dark, the middlemost part very cold, and like clouds of 
snow, but the upper regions perfectly calm."— It was on this 
mountain that the Ark was supposed to have rested after the 
Deluge, and part of it, they say, exists there still, which 
Struy thus gravely accounts for : — " Whereas none can re- 
member that the air on the top of the hill did ever change 
or was subject either to wind or rain, which is presumed to 
he the reason that the Ark has endured so long without be- 
ing rotten." — See Carreri's Travels, where the doctor laughs 
at this whole account of Mount Ararat. 



She saw a youth, of mortal kind, 

Before her in obeisance cast, — 
Yet often since, when he hath spoken 
Strange, awful words, — and gleams have broken 
From his dark eyes, too bright to bear, 

Oh ! she hath fear'd her soul was giv'n 
To some unhallow'd child of air, 
Some erring Spirit cast from heav'n, 
Like those angelic youths of old, 
Who burn'd for maids of mortal mould, 
Bewilder'd left the glorious skies, 
And lost their heav'n for woman's eyes. 
Fond girl ! nor fiend nor angel he 
Who woos thy young simplicity ; 
But one of earth's impassion'd sons, 

As warm in love, as fierce in ire, 
As the best heart whose current runs 

Full of the Day God's living fire. 

But quench'd to-night that s/dor seems, 

And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow ; — 
Never before, but in her dreams, 

Had she beheld him pale as now : 
And those were dreams of troubled sleep, 
From which 'twas joy to wake and weep ; 
Visions, that will not be forgot, 

But sadden eveiy waking scene, 
Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot 

All wither'd where they once have been. 

" How sweetly," said the trembling maid, 

Of her own gentle voice afraid, 

So long had they in silence stood, 

Looking upon that tranquil flood — 

" How sweetly does the moonbeam smile 

" To-night upon yon leafy isle ! 

" Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, 

" I've wish'd that little isle had wings, 

" And we, within its fairy bow'rs, 

" Were wafted off to seas unknown, 
" Where not a pulse should beat but ours, 

" And we might live, love, die alone ! 
" Far from the cruel and the cold, — 

" Where the bright eyes of angels only 
" Should come around us, to behold 

" A paradise so pure and lonely. 

i In one of the books of the Shah Nameh, when Zal (a 
celebrated hero of Persia, remarkable for his white hair) 
comes to the terrace of his mistress Rodahver at night, she 
lets down her long tresses to assist him in his ascent ; — he, 
however, manages it in a less romantic way, by fixing his 
crook in a projecting beam.— See Champion's Ferdosi. 

2 " On the lofty hills of Arabia Tetraja are rock-goats."— 
Niebuhr. 

8 " Canun, espece de psalterion, avec des cordes de boyaux ; 
les dames en touclftnt dans le serail, avec des decailles ar- 
mees de pointes de cooc." — Toderini, trans, by De Cournand. 



* 

LALLA ROOKH. 419 


" Would this be world enough for thee ?" — 


" 'Twould be those eyes ; — they, only they, 


Playful she turn'd, that he might see 


" Could melt that sacred seal away ! 


The passing smile her cheek put on ; 


" But no — 'tis fix'd — my awful doom 


But when she mark'd how mournfully 


" Is fix'd — on this side of the tomb 


His eyes met hers, that smile was gone ; 


" We meet no more ;— -why, why did Heav'n 


And, bursting into heartfelt tears, 


" Mingle two souls that earth has riv'n, 


" Yes, yes," she cried, " my hourly fears, 


" Has rent asunder wide as ours ? 


" My dreams have boded all too right — 


" Oh, Arab maid, as soon the Powers 


" We part — forever part — to-night ! 


" Of Light and Darkness may combine, 


" I knew, I knew it could not last — 


" As I be link'd with thee or thine ! 


" 'Twas bright, 'twas heav'nly, but 'tis past ! 


" Thy Father " 


" Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, 


" Holy Alla save 


"TFve seen my fondest hopes decay ; 


" His gray head from that lightning glance ! 


" I never loved a tree or flow'r, 


" Thou know'st him not — he loves the brave ; 


"But 'twas the first to fade away. 


" Nor lives there under Heaven's expanse 


" I never nursed a dear gazelle, 


" One who would prize, would worship thee 


" To glad me with its soft black eye, 


" And thy bold spirit, more than he. 


" But when it came to know me well, 


" Oft when, in childhood, I have play'd 


" And love me, it was sure to die 1 


" With the bright falchion by his side 


" Now too — the joy most like divine 


" I've heard him swear his lisping maid 


" Of all I ever dreamt or knew, 


" In time should be a warrior's bride. 


" To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — 


" And still, whene'er at Haram hours, 


" Oh misery ! must I lose that too ? 


" I take him cool sherbets and flow'rs, 


" Yet go — on peril's brink we meet ; — 


" He tells me, when in playful mood, 


" Those frightful rocks — that treach'rous sea — 


" A hero shall my bridegroom be, 


" No, never come again— though sweet, 


" Since maids are best in battle woo'd, 


" Though heav'n, it may be death to thee. 


" And won with shouts of victory ! 


" Farewell — and blessings on thy way, 


" Nay, turn not from me — thou alone 


" Where'er thou goest, beloved stranger ! 


" Art form'd to make both hearts thy own 


" Better to sit and watch that ray, 


" Go — join his sacred ranks — thou know'st 


" And think thee safe, though far away, 


" Th' unholy strife these Persians wage : — 


" Than have thee near me, and in danger !" 


" Good Heav'n, that frown ! — even now thou 




glow'st 


" Danger ! — oh, tempt me not to boast" — 


" With more than mortal warrior's rage. 


The youth exclaim' d — " thou little know'st 


" Haste to the camp by morning's light, 


" What he can brave-, who, born and nursed 


" And, when that sword is raised in fight, 


" In Danger's paths, has dared her worst ; 


" Oh still remember, Love and I 


" Upon whose ear the signal-word 


" Beneath its shadow trembling lie ! 


" Of strife and death is hourly breaking ; 


" One vict'ry o'er those Slaves of Fire, 


«* Who sleeps with head upon the sword 


" Those impious Ghebers, whom my sire 


" His fever'd hand must grasp in waking. 


« Abhors " 


" Danger ! — " 


" Hold, hold — thy words are death — " 


" Say on — thou fear'st not then, 


The stranger cried, as wild he flung 


" And we may meet — oft meet again ?" 


His mantle back, and show'd beneath 




The Gheber belt that round him clung. 1 — 


" Oh ! look not so — beneath the skies 


" Here, maiden, look — weep — blush to see 


" I now fear nothing but those eyes. 


" All that thy sire abhors in me ! 


" If aught on earth could charm or force 


" Yes — I am of that impious race, 


" My spirit from its destined course, — 


" Those Slaves of Fire who, morn and even, 


" If aught could make this soul forget 


" Hail their Creator's dwelling-place 


" The bond to which its seal is set, 


" Among the living lights of heaven: 8 


i "They (the Ghebers) lay so much stress on their cushee, 


"Pour se distinguer des Idolatres de l'lnde, les Guebres se 


or girdle, as not to dare to be an instant without it."— Grose's 


ceignent tous d'un cordon de laine, ou de poil de chameau." 


Voyage.—" Le jeune homme nia d'abord la chose ; mais, 


— Encyclopedic Francoise. 


ayant ete depouille de sa robe, et la large ceinture qu'ilpor- 


D'Herbelot says this belt was generally of leather. 


toit comme Ghebre," &c &c. — D'Hcrbelot, art. Agduani. 


a "They suppose the Throne of the Almighty is seated in 



420 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



« Yes — / am of that outcast few, 

" To Iran and to vengeance true, 

" Who curse the hour your Arabs came 

" To desolate our shrines of flame, 

" And swear, before God's burning eye, 

" To break our countiy's chains, or die ! 

" Thy bigot sire, — nay, tremble not, — 

" He, who gave birth to those dear eyes, 
" With me is sacred as the spot 

" From which our fires of worship rise ! 
" But know — 'twas he I sought that night, 

" When, from my watch-boat on the sea, 
" I caught this turret's glimm'ring light, 

" And up the rude rocks desp'rately 
" Rush'd to my prey — thou know'st the rest — 
" I climb'd the gory vulture's nest, 
" And found a trembling dove within ; — 
" Thine, thine the victory — thine the sin — 
" If Love hath made one thought his own, 
" That Vengeance claims first — last — alone ! 
" Oh ! had we never, never met, 
" Or could this heart ev'n now forget 
" How link'd, how bless'd we might have 

been, 
" Had fate not frown'd so dark between ! 
" Hadst thou been born a Persian maid, 

" In neighboring valleys had we dwelt, 
" Through the same fields in childhood play'd, 

" At the same kindling altar knelt, — 
" Then, then, while all those nameless ties, 
" In which the charm of Country lies, 
" Had round our hearts been hourly spun, 
" Till Iran's cause and thine were one ; 
" While in thy lute's awak'ning sigh 
" I heard the voice of days gone by, 
" And saw, in every smile of thine, 
" Returning hours of glory shine ; — 
" While the wrong'd Spirit of our Land 

" lived, look'd, and spoke her wrongs through 
thee, — 
" God! who could then this sword withstand? 

" Its very flash were victory ! 
" But now — estranged, divorced forever, 
" Far as the grasp of Fate can sever ; 
" Our only ties what love has wove, — 

" In faith, friends, country, sunder'd wide ; 

the sun, and hence their worship of that luminary." — Han- 
way. " As to fire, the Ghebers place the spring-head of it in 
that globe of fire, the Sun, by them called Mythras, or Mihir, 
to which they pay the highest reverence, in gratitude for the 
manifold benefits flowing from its ministerial omniscience. 
But they are so far from confounding the subordination of the 
Servant with the majesty of its Creator, that they not only 
attribute no sort of sense or reasoning to the sun or fire, in 
any of its operations, but consider it as a purely passive blind 
instrument, directed and governed by the immediate impres- 
sion on it of the will of God ; but they do not even give that 



" And then, then only, true to love, 

" When false to all that's dear beside . 
" Thy father Iran's deadliest foe — 
" Thyself, perhaps, ev'n now — but no— 
" Hate never look'd so lovely yet ! 

'* No — sacred to thy soul will be 
" The land of him who could forget 

" All but that bleeding land for thee. 
" When other eyes shall see, unmoved, 

" Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, 
" Thou'lt think how well one Gheber loved, 

" And for his sake thou'lt weep for all ! 

" But look " 

With sudden start he turn'd 

And pointed to the distant wave, 
Where lights, like charnel meteors, burn'd, 

Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave : 
And fiery darts, at intervals, 1 

Flew up all sparkling from the main, 
As if each star that nightly falls, 

Were shooting back to heav'n again 

" My signal lights ! — I must away — 

" Both, both are ruin'd, if I stay. 

" Farewell — sweet life ! thou cling'st in vain — 

" Now, Vengeance, I am thine again ."' 

Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd, 

Nor look'd — but from the lattice dropp'd 

Down mid the pointed crags beneath, 

As if he fled from love to death. 

While pale and mute young Hinda stood, 

Nor moved, till in the silent flood 

A momentary plunge below 

Startled her from her trance of wo : — 

Shrieking she to the lattice flew, 

" I come — I come — if in that tide 
" Thou sleep'st to-night, I'll sleep there too, 

" In death's cold wedlock, by thy side. 
" Oh ! I would ask no happier bed 

" Than the chill wave my love lies under : — 
" Sweeter to rest together dead, 

" Far sweeter, than to live asunder !" 
But no — their hour is not yet come — 

Again she sees his pinnace fly, 
Wafting him fleetly to his home, 

Where'er that ill-starr'd home may lie ; 

luminary, all-glorious as it is, more than the second rank 
amongst his works, reserving the first for that stupendous 
production of divine power, the mind of man."— Grose. The 
false charges brought against the religion of these people by 
their Mussulman tyrants is but one proof among many of the 
truth of this writer's remark, that " calumny is often added 
to oppression, if but for the sake of justifying it." 

1 " The Mamelukes that were in the other boat, when it 
was dark used to shoot up a sort of fiery arrows into the air 
which in some measure resembled lightning or falling stars.' 
— Baumgarten, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



421 



And calm and smooth it seem'd to win 
Its moonlight way before the wind, 

As if it bore all peace within, 

Nor left one breaking heart behind ! 



The Princess, whose heart was sad enough al- 
ready, could have wished that Feramorz had 
chosen a less melancholy story ; as it is only to the 
happy that tears are a luxury. Her Ladies, how- 
ever, were by no means sorry that love was once 
more the Poet's theme ; for, whenever he spoke of 
love, they said, his voice was as sweet as if he had 
chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree which 
grows over the tomb of the musician, Tan-Sein. 1 

Their road all the morning had lain through a 
very dreary country ; — through valleys, covered 
with a low, bushy jungle, where, in more than one 
place, the awful signal of the bamboo-staff, 2 with the 
white flag at its top, reminded the traveller that, in 
that very spot, the tiger had made some human 
creature his victim. It was, therefore, with much 
pleasure that they arrived at sunset in a safe and 
lovely glen, and encamped under one of those 
holy trees,- whose smooth columns and spreading 
roofs seem to destine them for natural temples of 
religion. Beneath this spacious shade, some pious 
hands had erected a row of pillars ornamented with 
the most beautiful porcelain, 3 which now supplied 
the use of mirrors to the young maidens, as they 
adjusted their hair in descending from the palan- 
keens. Here, while, as usual, the Princess sat 
'isteniug anxiously, with Fadladeen in one of his 
loftiest moods of criticism by her side, the young 
Poet, leaning against a branch of the tree, thus con- 
tinued his story : — 

1 " Within the enclosure which surrounds this monument 
(at Gualior) is a small tomb to the memory of Tan-Sein, a 
musician of incomparable skill, who nourished at the court 
of Akbar. The tomb is overshadowed by a tree, concerning 
whieh a superstitious notion prevails, that the chewing of 
its leaves will give an extraordinary melody to the voice." — 
Narrative of a Journey from Agra to Ouzein, by IV. Hunter, 
Esq. 

2 " It is usual to place a small white triangular flag, fixed 
to a bamboo staff of ten or twelve feet long, at the place 
where a tiger has destroyed a man. It is common for the pas- 
sengers also to throw each a stone or brick near the spot, so 
that in the course of a little time a pile equal to a good wag- 
on-load is collected. The sight of these flags and piles of 
stones imparts a certain melancholy, not perhaps, altogether 
void of apprehension."— Oriental Field Sports, vol. ii. 

3 "The Ficus Indica is called the Pa god Tree and Tree 
of Councils ; the first, from the idols placed under its shade ; 
the second, because meetings were held under its cool 
branches. In some places it is believed to be the haunt of 



The morn hath risen clear and calm, 

And o'er the Green Sea 4 palely shines, 
Revealing Bahrein's 5 groves of palm, 

And lighting Kishma's 5 amber vines. 
Fresh smell the shores of Araby, 
While breezes from the Indian Sea 
Blow round Selama's 6 sainted cape, 

And curl the shining flood beneath, — 
Whose waves are rich with many a grape, 

And cocoa-nut and flow'ry weath, 
Which pious seamen, as they pass d, 
Had tow'rd that holy headland cast — 
Oblations to the Genii there 
For gentle skies and breezes fair ! 
The nightingale now bends her flight 7 
From the high trees, where all the night 

She sung so sweet, with none to listen ; 
And hides her from the morning star 

Where thickets of pomegranate glisten 
In the clear dawn, — bespangled o'er 

With dew, whose night-drops would not 
stain 
The best and brightest cimeter 8 
That ever youthful Sultan wore 

On the first morning of his reign. 

And see — the Sun himself !— on wings 
Of glory up the East he springs. 
Angel of Light ! who from the time 
Those heavens began their march sublime, 
Hath first of all the starry choir 
Trod in his Maker's steps of fire ! 

Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere, 
When Iran, like a sun-flow'r, turn'd 
To meet that eye where'er it burn'd ? — 

When, from the banks of Bendemeer 
To the nut-groves of Samarcand, 
Thy temples flamed o'er all the land ? 

spectres, as the ancient spreading oaks of Wales have been 
of fairies ; in others are erected beneath the shade pillars of 
stone, or posts, elegantly carved, and ornamented with the 
most beautiful porcelain to supply the use of mirrors." — 
Pennant. 

* The Persian Gulf. — " To dive for pearls in the Green 
Sea, or Persian Gulf." — Sir IV. Jones. 

s Islands in the Gulf. 

6 Or Selemeh, the genuine name of the headland at the 
entrance of the Gulf, commonly called Cape Musseldom. 
" The Indians, when they pass the promontory, throw co- 
coa-nuts, fruits, or flowers into the sea, to secure a propitious 
voyage ."—Morier. 

7 "The nightingale sings from the pomegranate-groves in 
the day-time, and from the loftiest trees at night."— Russel's 
Aleppo. 

8 In speaking of the climate of Shiraz, Francklin says, 
"The dew is of such a pure nature, that if the brightest 
cimeter should be exposed to it all night, it would not re- 
ceive the least rust." 



422 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Where are they ? ask the shades of them 

Who on CadessiaV bloody plains, 
Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem 
From Iran's broken diadem, 

And bind her ancient faith in chains : — 
Ask the poor exile, cast alone 
On foreign shores, unloved, unknown, 
Beyond the Caspian's Iron Gates, 2 

Or on the snowy Mossian mountains, 
Far from his beauteous land of dates, 

Her jasmine bow'rs and sunny fountains : 
Yet happier so than if he trod 
His own beloved, but blighted, sod, 
Beneath a despot stranger's nod ! — 
Oh, he would rather houseless roam 

Where Freedom and his God may lead, 
Than be the sleekest slave at home 

That crouches to the conqu'ror's creed ! 

Is Iran's pride then gone forever, 

Quench'd with the flame in Mithra's caves ? — 
No — she has sons, that never — never — 
Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves, 
While heav'n has light or earth has graves ; — 
Spirits of fire, that brood not long, 
But flash resentment back for wrong ; 
And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds 
Of vengeance ripen into deeds, 
Till, in some treach'rous hour of calm, 
They burst, like Zeilan's giant palm, 3 
Whose buds fly open with a sound 
That shakes the pigmy forests round ! 

Yes, Emir ! he, who scaled that tow'r, 

And, had he reach'd thy slumb'ring breast, 
Had taught thee, in a Gheber's pow'r 

How safe ev'n tyrant heads may rest — 
Is one of many, brave as he, 
Who loathe thy haughty race and thee ; 
Who, though they know the strife is vain, 
Who, though they know the riven chain 
Snaps but to enter in the heart 
Of him who rends its links apart, 
Yet dare the issue, — bless'd to be 
Ev'n for one bleeding moment free, 
And die in pangs of liberty ! 
Thou know'st them well — 'tis some moons since 

Thy turban'd troops and blood-red flags, 
Thou satrap of a bigot Prince, 

Have swarm'd among these Green Sea crags ; 

i The place where the Persians were finally defeated by 
the Arabs, and their ancient monarchy destroyed. 

2 Derbend— " Les Turcs appelent cette ville Demir 
Capi, Porte de Fer ; ce sont les Caspian Porta des anciens." 
— D'Herbelot. 

s The Talpot or Talipot tree. " This beautiful palm-tree, 
which grows in the heart of the forests, may be classed 



Yet here, ev'n here, a sacred band 
Ay, in the portal of that land 
Thou, Arab, dar'st to call thy own, 
Their spears across thy path have thrown ; 
Here — ere the winds half wing'd thee o'er — 
Rebellion braved thee from the shore. 

Rebellion ! foul, dishonoring word, 

Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd 
The holiest cause that tongue or sword 

Of mortal ever lost or gain'd. 
How many a spirit, born to bless, 

Hath sunk beneath that with'ring name, 
Whom but a day's, an hour's success 

Had wafted to eternal fame ! 
As exhalations, when they burst 
From the warm earth, if chill'd at first, 
If check'd in soaring from the plain, 
Darken to fogs and sink again ; — 
But, if they once triumphant spread 
Their wings above the mountain-head, 
Become enthroned in upper air, 
And turn to sun-bright glories there ! 

And who is he, that wields the might 

Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink, 
Before whose sabre's dazzling light 4 

The eyes of Yemen's warriors wink ? 
Who comes, embower'd in the spears 
Of Kerman's hardy mountaineers ? — 
Those mountaineers that truest, last, 

Cling to their country's ancient rites, 
As if that God, whose eyelids cast 

Their closing gleam on Iran's heights, 
Among her snowy mountains threw 
The last light of his worship too ! 

'Tis Hafed — name of fear, whose sound 
Chills like the mutt'ring of a charm !— • 

Shout but that awful name around, 
And palsy shakes the manliest arm. 

'Tis Hafed, most aeeursed and dire 

(So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire) 

Of all the rebel Sons of Fire ; 

Of whose malign, tremendous power 

The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour, 

Such tales of fearful wonder tell, 

That each affrighted sentinel 

Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes, 

Lest Hafed in the midst should rise .' 

among the loftiest trees, and becomes still higher when on 
the point of bursting forth from its leafy summit. The sheath 
which then envelopes the flower is very large, and, when 
it bursts, makes an explosion like the report of a cannon.' 
— Thunberg. 

4 " When the bright cimeters make the eyes of our heroes 
wink." — The Moallakat, Poem of Jimru. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



423 



A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 
A mingled race of flame and earth, 
Sprung from those old, enchanted kings, 1 

Who in their fairy helms, of yore, 
A feather from the mystic wings 

Of the Simoorgh resistless wore ; 
And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
Who groan'd to see their shrines expire, 
With charms that, all in vain withstood, 
Would drown the Koran's light in blood ! 

Such were the tales, that won belief, 

And such the coloring Fancy gave 
To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief,— 

One who, no more than mortal brave, 
Fought for the land Ins soul adored, 

For happy homes and altars free, 
His only talisman, the sword, 

His only spell-word, Liberty ! 
One of that ancient hero line, 
Along whose glorious current shine 
Names, that have sanctified their blood ; 
As Lebanon's small mountain-flood 
Is render d holy by the ranks 
Of sainted cedars on its banks. 2 
'Twas not for him to crouch the knee 
Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; 
'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast 
In the bright mould of ages past, 
Whose melancholy spirit, fed 
With all the glories of the dead, 
Though framed for Iran's happiest years, 
Was born among her chains and tears ! — 
'Twas not for him to swell the crowd 
Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow'd 
Before the Moslem, as he pass'd, 
Lik? shrubs beneath the poison -blast — 
Xo far he fled — indignant fled 

The pageant of his country's shame ; 
While every tear her children shed 

Fell on his soul like drops of flame ; 
And, as a lover hails the dawn 

Of a first smile, so welcomed he 



i Tahmuras, and other ancient kings of Persia ; whose 
adventures in Fairy-land among the Peris and Dives may be 
found in Richardson's curious Dissertation. The griffin Si- 
moorgh, they say. took some feathers from her breast for 
Tahmuras, with which he adorned his helmet, and trans- 
mitted them afterwards to his descendants. 

2 This rivulet, says Dandini, is called the Holy River from 
the " cedar-saints" among which it rises. 

In the Lettres Edifiantes, there is a different cause as- 
signed for its name of Holy. " In these are deep caverns, 
which formerly served as so many cells for a great number 
of recluses, who had chosen these retreats as the only wit- 
nesses upon earth of the severity of their penance. The 
tears of these pious penitents gave the river of which we 



The sparkle of the first sword drawn 
For vengeance and for liberty ! 

But vain was valor— vain the flow'r 
Of Kerman, in that deathful hour, 
Against Al Hassan's whelming power, — 
In vain they met him, helm to helm, 
Upon the threshold of that realm 
He came in bigot pomp to sway, 
And with their corpses block' d his way— 
In vain — for every lance they raised, 
Thousands around the conqueror blazed ; 
For every arm that lined their shore, 
Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er, — 
A bloody, bold, and countless crowd, 
Before whose swarm as fast they bow'd 
As dates beneath the locust cloud. 



There stood — but one short league away 
From old Harmozia's sultry bay — 
A rocky mountain, o'er, the Sea 
Of Oman beetling awfully ; 3 
A last and solitary link 

Of those stupendous chains that reach 
From the broad Caspian's reedy brink 

Down winding to the Green Sea beach. 
Around its base the bare rocks stood, 
Like naked giants, in the flood, 

As if to guard the Gulf across ; 
While, on its peak, that braved the sky, 
A ruin'd Temple tower'd. so high 

That oft the sleeping albatross 4 
Struck the wild ruins with her wing, 
And from her cloud-rock' d slumbering 
Started — to find man's dwelling there 
In her own silent fields of air ! 
Beneath, terrific caverns gave 
Dark welcome to each stormy wave 
That dash'd, like midnight revellers, in ; — 
And such the strange, mysterious din 
At times throughout those caverns roll'd, — 
And such the fearful wonders told 



have just treated the name of the Holy River." — See Chd 
teaubriand's Beauties of Christianity. 

3 This mountain is my own creation, as the " stupendous i 
chain," of which I suppose it a link, does not extend qnite ; 
so far as the shores of the Persian Gulf. ''This long and 
lofty range of mountains formerly divided Media from Assy- 
ria, and now forms the boundary of the Persian and Turkish j 
empires. It runs parallel with the river Tigris and Persian 
Gulf, and almost disappearing in the vicinity of Gomberoon, 
(Harmozia ) seems once more to rise in the southern districts 
of Kerman, and following an easterly course through the 
centre of Meckraun and Balouchistan, is entirely lost in the 
deserts of Sinde."— Kinnier's Persian Empire. 

4 These birds sleep in the air They are most common 
about the Cape of Good Hope. 



424 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Of restless sprites imprison'd there, 
That bold were Moslem, who would dare ; 
At twilight hour, to steer his skiff 
Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff. 1 

On the land side, those tow'rs sublime, 
That seem'd above the grasp of Time, 
Were sever'd from the haunts of men 
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, 
So fathomless, so full of gloom, 

No eye could pierce the void between : 
It seem'd a place where Gholes might come 
With their foul banquets from the tomb, 

And in its caverns feed unseen. 
Like distant thunder, from below, 

The sound of many torrents came, 
Too deep for eye or ear to know 
If 'twere the sea's imprison'd flow, 

Or floods of ever-restless flame. 
For, each ravine, each rocky spire 
Of that vast mountain stood on fire ; 2 
And, though forever past the days 
When God was worshipp'd in the blaze 
That from its lofty altar shone, — 
Though fled the priests, the vot'ries gone, 
Still did the mighty flame burn on, 3 
Through chance and change, through good and ill, 
Like its own God's eternal will, 
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable ! 

Thither the vanquish'd Hafed led 

His little army's last remains ; — 
" Welcome, terrific glen !" he said, 
" Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread, 

" Is Heav'n to him who flies from chains !" 
O'er a dark, narrow bridgeway, known 
To him and to his Chiefs alone, 
They cross'd the chasm and gain'd the towers, — 
" This home," he cried, *' at least is ours ; — 
" Here we may bleed, unmock'd by hymns 

" Of Moslem triumph o'er our head ; 
" Here we may fall, nor leave our limbs 

" To quiver to the Moslem's tread. 
" Stretch'd on this rock, while vultures' beaks 
" Are whetted on your yet warm cheeks, 



i "There is an extraordinary hill in this neighborhood 
called Kohe Gubr, or the Guebre's mountain. It rises in the 
form of a lofty cupola, and on the summit of it, they say, are 
the remains of an Atush Kudu, or Fire Temple. It is super- 
stitiously held to be the residence of Deeves or Sprites, and 
many marvellous stories are recounted of the injury and 
witchcraft suffered by those who essayed in former days to 
ascend or explore it." — Pottinger's Beloochistan. 

a The Ghebers generally built their temples over subter- 
raneous fires. 

3 " At the city of Yezd, in Persia, which is distinguished 
by the appellation of the Darub Abadut, or Seat of Religion, 



tl Here — happy that no tyrant's eye 

" Gloats on our torments — we may die !" — 

'Twas night when to those towers they came, 

And gloomily the fitful flame, 

That from the ruin'd altar broke, 

Glared on his features, as he spoke : — 

" Tis o'er — what men could do, we've done — 

" If Iran will look tamely on, 

" And see her priests, her warriors driv'n 

" Before a sensual bigot's nod, 
" A wretch who shrines his lust in heav'n, 

" And makes a pander of his God ; 
" If her proud sons, her high-born souls, 

" Men, in whose veins — oh last disgrace ! 
" The blood of Zal and Rustam 4 rolls, — 

" If they will court this upstart race 
" And turn from Mithra's ancient ray, 
" To kneel at shrines of yesterday ; 
" If they will crouch to Iran's foes, 

" Why, let them — till the land's despair 
" Cries out to Heav'n, and bondage grows 

" Too vile for ev'n the vile to bear I 
" Till shame at last, long hidden, burns 
" Their inmost core, and conscience turns 
" Each coward tear the slave lets fall 
" Back on his heart in drops of gall. 
" But here, at least, are arms unchain'd, 
" And souls that thraldom never stain'd ; — 

" This spot, at least, no foot of slave 
" Or satrap ever yet profaned ; 

" And though but few — though fast the wave 
" Of life is ebbing from our veins, 
" Enough for vengeance still remains. 
" As panthers, after set of sun, 
" Rush from the roots of Lebanon 
" Across the dark-sea robber's way, 6 
" We'll bound upon our startled prey ; 
" And when some hearts that proudest swell 
" Have felt our falchion's last farewell ; 
" When Hope's expiring throb is o'er, 
" And ev'n Despair can prompt no more, 
" This spot shall be the sacred grave 
" Of the last few who, vainly brave, 
" Die for the land they cannot save !" 



the Guebres are permitted to have an Atush Kudu or Fire 
Temple (which, they assert, has had the sacred fire in it 
since the days of Zoroaster) in their own compartment of the 
city ; but for this indulgence they are indebted to the avarice, 
not the tolerance of the Persian government, which taxes 
them at twenty-five rupees each man."— Pottinger's Be- 
loochistan. 

* Ancient heroes of Persia. " Among the Guebres there 
are some, who boast their descent from Rustam." — Stephen's 
Persia. 

6 See Russel's account of the panther's attacking travellers 
in the night on the sea-shore about the roots of Lebanon. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



425 



His Chiefs stood round— each shining blade 
Upon the broken altar laid — 
And though so wild and desolate 
Those courts, where once the Mighty sate ; 
Nor longer on those mould'ring tow'rs 
Was seen the feast of fruits and flow'rs, 
With which of old the Magi fed 
The wand'ring Spirits of their dead ;* 
Though neither priest nor rites were there, 

Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate ; a 
Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air, 

Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet ;' 
Yet the same God that heard their sires 
Heard them, while on that altar's fires 
They swore 4 the latest, holiest deed 
Of the few hearts, still left to bleed, 
Should be, in Iran's injured name, 
To die upon that Mount of Flame— 
The last of all her patriot line, 
Before her last untrampled Shrine ! 



Brave, suff'ring souls ! they little knew 
How many a tear their injuries drew 
From one meek maid, one gentle foe, 
Whom love first touch'd with others' wo — 
Whose life, as free from thought as sin, 
Slept like a lake, till Love threw in 
His talisman, and woke the tide, 
And spread its trembling circles wide. 
Once, Emir ! thy unheeding child, 
Mid all this havoc, bloom'd and smiled, — 
Tranquil as on some battle plain 

The Persian lily shines and tow'rs, 6 
Before the combat's redd'ning stain 

Hath fall'n upon her golden flow'rs. 
Lighthearted maid, unawed, unmoved, 
While Heav'n but spared the sire she loved, 
Once at thy evening tales of blood 
Unlist'ning and aloof she stood — 
And oft, when thou hast paced along 

Thy Haram halls with furious heat, 
Hast thou not cursed her cheerful song, 

That came across thee, calm and sweet, 
Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near 
Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear ! 

Far other feelings Love hath brought — 
Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness, 

1 " Among other ceremonies the Magi used to place upon 
the tops of high towers various kinds of rich viands, upon 
which it was supposed the Peris and the spirits of their de- 
parted heroes regaled themselves." — Richardson. 

2 In the ceremonies of the Ghebers round their Fire, as 
described by Lord, <; the Daroo," he says, " giveth them wa- 
ter to drink, and a pomegranate leaf to chew in the mouth, 
to cleanse them from inward uncleanness." 

3 " Early in the morning, they (the Parsees or Ghebers at 
Oulam) go in crowds to pay their devotions to the Sun, to 



She now has but the one dear thought, 

And thinks that o'er, almost to madness !' 
Oft doth her sinking heart recall 
His words — " for my sake weep for all ;" 
And bitterly, as day on day 

Of rebel carnage fast succeeds, 
She weeps a lover snatch'd away 

In ev'ry Gheber wretch that bleeds. 
There's not a sabre meets her eye, 

But with his life-blood seems to swim ; 
There's n* t an arrow wings the sky, 

But fancy turns its point to him. 
No more she brings with footstep light 
Al Hassan's falchion for the fight ; 
And — had he look'd with clearer sight, 
Had not the mists, that ever rise 
From a foul spirit, dimm'd his eyes — 
He would have mark'd her shudd'ring frame, 
When from the field of blood he came, 
The falt'ring speech — the look estranged — 
Voice, step, and life, and beauty changed — 
He would have mark'd all this, and known 
Such change is wrought by Love alone ! 

Ah ! not the Love, that should have bless'd 
So young, so innocent a breast ; 
Not the pure, open, prosp'rous Love, 
That, pledged on earth and seal'd above, 
Grows in the world's approving eyes, 

In friendship's smile and home's caress, 
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties 

Into one knot of happiness ! 
No, Hinda, no, — thy fatal flame 
Is nursed in silence, sorrow, shame ; — 

A passion, without hope or pleasure, 
In thy soul's darkness buried deep, 

It lies like some ill-gotten treasure, — 
Some idol, without shrine or name, 
O'er which its pale-eyed vot'ries keep 
Unholy watch, while others sleep. 

Seven nights have darken'd Oman's Sea, 
Since last, beneath the moonlight ray, 

She saw his light oar rapidly 

Hurry her Gheber's bark away, — 

And still she goes, at midnight hour 

To weep alone in that high bow'r, 

whom upon all the altars there are spheres consecrated, 
made by magic, resembling the circles of the sun, and when 
the sun rises, these orbs seem to be inflamed, and to turn round 
with a great noise. They have every one a censer in their 
hands, and offer incense to the sun.' —Rabbi Benjamin. 

4 "Nul d'entre euxoseroitse parjurer, quand il a pris a te 
moincet element terrible et\enge\ir."—Encyclop. Francoise. 

6 " A vivid verdure succeeds the autumnal rains, and the 
ploughed fields are covered with the Persian lily, of u re- 
splendent yellow color." — RusseVs Aleppo. 



426 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And watch, and look along the deep 

For him whose smiles first made her weep ;— 

But watching, weeping, all was vain, 

She never saw his bark again. 

The owlet's solitary cry, 

The night-hawk, flitting darkly by, 

And oft the hateful carrion bird, 
Heavily flapping his clogg'd wing, 
Which reek'd with that day's banqueting — 

Was ail she saw, was all she heard. 

'Tis the eighth morn — Al Hassan's brow 

Is brighten'd with unusual joy — 
What mighty mischief glads him now, 

Who never smiles but to destroy ? 
The sparkle upon Herkend's Sea, 
When toss'd at midnight furiously, 1 
Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh, 
More surely than that smiling eye ! 
" Up, daughter, up — the Kerna's 2 breath 
" Has blown a blast would waken death, 
" And yet thou sleep'st — up, child, and see 
" This blessed day for Heaven and me, 
" A day more rich in Pagan blood 
" Than ever flash'd o'er Oman's flood. 
" Before another dawn shall shine, 
" His head — heart — limbs — will all be mine ; 
" This very night his blood shall steep 
" These hands all over ere I sleep !" — 

" His blood !" she faintly scream'd — her mind 
Still singling one from all mankind — 
" Yes — spite of his ravines and tow'rs, 
" Haeed, my child, this night is ours. 
" Thanks to all-conqu'ring treachery, 

" Without whose aid the links accursed, 
" That bind these impious slaves, would be 

" Too strong for Alla's self to burst ! 
" That rebel fiend, whose blade has spread 
" My path with piles of Moslem dead, 
" Whose baffling spells had almost driv'n 
" Back from their course the Swords of Heav'n, 
" This night, with all his band, shall know 
" How deep an Arab's steel can go, 
" When God and Vengeance speed the blow. 
" And — Prophet ! by that holy wreath 
" Thou wor'st on Oiiod's field of death, 3 
" I swear, for ev'ry sob that parts 
" In anguish from these heathen hearts, 

i "It is observed, with respect to the Sea of Herkend, that 
when it is tossed by tempestuous winds it sparkles like fire." 
'—Travels of Two Mohammedans. 

2 A kind of trumpet ; — it " was that used by Tamerlane, 
the sound of which is described as uncwimonly dreadful, 
and so loud as to be heard at the distance of several miles." 
— Richardson. 

8 " Mohammed had two helmets, an interior and exterior 



" A gem from Persia's plunder'd mines 
" Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines. 
" But, ha ! — she sinks — that look so wild — 
" Those livid lips — my child, my child, 
" This life of blood befits not thee, 
" And thou must back to Araby. 

" Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex 
" In scenes that man himself might dread, 
" Had I not hoped our ev'ry tread 

" Would be on prostrate Persian necks — 
Cursed race, they offer swords instead ! 
'• But cheer thee, maid, — the wind that now 
" Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow, 
" To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; 
" And, ere a drop of this night's gore 
" Have time to chill in yonder tow'rs, 
" Thou'lt see thy own sweet Arab bow'rs !" 

His bloody boast VvciS sJU too true ; 

There lurk'd one wretch among the few 

Whom Hafed's eagle eye could count 

Around him on that Fiery Mount, — 

One miscreant, who for gold betray'd 

The pathway through the valley's shade 

To those high tow'rs, where Freedom stood 

In her last hold of flame and blood. 

Left on the field last dreadful night, 

When, sallying from their Sacred height, 

The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight, 

He lay — but died not with the brave ; 

That sun, which should have gilt his grave, 

Saw him a traitor and a slave ; — 

And, while the few, who thence return'd 

To their high rocky fortress, mourn'd 

For him among the matchless dead 

They left behind on glory's bed, 

He lived, and, in the face of morn, 

Laugh'd them, and Faith, and Heav'n to scorn. 

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave, 

Whose treason, like a deadly blight, 
Comes o'er the councils of the brave, 

And blasts them in their hour of might ! 
May Life's unblessed cup for him 
Be drngg'd with treach'ries to the brim, — 
With hopes, that but allure to fly, 

With joys, that vanish while he sips, 
Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, 

But turn to ashes on the lips ! 4 

one ; the latter of which, called Al Mawashah, the fillet, 
wreath, or wreathed garland, he wore at the battle of Ohod." 
— Universal History. 

4 " They say that there are apple-trees upon the sides of 
this sea, which bear very lovely fruit, but within are all ft»ll 
of ashes." — Thevenot. The same is asserted of the oranges 
there ; vide Witman's Travels in Asiatic Turkey. 

" The Asphalt Lake, known by the name of the Dead Sea, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



427 



His country's curse, his children's shame, 
Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame, 
May he, at last, with lips of flame 
On the parch'd desert thirsting die, — 
While lakes, that shone in mockery nigh, 1 
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted, 
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted ! 
And, when from earth his spirit flies, 

Just Prophet, let the damn'd-one dwell 
Full in the sight of Paradise, 

Beholding heav'n, and feeling hell ! 



Lalla Rookh had, the night before, been visited 
by a dream which, in spite of the impending fate of 
poor Hafed, made her heart more than usually 
cheerful during the morning, and gave her cheeks 
all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bid- 
musk has just passed over. 2 She fancied that she 
was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the sea- 
gipsies, who live forever on the water, 3 enjoy a per- 
petual summer in wandering from isle to isle, when 
she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It 
was like one of those boats which the Maldivian 
islanders send adrift, at the mercy of winds and 
waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odorifer- 
ous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call 
King of the Sea. At first, this little bark appeared 
to be empty, but, on coming nearer 

She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream 

is very remarkable on accoxint of the considerable proportion 
of salt which it contains. In this respect it surpasses every 
other known water on the surface of the earth. This great 
proportion of bitter-tasted salts is the reason why neither 
animal nor plant can live in this water." — KlaprotK's Chem- 
ical Analysis of the Water of the Dead Sea, Annals of 
Philosophy, January, 1813. Hasselquist, however, doubts 
the truth of this last assertion, as there are shell-fish to be 
found in the lake. 

Lord Byron has a similar allusion to the fruits of the Dead 
Sea, in that wonderful display of genius, his third Canto of 
Childe Harold,— magnificent, beyond any thing, perhaps 
that even he has ever written. 

1 " The Suhrab or Water of the Desert is said to be caused 
by the rarefaction of the atmosphere from extreme heat ; 
and, which augments the delusion, it is most frequent in 
hollows, where water might be expected to lodge. I have 
seen bushes and trees reflected in it, with as much accuracy 
as though it had been the face of a clear and still lake."— 
Pottinger. 

"As to the unbelievers, their works are like a vapor in a 
plain, which the thirsty traveller thinketh to be water, until 
when he cometh thereto he findeth it to be nothing." — Ko- 
ran, chap. 24. 

2 " A wind which prevails in February, called Bidmusk, 
from a small and odoriferous flower of that name."— " The 
wind which blows these flowers commonly lasts till the end 
of the month." — Le Bruyn. 



to her Ladies, when Feramorz appeared at the door 
of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, every 
thing else was forgotten, and the continuance of the 
story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of 
aloes was set to burn ia the cassolets ; — the violet 
sherbets 4 were hastily handed round, and after a 
short prelude on his lute, in the pathetic measure of 
Nava, 6 which is always used to express the lamenta- 
tions of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued : — 



The day is low'ring — stilly black 
Sleeps the grim wave, while heav'n's rack, 
Dispersed and wild, 'twixt earth and sky 
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy. 
There's not a cloud in that blue plain 

But tells of storm to come or past ; — 
Here, flying loosely as the mane 

Of a young war-horse in the blast ; — 
There, roll'd in masses dark and swelling, 
As proud to be the thunder's dwelling ! 
While some, already burst and riv'n, 
Seem melting down the verge of heav'n ; 
As though the infant storm had rent 

The mighty womb that gave him birth, 
And, having swept the firmament, 

Was now in fierce career for earth. 

On earth 'twas yet all calm around, 
A pulseless silence, dread, profound, 
More awful than the tempest's sound. 

3 "The Biajiis are of two races : the one is settled on Bor- 
neo, and are a rude but warlike and industrious nation, who 
reckon themselves the original possessors of the island of 
Borneo. The other is a species of sea-gipsies or itinerant fish- 
ermen, who live in small covered boats, and enjoy a perpet- 
ual summer on the eastern ocean, shifting to leeward from 
island to island, with the variations of the monsoon. In some 
of their customs this singular race resemble the natives of 
the Maldivia islands. The Maldivians annually launch a 
small bark, loaded with perfumes, gums, flowers, and odo- 
riferous wood, and turn it adrift at the mercy of wind and 
waves, as an offering to the Spirit of the Winds ; and some- 
times similar offerings are made to the spirit whom they 
term the King of the Sea. In like manner the Biajiis per- 
form their offering to the god of evil, launching a small bark, 
loaded with all the sins and misfortunes of the nation, which 
are imagined to fall on the unhappy crew that may be so 
unlucky as first to meet with it." — Dr. Ley den on the Lan- 
guage and Literature of the Indo-Chinese Nations. 

4 "The sweet-scented violet is one of the plants most es- 
teemed, particularly for its great use in Sorbet, which they 
make of violet sugar." — Hasselquist. 

"The sherbet they most esteem, and which is drunk by 
the Grand Signor himself, is made of violets and sugar."— 
Tavernier. 

5 "Last of all she took a guitar, and sung a pathetic air in 
the measure called Nnva, which is always used to express 
the lamentations of absent lovers."— Persian Tales. 



428 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The diver steer'd for Ormus' bowers, 
And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours ; 
The sea-birds, with portentous screech, 
Flew fast to land ; — upon the beach 
The pilot oft had paused, with glance 
Tura'd upward to that wild expanse ; — 
And all was boding, drear, and dark 
As her own soul, when Hinda's bark 
Went slowly from the Persian shore.— 
No music timed her parting oar, 1 
Nor friends upon the less'ning strand 
Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand, 
Or speak the farewell, heard no more ; — 
But lone, unheeded, from the bay 
The vessel takes its mournful way, 
Like some ill-destined bark that steers 
In silence through the Gate of Tears. 2 

And where was stern Al Hassan then ? 
Could not that saintly scourge of men 
From bloodshed and devotion spare 
One minute for a farewell there ? 
No — close within, in changeful fits 
Of cursing and of pray'r, he sits 
In savage loneliness to brood 
Upon the coming night of blood, — 

With that keen, second-scent of death, 
By which the vulture snuffs his food 

In the still warm and living breath ! 3 
While o'er the wave his weeping daughter 
Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter,— 
As a young bird of Babylon, 4 — 
Let loose to tell of vict'ry won, 
Flies home, with wing, ah ! not unstain'd 
By the red hands that held her chain'd. 

And does the long-left home she seeks 

Light up no gladness on her cheeks ? 

The flow'rs she nursed — the well-known groves, 

Where oft in dreams her spirit roves — 

Once more to see her dear gazelles 

Come bounding with their silver bells ; 

Her birds' new plumage to behold, 

And the gay, gleaming fishes count, 
She left, all filleted with gold, 

Shooting around their jasper fount ; s 



1 "The Easterns used to set out on their longer voyages 
with music."— Harmer. 

2 "The Gate of Tears, the straits or passage into the Red 
Sea, commonly called Babelmandel. It received this name 
from the old Arabians, on account of the danger of the navi- 
gation, and the number of shipwrecks by which it was dis- 
tinguished ; which induced them to consider as dead, and to 
wear mourning for, all who had the boldness to hazard the 
passage through it into the Ethiopic ocean." — Richardson. 

3 " I have been told that whensoever an animal falls down 
dead, one or more vultures, unseen before, instantly ap- 
pear." — Pennant. 



Her little garden mosque to see, 

And once again, at evening hour, 
To tell her ruby rosary 6 

In her own sweet acacia bow'r. — 
Can these delights, that wait her now, 
Call up no sunshine on her brow ? 
No, — silent, from her train apart, — 
As even now she felt at heart 
The chill of her approaching doom, — 
She sits, all lovely in her gloom 
As a pale Angel of the Grave ; 
And o'er the wide, tempestuous wave, 
Looks, with a shudder, to those tow'rs, 
Where, in a few short awful hours, 
Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run, 
Foul incense for to-morrow's sun ! 
" Where art thou, glorious stranger ! thou, 
" So loved, so lost, where art thou now ? 
" Foe — Gheber — infidel — whate'er 
" Th' unhallow'd name thou'rt docm'd to bear, 
" Still glorious — still to this fond heart 
" Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art ! 
" Yes — Alla, dreadful Alla ! yes — 
" If there be wrong, be crime in this, 
" Let the black waves that round us roll, 
" Whelm me this instant, ere my soul, 
" Forgetting faith — home — father — all — 
" Before its earthly idol fall, 
" Nor worship ev'n Thyself above him — 
" For, oh, so wildly do I love him, 
" Thy Paradise itself were dim 
" And joyless, if not shared with him !" 
Her hands were clasp'd — her eyes upturn'd, 

Dropping their tears like moonlight rain ; 
And, though her lip, fond raver ! burn'd 

With words of passion, bold, profane, 
Yet was there light around her brow, 

A holiness in those dark eyes, 
Which show'd, — though wand'ring earthwa. 
now, — 

Her spirit's home was in the skies. 
Yes — for a spirit pure as hers 
Is always pure, ev'n while it errs ; 
As sunshine, broken in the rill, 
Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still ! 



* "They fasten some writing to the wings of a Bagdat or 
Babylonian pigeon." — Travels of certain Englishmen. 

6 "The Empress of Jehan-Guire used to divert herself 
with feeding tame fish in her canals, some of which were 
many years afterwards known by fillets of gold, which she 
caused to be put round them." — Harris. 

6 "Le Tespih, qui est un chapelet, compose de 99 petites 
boules d'agathe, de jaspe, d'ambre, de corail, ou d'autre ma- 
ticre precieuse. J'en ai vu un superbe au Seigneur Jerpos ; 
il etoit de belles et grosses perles parfaites et egales, estime 
trente mille piastres." — Toderini. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



429 



So wholly had her mind forgot 

All thoughts but one, she heeded not 

The rising storm — the wave that cast 

A moment's midnight, as it pass'd — 

Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread 

Of gath'ring tumult o'er her head — 

Clash'd swords, and tongues that seem'd to vie 

With the rude riot of the sky. — 

But, hark ! — that war-whoop on the deck — 

That crash, as if each engine there, 
Mast, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, 

Mid yells and stampings of despair ! 
Merciful Heaven ! what can it be ? 
'Tis not the storm, though fearfully 
The ship has shudder'd as she rode 
O'er mountain- waves — " Forgive me, God ! 
" Forgive me" — shriek'd the maid, and knelt, 
Trembling all over — for she felt 
As if her judgment -hour was near ; 
While crouching round, half dead with fear, 
Her handmaids clung, nor breathed, nor stirr'd- 
When, hark ! — a second crash — a third — 
And now, as if a bolt of thunder 
Had riv'n the laboring planks asunder, 
The deck falls in — what horrors then ! 
Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men 
Come mix'd together through the chasm, — 
Some wretches in their dying spasm 
Still fighting on— and some that call 
" For God and Iran !" as they fall ! 

Whose was the hand that turn'd away 

The perils of th' infuriate fray, 

And snatch'd her breathless from beneath 

This wilderment of wreck and death ? 

She knew not — for a faintness came 

Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame 

Amid the ruins of that hour 

Lay, like a pale and scorched flow'r, 

Beneath the red volcano's shower. 

But, oh ! the sights and sounds of dread 

That shock'd her ere her senses fled ! 

The yawning deck — the crowd that strove 

Upon the tott'ring planks above — 

The sail, whose fragments, shiv'ring o'er 

The stragglers' heads, all dash'd with gore, 

Flutter'd like bloody flags — the clash 

Of sabres, and the lightning's flash 

Upon their blades, high toss'd about 

Like meteor brands 1 — as if throughout 



i The meteors that Pliny calls " faces.' 
1 " The brilliant Canopus, unseen in European climates." 
— Brown. 

3 See Wilford's learned Essays on the Sacred Isles in the 
West. 

4 A precious stone of the Indies, called by the ancients 



The elements one fury ran, 
One gen'ral rage, that left a doubt 

Which was the fiercer, Heav'n or Man ! 

Once too — but no — it could not be — 

'Twas fancy all — yet once she thought, 
While yet her fading eyes could see, 

High on the ruin'd deck she caught 
A glimpse of that unearthly form, 

That glory of her soul, — even then, 
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, 

Shining above his fellow-men, 
As, on some black and troublous night, 
The Star of Egypt, 2 whose proud light 
Never hath beam'd on those who rest 
In the White Islands of the West, 3 
Burns through the storm with looks of flame 
That put Heav'n's cloudier eyes to shame. 
But no— 'twas but the minute's dream — 
A fantasy — and ere the scream 
Had half-way pass'd her pallid lips, 
A deathlike swoon, a chill eclipse 
Of soul and sense its darkness spread 
Around her, and she sunk, as dead. 

How calm, how beautiful comes on 
The stilly hour, when storms are gone ; 
When warring winds have died away, 
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, 
Melt off, and leave the land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquillity, — 
Fresh as if Day again were born, 
Again upon the lap of Morn ! — 
When the light blossoms, rudely torn 
And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will, 
Hang floating in the pure air still, 
Filling it all with precious balm, 
In gratitude for this sweet calm ; — 
And every drop the thunder-show'rs 
Have left upon the grass and flow'rs 
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem 4 
Whose liquid flame is born of them ! 
When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze, 
There blow a thousand gentle airs, 
And each a diff rent perfume bears, — 
As if the loveliest plants and trees 
Had vassal breezes of their own 
To watch and wait on them alone, 
And waft no other breath than theirs: 



Ceraunium, because it was supposed to be found in places 
where thunder had fallen. Tertullian says it has a glitter- 
ing appearance, as if there had been fire in it ; and the au- 
thor of the Dissertation in Harris's Voyages, supposes it to 
be the opal. 



430 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


When tho blue waters rise and fall, 


Some minister, whom Hell had sent, 


In sleepy sunshine mantling all ; 


To spread its blast, where'er he went, 


And ev'n that swell the tempest leaves 


And fling, as o'er our earth he trod, 


Is like the full and silent heaves 


His shadow betwixt man and God ! 


Of lovers' hearts, when newly bless'd, 


And she is now his captive, — thrown 


Too newly to be quite at rest. 


In his fierce hands, alive, alone ; 




His th' infuriate band she sees,. 


Such was the golden hour that broke 


All infidels — all enemies ! 


Upon the world, when Hinda woke 


What was the daring hope that then 


From her long trance, and heard around 


Cross'd her like lightning, as again, 


No motion but the water's sound 


With boldness that despair had lent, 


Rippling against the vessel's side, 


She darted through that armed crowd 


As slow it mounted o'er the tide. — 


A look so searching, so intent, 


Eut where is she ? — her eyes are dark, 


That ev'n the sternest warrior bow'd 


Are wilder'd still — is this the bark, 


Abash'd, when he her glances caught, 


The same, that from Harmozia's bay 


As if he guess'd whose form \hey sought. 


Bore her at morn — whose bloody way 


But no — she sees him not — 'tis gone, 


The sea-dog track'd ? — no — strange and new 


The vision that before her shone 


Is all that meets her wond'ring view 


Through all the maze of blood and storm, 


Upon a galliot's deck she lies, 


Is fled — 'twas but a phantom form — 


Beneath no rich pavilion's shade, — 


One of those passing, rainbow dreams, 


No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes, 


Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams 


Nor jasmine on her pillow laid. 


Paint on the fleeting mists that roll 


But the rude litter, roughly spread 


In trance or slumber round the soul. 


With war-cloaks, is her homely bed, 




And shawl and sash, on javelins hung, 


But now the bark, with livelier bound, 


For awning o'er her head are flung. 


Scales the blue wave— the crew's in mo- 


Shudd'ring she look'd around — there lay 


tion, 


A group of warriors in the sun, 


The oars are out, and with light sound 


Resting their limbs, as for thac day 


Break the bright mirror of the ocean, 


Their ministry of deatn were done. 


Scatt'ring its brilliant fragments round. 


Some gazing on the drowsy sea, 


And now she sees — with horror sees, 


Lost in unconscious revery ; 


Their course is tow'rd that mountain-hold, — 


And some, who seem'd but ill to brook 


Those tow'rs, that make her life-blood freeze, 


That sluggish calm, with many a look 


Where Mecca's godless enemies 


To the slack sail impatient cast, 


Lie, like beleaguer'd scorpions, roll'd 


As loose it flagg'd around the mast. 


In their last deadly, venomous fold ! 




Amid th' illumined land and flood 


Blest Alla ! who shall save her now ? 


Sunless that mighty mountain stood ; 


There's not in all that warrior band 


Save where, above its awful head, 


One Arab sword, one turban'd brow 


There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, 


From her own Faithful Moslem land. 


As 'twere the flag of destiny 


Their garb — the leathern belt 1 that wraps 


Hung out to mark where death would be ! 


Each yellow vest 2 — that rebel hue — 




The Tartar fleece upon their caps 3 — 


Had her bewilder'd mind the pow'r 


Yes — yes — her fears are all too true, 


Of thought in this terrific hour, 


And Heav'n hath, in this dreadful hour, 


She well might marvel where or how 


Abandon'd her to Hafed's power ; 


Man's foot could scale that mountain's brow, 


Hafed, the Gheber ! — at the thought 


Since ne'er had Arab heard or known 


Her very heart's blood chills within ; 


Of path but through the glen alone. — 


He, whom her soul was hourly taught 


But every thought was lost in fear, 


To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, 


When, as their bounding bark drew near 


i D'Herbelot, art. Agduani. 


3 " The Kolah, or cap, worn l>y the Persians, is made of 


a " The Guebres are known by a dark yellow color, which 


the skin of the sheep of Tartary." — Warivg. 


the men affect in their clothes."— Thevenot. 





LALLA 


ROOKH. 431 


The craggy base, she felt the waves 


But soon this balmy freshness fled — 


Hurry them tow'rd those dismal caves, 


For now the steepy labyrinth led 


That from the Deep in windings pass 


Through damp and gloom — 'mid crash of boughs, 


Beneath that Mount's volcanic mass ; — 


And fall of loosen'd crags that rouse 


And loud a voice on deck commands 


The leopard from his hungry sleep, 


To low'r the mast and light the brands ! — 


Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey, 


Instantly o'er the dashing tide 


And long is heard, from steep to steep, 


Within a cavern's mouth they glide, 


Chasing them down their thund'ring way ! 


Gloomy as that eternal Porch 


The jackal's cry — the distant moan 


Through which departed spirits go : — 


Of the hyaena, fierce and lone — 


Not ev'n the flare of brand and torch 


And that eternal sadd'ning sound 


Its flick'ring light could further throw 


Of torrents in the glen beneath, 


Than the thick flood that boil'd below 


As 'twere the ever dark Profound 


Silent they floated — as if each 


That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death ! 


Sat breathless, and too awed for speech 


All, all is fearful — ev'n to see, 


In that dark chasm, where even sound 


To gaze on those terrific things 


Seem'd dark, — so sullenly around 


She now but blindly hears, would be 


The goblin echoes of the cave 


Relief to her imaginings ; 


Mutterid it o'er the long black wave, 


Since never yet was shape so dread, 


As 'twere some secret of the grave ! 


But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown, 




And by such sounds of horroi ied, 


But soft — they pause — the current turns 


Could frame more dreadful of her own. 


Beneath them from its onward track ; — 




Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns 


But does she dream ? has Fear again 


The vexed tide, all foaming, back, 


Perplex'd the workings of her brain, 


And scarce the oars' redoubled force 


Or did a voice, all music, then 


Can stem the eddy's whirling course ; 


Come from the gloom, lew whisp'ring near— • 


When, hark ! — some desp'rate foot has sprung 


" Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here ?" 


Among the rocks — the chain is flung — 


She does not dream — all sense, all ear, 


The oars are up — the grapple clings, 


She drinks the words, " Thy Gheber's here." 


And the toss'd bark in moorings swings. 


'Twas his own voice — she could not err — 


Just then, a day -beam through the shade 


Throughout the breathing world's extent 


Broke tremulous — but, ere the maid 


There was but one such voice for her, 


Can see from whence the brightness steals, 


So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! 


Upon her brow she shudd'ring feels 


Oh, sooner shall the rose of May 


A viewless hand, that promptly ties 


Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 


A bandage round her burning eyes ; 


And to some meaner minstrel's lay 


While the rude litter where she lies, 


Open her bosom's glowing veil, 1 


Uplifted by the warrior throng, 


Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, 


O'er the steep rocks is borne along. 


A breath of the beloved one ! 


Blest power of sunshine ! — genial Day, 


Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think 


What balm, what life is in thy r? ! 


She has that one beloved near, 


To feel thee is such real bliss, 


Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink, 


That had the world no joy but this, 


Hath power to make even ruin dear, — 


To sit in sunshine calm and sweet, — 


Yet soon this gleam of rapture, cross'd 


It were a world too exquisite 


By fears for him, is chill'd and lost. 


For man to leave it for the gloom, 


How shall the ruthless Hafed brook 


The deep, cold shadow of the tomb. 


That one of Gheber blood should look, 


Ev'n Hixda, though she saw not where 


With aught but curses in his eye, 


Or whither wound the perilous road, 


On her a maid of Araby — 


Yet knew by that awak'ning air, 




Which suddenly around her glow'd, 
That they had ris'n from darkness then, 


* A frequent image among the oriental poets ' The 
nightingales warbled their enchanting Dotes, and >ent the 


And breathed the sunny world again ! 


thin veils of the rose-bud and the rose."-- Jam. 



432 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



A Moslem maid — the child of him, 

Whose bloody banner's dire success 
Hath left their altars cold and dim, 

And their fair land a wilderness ! 
And, worse than all, that night of blood 

Which comes so fast — Oh ! who shall stay 
The sword, that once hath tasted food 

Of Persian hearts, or turn its way ? 
What arm shall then the victim cover, 
Or from her father shield her lover ? 

" Save him, my God !" she inly cries — 
" Save him this night — and if thine eyes 

" Have ever welcomed with delight 
' The sinner's tears, the sacrifice 

" Of sinners' hearts — guard him this night, 
" And here, before thy throne, I swear 
" From my heart's inmost core to tear 

" Love, hope, remembrance, though they be 
" Link'd with each quiv'ring life-string there, 

" And give it bleeding all to Thee ! 
" Let him but live, — the burning tear 
"The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, 
" Which have been all too much his own, 
" Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone. 
" Youth pass'd in penitence, and age 
" In long and painful pilgrimage, 
" Shall leave no traces of the flame 
" That wastes me now — nor shall his name 
" E'er bless my lips, but when I pray 
" For his dear spirit, that away 
" Casting from its angelic ray 
" Th' eclipse of earth, he, too, may shine 
" Redeem'd, all glorious and all Thine ! 
" Think — think what victory to win 
" One radiant soul like his from sin, — 
" One wand'ring star of virtue back 
" To its own native, heavenward track ' 
" Let him but live, and both are Thine, 

" Together thine — for, bless'd or cross'd, 
" Living or dead, his doom is mine, 

" And, if he perish, both are lost !" 



The next evening Lalla Rookh was entreated 
by her Ladies to continue the relation of her won- 
derful dream ; but the fearful interest that hung 
round the fate of Hinda and her lover had com- 
pletely removed every trace of it from her mind ; — 
much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in 

i "Blossoms of the sorrowful Nyctanthes give a durable 
color to silk."— Remarks on the Husbandry of Bengal, p. 
200. Nilica is one of the Indian names of this flower.— 
Sir W. Jones. The Persians call it Gul.— Carreri. 

a " In parts of Kerman, whatever dates are shaken from 



her train, who prided themselves on their skill in in- 
terpreting visions, and who had already remarked, 
as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, on the very 
morning after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with 
the blossoms of the sorrowful tree, Nilica. 1 

Fadladeen, whose indignation had more than 
once broken out during the recital of some parts of 
this heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made 
up his mind to the infliction ; and took his seat this 
evening with all the patience of a martyr, while the 
Poet resumed his profane and seditious stoiy as fol- 
lows : — 



To tearless eyes and hearts at ease 
The leafy shores and sun-bright seas, 
That lay beneath that mountain's height, 
Had been a fair enchanting sight. 
'Twas one of those ambrosial eves 
A day of storm so often leaves 
At its calm setting — when the West 
Opens her golden bowers of rest, 
And a moist radiance from the skies 
Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes 
Of some meek penitent, whose last, 
Bright hours atone for dark ones past, 
And whose sweet tears, o'er wrong forgiv'n, 
Shine, as they fall, with light from heav'n ! 

'Twas stillness all — the winds that late 

Had rush'd through Kerman's almond groves, 
And shaken from her bow'rs of date 

That cooling feast the traveller loves, 2 
Now, lull'd to languor, scarcely curl 

The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam 
Limpid, as if her mines of pearl 

Were melted all to form the stream •= 
And her fair islets, small and bright, 

With their green shores reflected there, 
Look like those Peri isles of light, 

That hang by spell-work in the air. 

But vainly did those glories burst 
On Hinda's dazzled eyes, when first 
The bandage from her brow was taken, 
And, pale and awed as those who waken 
In their dark tombs — when, scowling near, 
The Searchers of the Grave 3 appear, — 

the trees by the wind they do not touch, but leave them for 
those who have not any, or for travellers."— Ebn Haukal. 

8 The two terrible angels, Monkir and Nakir, who are 
called " the Searchers of the Grave" in the " Creed of the 
orthodox Mahometans" given by Ockley, vol. ii. 



LALLA ROOKH 



433 



She shudd'ring turn'd to read her fate 

In the fierce eyes that flash'd around ; 
And saw those towers all desolate, 

That o'er her head terrific frown'd, 
As if defying ev'n the smile 
Of that soft heav'n to gild their pile. 
In vain with mingled hope and fear, 
She looks for him whose voice so dear 
Had come, like music, to her ear — 
Strange, mocking dream ! again 'tis fled. 
And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread 
That through her inmost bosom run, 

When voices from without proclaim 
" Hafed, the Chief" — and, one by one, 

The warriors shout that fearful name ! 
He comes — the rock resounds his tread — 
How shall she dare to lift her head, 
Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare 
Not Yemen's boldest sons can bear ? 
In whose red beam, the Moslem tells, 
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, 
As in those hellish fires that light 
The mandrake's charnel leaves at night. 1 
How shall she bear that voice's tone, 
At whose loud battle-cry alone 
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, 
Scatter'd like some vast caravan, 
When, stretch'd at evening round the well, 
They hear the thirsting tiger's yell. 

Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down, 
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown, 
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow 
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now: 
And shudd'ring as she hears the tread 

Of his retiring warrior band. — 
Never was pause so full of dread ; 

Till Hafed with a trembling hand 
Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said, 
" Hinda ;" — that word was all he spoke, 
And 'twas enough — the shriek that broke 

From her full bosom, told the rest. — 
Panting with terror, joy, surprise, 
The maid but lifts her wond'ring eyes, 

To hide them on her Gheber's breast ! 
'Tis he, 'tis he — the man of blood, 
The fellest of the Fire-fiend's brood, 
Hafed, the demon of the fight, 
Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight,— 
Is her own loved Gheber, mild 
And glorious as when first he smiled 
In her lone tow'r, and left such beams 
Of his pure eye to light her dreams, 

i " The Arabians call the mandrake ' the Devil's candle,' 
on account of its shining appearance in the night." — 
Richardson. 



That she believed her bower had giv'n 
Rest to some wanderer from heav'n ! 

Moments there are, and this was one 
Snatch'd like a minute'« gleam of sun 
Amid the black Simoom's eclipse — 

Or, like those verdant spots that bloom 
Around the crater's burning lips, 

Sweet'ning the very edge of doom ! 
The past— the future— all that Fate 
Can bring of dark or desperate 
Around such hours, but makes them cast 
Intenser radiance while they last ! 

Ev'n he, this youth — though dimm'd and gone 

Each star of Hope that cheer'd him on — 

His glories lost — his cause betray'd — 

Iran, his dear-loved country, made 

A land of carcasses and slaves, 

One dreary waste of chains and graves ! — 

Himself but ling'ring, dead at heart, 

To see the last, long struggling breath 
Of Liberty's great soul depart, 

Then lay him down and share her death — 
Ev'n he, so sunk in wretchedness, 

With doom still darker gath'ring o'er him, 
Yet, in this moment's pure caress, 
In the mild eyes that shone before him, 
Beaming that blest assurance, worth 
All other transports known on earth, 
That he was loved — well, warmly loved — 
Oh ! in this precious hour he proved 
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow 
Of rapture, kindling out of wo ; — 
How exquisite one single drop 
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top 
Of mis'ry's cup — how keenly quaff'd, 
Though death must follow on the draught ! 

She, too, while gazing on those eyes 

That sink into her soul so deep, 
Forgets all fears, all miseries, 

Or feels them like the wretch in sleep, 
Whom fancy cheats into a smile, 
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while ! 
The mighty Ruins where they stood, 

Upon the mount's high, rocky verge, 
Lay open tow'rds the ocean flood, 

Where lightly o'er the illumined surge 
Many a fair bark that, all the day, 
Had lurk'd in shelt'ring creek or bay, 
Now bounded on, and gave their sails, 
Yet dripping, to the ev'ning gales ; 
Like eagles, when the storm is done, 
Spreading their wet wings in the sun 
The beauteous clouds, though daylight Star 
Had sunk behind the hills of Lar, 



434 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Were still with ling'ring glories bright, — 


" Alike beyond its hope — its dread — 


As if, to grace the gorgeous West, 


" In gloomy safety, like the Dead ! 


The Spirit of departing Light 


" Or, could ev'n earth and hell unite 


That eve had left his sunny vest 


" In league to storm this Sacred Height, 


Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. 


" Fear nothing thou — myself, to-night, 


Never was scene so form'd for love ! 


" And each o'erlooking star that dwells 


Beneath them waves of crystal move 


" Near God, will be thy sentinels ; — 


In silent swell — Heav'n glows above, 


" And, ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, 


And their pure hearts, to transport giv'n, 


" Back to thy sire " 


Swell like the wave, and glow like Heav'n. 


" To-morrow ! — no" — 




The maiden scream'd — " thou'lt never see 


But ah ! too soon that dream is past — 


" To-morrow's sun — death, death will be 


Again, again her fear returns ; — 


" The night-ciy through each reeking tower, 


Night, dreadful night, is gath'ring fast, 


" Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour ! 


More faintly the horizon burns, 


" Thou art betray' d — some wretch who knew 


And every rosy tint that lay 


" That dreadful glen's mysterious clew — 


On the smooth sea hath died away. 


" Nay, doubt not — by y;ti stars, 'tis true — 


Hastily to the dark'ning skies 


" Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; 


A glance she casts — then wildly cries 


" This morning, with that smile so dire 


" At night, he said — and, look, 'tis near — ■ 


" He wears in joy, he told me all, 


" Fly, fly — if yet thou lov'st me, fly — 


" And stamp'd in triumph through our hall, 


" Soon will his murd'rous band be here, 


" As though thy heart already beat 


" And I shall see thee bleed and die. — 


" Its last life-throb beneath his feet ! 


" Hush ! heard'st thou not the tramp of men 


" Good Heav'n, how little dream'd I then 


" Sounding from yonder fearful glen ? — 


" His victim was my own loved youth ! — 


" Perhaps ev'n now they climb the wood— 


" Fly — send — let some one watch the glen— 


" Fly, fly— though still the West is bright, 


" By all my hopes of heav'n 'tis truth !" 


" He'll come — oh ! yes — he wants thy blood — 




" I know him — he'll not wait for night !" 


Oh ! colder than the wind that freezes 




Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd 


In terrors ev'n to agony 


Is that congealing pang which seizes 


She clings around the wond'ring Chief ; — 


The trusting bosom, when betray'd. 


" Alas, poor wilder'd maid ! to me 


He felt it — deeply felt — and stood, 


" Thou ow'st this raving trance of grief. 


As if the tale had froz'n his blood, 


" Lost as I am, naught ever grew 


So mazed and motionless was he ; — 


" Beneath my shade but perish'd too — 


Like one whom sudden spells enchant, 


" My doom is like the Dead Sea air, 


Or some mute, marble habitant v ' 
Of the still Halls of Ishmonie I 1 > ; 


" And nothing lives that enters there I 


" Why were our barks together driv'n 




" Beneath this morning's furious heav'n 1 


But soon the painful chill was o'er, 


" Why, when I saw the prize that chance 


And his great soul, herself once more, 


" Had thrown into my desp'rate arms,— 


Look'd from his brow in all the rays 


" When, casting but a single glance 


Of her best, happiest, grandest days. 


" Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, 


Never, in moment most elate, 


" I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er 


Did that high spirit loftier rise ; — 


" Thy safety through that hour's alarms) 


While bright, serene, determinate, 


" To meet th' unmanning sight no more — 


His looks are lifted to the skies, 


" Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow ? 


As if the signal lights of Fate 


" Why weakly, madly met thee now ? — 


Were shining in those awful eyes ! 


" Start not — that noise is but the shock 


'Tis come — his hour of martyrdom 


" Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd — 


In Iran's sacred cause is come ; 


" Dread nothing here — upon this rock 


And, though his life hath pass'd away, 


" We stand above the jarring world, 


Like lightning on a stormy day, 


For an account of Mrmonie, the petrified city it Upper 


women, &c, to be seen to this day, see Perry's View of tie 


Egypt, where, it is said, here are many statues of men, 


Levant. 



LALLA ROOKH. 435 


Yet shall his death-hour leave a track 


" If in that soul thou'st ever felt 


Of glory, permanent and bright, 


" Half what thy lips impassion'd swore, 


To which the brave of after-times, 


" Here, on my knees that never knelt 


The suff'ring brave, shall long look back 


" To any but their God before, 


With proud regret, — and by its light 


" I pray thee, as thou lov'st me, fly — 


Watch through the hours of slavery's night 


" Now, now — ere yet their blades are nigh 


For vengeance on th' oppressor's crimes. 


" Oh haste — the bark that bore me hither 


This rock, his monument aloft, 


" Can waft us o'er yon dark'ning sea, 


Shall speak the tale to many an age ; 


" East — west — alas, I care not whither, 


And hither bards and heroes oft 


" So thou art safe, and I with thee ! 


Shall come in secret pilgrimage, 


" Go where we will, this hand in thine, 


And bring their warrior sons, and tell 


. " Those eyes before me smiling thus, 


The wond'ring boys where Hafed fell ; 


"Through good and ill, through storm and 


And swear them on those lone remains 


shine, 


Of their lost country's ancient fanes, 


" The world's a world of love for us ! 


Never — while breath of life shall live 


" On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell, 


Within them — never to forgive 


" Where 'tis no crime to love too well ; — 


Th' accursed race, whose ruthless chain 


" Where thus to worship tenderly 


Hath left on Iran's neck a stain 


" An erring child of light like thee 


Blood, blood alone can cleanse again ! 


" Will not be sin — or, if it be, 




" Where we may weep our faults away, 


Such are the swelling thoughts that now 


" Together kneeling, night and day, 


Enthrone themselves on Hafed's brow ; 


" Thou, for my sake, at Alla's shrine, 


And ne'er did Saint of Issa 1 gaze 


" And I— at any God's, for thine !" 


On the red wreath, for martyrs twined, 




More proudly than the youth surveys 


Wildly these passionate words she spoke — 


That pile, which through the gloom behind, 


Then hung her head, and wept for shame ; 


Half lighted by the altar's fire, 


Sobbing, as if a heart-string broke 


Glimmers — his destined funeral pyre ? 


With every deep-heaved sob that came. 


Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands, 


While he, young, warm — oh ! wonder not 


Of ev'ry wood of odorous breath, 


If, for a moment, pride and fame, 


There, by the Fire-God's shrine it stands, 


His oath — his cause — that shrine of flame, 


Ready to fold in radiant death 


And Iran's self are all forgot 


The few still left of those who swore 


For her whom at his feet he sees 


To perish there, when hope was o'er — 


Kneeling in speechless agonies. 


The few, to whom that couch of flame, 


No, blame him not, if Hope awhile 


Which rescues them from bonds and shame, 


Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile 


Is sweet and welcome as the bed 


O'er hours to come — o'er days and nights, 


For their own infant Prophet spread, 


Wing'd with those precious, pure delights 


When pitying Heav'n to roses turn'd 


Which she, who bends all beauteous there, 


The death-flames that beneath him burn'd ! 2 


Was born to kindle and to share. 




A tear or two, which, as he bow'd 


With watchfulness the maid attends 


To raise the suppliant, trembling stole, 


His rapid glance, where'er it bends — 


First warn'd him of this dang'rous cloud 


Why shoot his eyes such awful beams ? 


Of softness passing o'er his soul. 


What plans he now ? what thinks or dreams ? 


Starting, he brush'd the drops away, 


Alas ! why stands he musing here, 


Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray ; — 


When ev'ry moment teems with fear ? 


Like one who, on the morn of fight, 


" Hafed, my own beloved Lord," 


Shakes from his sword the dews of night, 


She kneeling cries — " first, last adored ! 


That had but dimm'd, not stain'd its light 


i Jesus. 


Dion Prusceus, Orat. 36, that the love of wisdom and virtue 


a The Ghebers say that when Abraham, their great Pro- 


leading him to a solitary life upon a mountain, he found it 


phet, was thrown into the fire by order of Nimrod, the flame 


one day all in a flame, shining with celestial fire, out of 


turned instantly into "abed of roses, where the child sweet- 


which he came without any harm, and instituted certain 


ly reposed." — Tavernier. 


sacrifices to God, who, he declared, then appeared to him." 


Of their other Prophet, Zoroaster, there is a story told in 


— Vide Patrick on Exodus, iii. 2. 



436 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Yet, though subdued th' unnerving thrill, 
Its warmth, its weakness, linger'd still 

So touching in its look and tone, 
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid 
Half counted on the flight she pray'd, 

Half thought the hero's soul was grown 

As soft, as yielding as her own, 
And smiled and bless'd him, while he said, 
" Yes — if there be some happier sphere, 
" Where fadeless truth like ours is dear, — 
" If there be any land of rest 

" For those who love and ne'er forget, 
" Oh ! comfort thee — for safe and bless'd 

" We'll meet in that calm region yet !" 

Scarce had she time to ask her heart 
If good or ill these words impart, 
When the roused ) T outh impatient flew 
To the tow'r-wall, where, high in view, 
A pond'rous sea-horn 1 hung, and blew 
A signal, deep and dread as those 
The storm-fiend at his rising blows. — 
Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true 
Through life and death, that signal knew ; 
For 'twas th' appointed warning l^ast, 
Th' alarm, to tell when hope was past, 
And the tremendous death-die cast ! 
And there, upon the mould'ring tow'r, 
Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour, 
Ready to sound o'er land and sea 
That dirge-note of the brave and free 

They came — his Chieftains at the call 
Came slowly round, and with them all — 
Alas, how few ! — the worn remains 
Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains 
Went gayly prancing to the clash 

Of Moorish zel and tymbalon, 
Catching new hope from every flash 

Of their long lances in the sun, 
And, as their coursers charged the wind, 
And the white ox-tails stream'd behind, 2 
Looking, as if the steeds they rode 
Were wing'd, and every Chief a God ! 
How fall'n, how alter'd now ! how wan 
Each scarr'd and faded visage shone 
As round the burning shrine they came ; — 

How deadly was the glare it cast, 
As mute they paused before the fiame 

To light their torches as they pass'd ! 
'Twas silence all — the youth had plann'd 
The duties of his soldier-band ; 



i"The shell called Siiankos, common to India, Africa, 
and the Mediterranean, and still used in many parts as a 
trumpet for blowing alarms or giving signals ; it sends forth 
a deep and hollow sound." — Pennant. 

8 "The finest ornament for the horses is made of six large 



And each determined brow declares 
His faithful Chieftains well know theirs. 

But minutes speed — night gems the skies— 
And oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes, 
That look from heaven, ye may behold 
Sights that will turn your star-fires cold ! 
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope, 
The maiden sees the veteran group 
Her litter silently prepare, 

And lay it at her trembling feet ',— 
And now the youth, with gentle care, 

Hath placed her in the shelter'd seat, 
And press'd her hand — that ling'ring press 

Of hands, that for the last time sever ; 
Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness, 

When that hold breaks, is dead forever. 
And yet to her this sad caress 

Gives hope — so fondly hope can err ! 
'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute excess — 

Their happy flight's dear harbinger ; 
'Twas warmth — assurance — tenderness — 

'Twas any thing but leaving her. 

" Haste, haste !" she cried, " the clouds grow dark, 
" But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark ; 
" And by to-morrow's dawn — oh bliss ! 

" With thee upon the sun-bright deep, 
" Far off, I'll but remember this, 

" As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep ; 
" And thou " but ah ! — he answers not — 

Good Heav'n ! — and does she go alone ? 
She now has reach'd that dismal spot, 

Where, some hours since, his voice's tone 
Had come to sooth her fears and ills, 
Sweet as the angel Israfil's, 3 
When every leaf on Eden's tree 
Is trembling to his minstrelsy — 
Yet now — oh, now, he is not nigh. — 

" Hafkd ! my Hafed ! — if it be 
" Thy will, thy doom this night to die, 

" Let me but stay to die with thee, 
" And I will bless thy loved name, 
" Till the last life-breath leave this frame. 
" Oh ! let our lips, our cheeks be laid 
" But near each other while they fade ; 
" Let us but mix our parting breaths, 
" And I can die ten thousand deaths ! 
" You too, who hurry me away 
" So cruelly, one moment stay — 

" Oh ! stay — one moment is not much — 

flying tassels of long white hair, token out of the tails of 
wild oxen, that are to be found in some places of the In- 
dies." — Thevenot. 

3 " The angel Israfil, who has the most melodious voics 
of all God's creatures."— Sale. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



437 



" He yet may come — for him I pray — 
" Hafed ! dear Hafed !" — all the way 

In wild lamentings, that would touch 
A heart of stone, she shriek'd his name 
To the dark woods — no Hafed came : — 
No — hapless pair — you've look'd your last : — 

Your hearts should both have broken then 
The dream is o'er — your doom is cast — 

You'll never meet on earth again I 

Alas for him, who hears her cries ! . 

Still half-way down the steep he stands, 
Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes 

The glimmer of those burning brands, 
That down the rocks, with mournful ray, 
Light all he loves on earth away I 
Hopeless as they who, far at sea, 

By the cold moon have just consign'd 
The corse of one, loved tenderly, 

To the bleak flood they leave behind ; 
And on the deck still ling'ring stay, 
And long look back, with sad delay, 
To watch the moonlight on the wave, 
That ripples o'er that cheerless grave. 

But see — he starts — what heard he then 1 
That dreadful shout ! — across the glen 
From the land-side it comes, and loud 
Rings through the chasm ; as if the crowd 
Of fearful things, that haunt that dell, 
Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell, 
Had all in one dread howl broke out, 
So loud, so terrible that shout ! 
" They come — the Moslems come !" — he cries, 
His proud soul mounting to his eyes, — 
" Now, Spirits of the Brave, who roam 
" Enfranchised through yon starry dome, 
" Rejoice — for souls of kindred fire 
" Are on the wing to join your choir !" 
He said — and, light as bridegrooms bound 

To their young loves, reclimb'd the steep 
And gain'd the Shrine — his Chiefs stood round — 

Their swords, as with instinctive leap, 
Together, at that cry accursed, 
Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst. 
And hark ! — again — again it rings ; 
Near and more near its echoings 
Peal through the ch; em — oh ! who that then 
Had seen those list'ning warrkr-men, 
With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of flame 
Turn'd on their Chief — could doubt the shame, 
Th' indignant shame with which they thrill • 
To hear those shouts, and yet stand still ? 

He read their thoughts — they were his own— 
" What ! while our arms can wield these blades, 



" Shall we die tamely ? die alone ? 

" Without one victim to our shades, 
" One Moslem heart where, buried deep, 
" The sabre from its toil may sleep 1 
" No — God of Iran's burning skies ! 
" Thou scorn'st th' inglorious sacrifice. 
" No — though of all earth's hope bereft, 
" Life, swords, and vengeance still are left 
" We'll make yon valley's reeking caves 

" Live hi the awe-struck minds of men, 
" Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves 

" Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen. 
" Follow, brave hearts ! — this pile remains 
" Our refuge still from life and chains ; 
" But his the best, the holiest bed, 
" Who sinks entomb' d in Moslem dead 1" 

Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, 
While vigor, more than human, strung 
Each arm and heart. — Th' exulting foe 
Still through the dark defiles below, 
Track'd by his torches' lurid fire, 

Wound slow, as through Golconda's vale 1 
The mighty serpent, in his ire, 

Glides on with glitt'ring, deadly trail. 
No torch the Ghebers need — so well 
They know each myst'ry of the dell, 
So oft have, in their wanderings, 
Cross'd the wild race that round them dwell, 

The very tigers from their delves 
Look out, and let them pass, as things 

Untamed and fearless like themselves ! 

There was a deep ravine, that lay 

Yet darkling in the Moslem's way ; 

Fit spot to make invaders rue 

The many fall'n before the few. 

The torrents from that morning's sky 

Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast-high, 

And, on each side, aloft and wild, 

Huge cliffs and toppling crags were piled, — 

The guards with which young Freedom lines 

The pathways to her mountain-shrines. 

Here, at this pass, the scanty band 

Of Iran's last avengers stand ; 

Here wait, in silence like the dead, 

And listen for the Moslem's tread 

So anxiously, the carrion-bird 

Above them flaps his wing unheard 1 

They come — that plunge into the water 
Gives signal for the work of slaughter. 
Now, Ghebers, now — if e'er your blades 

Had point or prowess, prove them now — 
Wo to the file that foremost wades ! 

They come— a falchion greets each brow, 

i See Hoole upon the Story of Sinbad. 



438 MOORE'S WORKS. 


And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, 


And, as a lion swept away 


Beneath the gory waters sunk, 


By sudden swell of Jordan's pride 


Still o'er their drowning bodies press 


From the wild covert where he lay, 1 


New victims quick and numberless ; 


Long battles with th' o'erwhelming tide, 


Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band, 


So fought he back with fierce delay, 


So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, 


And kept both foes and fate at bay. 


But listless from each crimson hand 




The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre. 


But whither now 1 their track is lost, 


Never was horde of tyrants met 


Their prey escaped — guide, torches gone— 


With bloodier welcome — never yet 


By torrent-beds and labyrinths cross'd, 


To patriot vengeance hath the sword 


The scatter'd crowd rush blindly on — 


More terrible libations pour'd ! 


" Curse on those tardy lights that wind," 




They panting cry, " so far behind ; 


All up the dreary, long ravine, 


" Oh for a bloodhound's precious scent, 


By the red, murky glimmer seen 


" To track the way the Gheber went !" 


Of half-quench'd brands, that o'er the flood 


Vain wish — confusedly along 


Lie scatter'd round and burn in blood, 


They rush, more desp'rate as more wrong : 


What ruin glares ! what carnage swims ! 


Till, wilder'd by the far-ofF lights, 


Heads, blazing turbans, quiv'ring limbs, 


Yet glitt'ring up those gloomy heights, 


Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand; 


Their footing, mazed and lost, they miss, 


In that thick pool of slaughter stand ; — 


And down the darkling precipice 


Wretches who wading, half on fire 


Are dash'd into the deep abyss ; 


From the toss'd brands that round them fly 


Or midway hang, impaled on rocks, 


'Tvvixt flood and flame in shrieks expire ; — 


A banquet, yet alive, for flocks 


And some who, grasp'd by those that die, 


Of rav'ning vultures, — while the dell 


Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er 


Re-echoes with each horrid yell. 


In their dead brethren's gushing gore ! 






Those sounds — the last, to vengeance dear, 


But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, 


That e'er shall ring in Hafed's ear, — 


Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ; 


Now reach'd him, as aloft, alone, 


Countless as tow'rds some flame at night 


Upon the steep way breathless thrown, 


| The North's dark insects wing their flight, 


He lay beside his reeking blade, 


And quench or perish in its light, 


Resigned, as if life's task were o'er, 


To this terrific spot they pour — 


Its last blood-offering amply paid, 


Till, bridged with Moslem bodies o'er, 


And Iran's self could claim no more. 


It bears aloft their slipp'ry tread, 


One only thought, one ling'ring beam 


And o'er the dying and the dead, 


Now broke across his dizzy dream 


Tremendous causeway ! on they pass. — 


Of pain and weariness — 'twas she, 


Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas, 


His heart's pure planet, shining yet 


What hope was left for you ? for you, 


Above the waste of memory, 


Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice 


When all life's other lights were set. 


Is smoking in their vengeful eyes ; — 


And never to his mind before 


Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew, 


Her image such enchantment wore. 


And burn with shame to find how few ? 


It seem'd as if each thought that stain'd, 




Each fear that chill'd their loves was past,- 
And not one cloud of earth remain'd 


Crush'd down by that vast multitude, 


Some found their graves where first they stood ; 


Between him and her radiance cast ; — 


While some with hardier struggle died, 


As if to charms, before so bright, 


And still fought on by Hafed's side, 


New grace from other worlds was giv'n, 


Who, fronting to the foe, trod back 


And his soul saw her by the light 


Tow'rds the high towers his gory track ; 


Now breaking o'er itself from heav'n ! 


i " In this thicket upon the banks of the Jordan several 


river, gave occasion to that allusion of Jeremiah, he shali 


sorts of wild beasts are wont to harbor themselves, whose 


come up like a lion from the swelling of Jordan." — Naun- 


being washed out of the covert by the overflowings of the 


drelVs Aleppo. 



LALLA ROOKH. 439 


A voice spoke near him — 'twas the tone 


Confided to the watchful care 


Of a loved friend, the only one 


Of a small veteran band, with whom 


Of all his warriors, left with life 


Their gen'rous Chieftain would not share 


From that short night's tremendous strife. — 


The secret of his find, doom, 


" And must we then, my Chief, die here ? 


But hoped when Hinda, safe and free, 


" Foes round us, and the Shrine so near !" 


Was render'd to her father's eyes, 


These words have roused the last remains 


Their pardon, full and prompt, would be 


Of life within him — " What ! not yet 


The ransom of so dear a prize. — 


" Beyond the reach of Moslem chains !" 


Unconscious, thus, of Hafed's fate, 


The thought could make ev'n Death forget 


And proud to guard their beauteous freight, 


His icy bondage — with a bound 


Scarce had they clear'd the surfy waves 


He springs, all bleeding, from the ground, 


That foam around those frightful caves, 


And grasps his comrade's arm, now grown 


When the cursed war-whoops, known so well, 


Ev'n feebler, heavier than his own, 


Came echoing from the distant dell — 


And up the painful pathway leads, 


Sudden each oar, upheld and still, 


Death gaining on each step he treads. 


Hung dripping o'er the vessel's side, 


Speed them, thou God, who heardst their 


And, driving at the current's will, 


vow ! 


They rock'd along the whisp'ring tide ; 


They mount — they bleed — oh save them now — 


While every eye, in mute dismay, 


The crags are red they've clamber'd o'er, 


Was tow'rd that fatal mountain turn'd, 


The rock-weed's dripping with their gore ; — 


Where the dim altar's quiv'ring ray 


Thy blade too, Hafed, false at length, 


As yet all lone and tranquil burn'd. 


Now breaks beneath thy tott'ring strength ! 




Haste, haste — the voices of the Foe 


Oh ! 'tis not, Hinda, in the pow'r 


Come near and nearer from below — 


Of Fancy's most terrific touch 


One effort more — thank Heav'n ! 'tis past, 


To paint thy pangs in that dread hour — 


They've gain'd the topmost steep at last. 


Thy silent agony — 'twas such 


And now they touch the temple's walls, 


As those who feel could paint too well, 


Now Hafed sees the Fire divine — 


But none e'er felt and lived to tell ! 


When, lo !— his weak, worn comrade falls 


'Twas not alone the dreary state 


Dead on the threshold of the Shrine. 


Of a lorn spirit, crush'd by fate, 


" Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled ! 


When, though no more remains to dread, 


" And must I leave thee with'ring here, 


The panic chill will not depart ; — 


" The sport of every ruffian's tread, 


When, though the inmate Hope be dead, 


" The mark for every coward's spear ? 


Her ghost still haunts the mould'ring heart ; 


" No, by yon altar's sacred beams !" 


No — pleasures, hopes, affections gone, 


He cries, and, with a strength that seems 


The wretch may bear, and yet live on, 


Not of this world, uplifts the frame 


Like things, within the cold rock found 


Of the fall'n Chief, and tow'rds the flame 


Alive, when all's congeal'd around. 


Bears him along ; — with death-damp hand 


But there's a blank repose in this, 


The corpse upon the pyre he lays, 


A calm stagnation, that were bliss 


Then lights the consecrated brand, 


To the keen, burning, harrowing pain, 


And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze 


Now felt through all thy breast and brain ; — 


Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's Sea. — 


That spasm of terror, mute, intense, 


"Now, Freedom's God ! I come to Thee," 


That breathless, agonized supense, 


The youth exclaims, and with a smile 


From whose hot throb, whose deadly aching, 


Of triumph vaulting on the pile, 


The heart hath no relief but breaking ! 


In that last effort, ere the fires 




Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires ! 


Calm is the wave — heav'n's brilliant lights 




Reflected dance beneath the prow ; 


What shriek was that on Oman's tide ? 


Time was when, on such lovely nights, 


It came from yonder drifting bark, 


She who is there, so desolate now, 


That just hath caught upon her side 


Could sit all cheerful, though alone, 


The death-light — and again is dark. 


And ask no happier joy than seeing 


It is the boat — ah, why delay'd ? — 


That starlight o'er the waters thrown— 


That bears the wretched Moslem maid ; 


No joy but that, to make her blest, 



440 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And the fresh, buoyant sense of Being, 
Which bounds in youth's yet careless breast, — 
Itself a star, not borrowing light, 
But in its own glad essence bright. 
How different now ! — but, hark, again 
The yell of havoc rings — brave men ! 
In vain, with beating hearts, ye stand 
On the bark's edge — in vain each hand 
Half draws the falchion from its sheath ; 

All's o'er — in rust your blades may lie : — 
He, at whose word they've scatter'd death, 

Ev'n now, this night, himself must die ! 
Well may ye look to yon dim tower, 

And ask, and wond'ring guess what means 
The battle-cry at this dead hour — ■ 

Ah ! she could tell you — she, who leans 
Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, 
With brow against the dew-cold mast ; — 

Too well she knows — her more than life, 
Her soul's first idol and its last, 

Lies bleeding in that murd'rous strife. 

But see — what moves upon the height ? 
Some signal ! — 'tis a torch's light. 

What bodes its solitary glare ? 
In gasping silence tow'rd the Shrine 
All eyes are turn'd — thine, Hinda, thine 

Fix their last fading life-beams there. 
'Twas but a moment — fierce and high 
The death-pile blazed into the sky, 
And far away, o'er rock and flood 

Its melancholy radiance sent ; 
While Hafed, like a vision stood 
Reveal'd before the burning pyre, 
Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire 

Shrined in its own grand element ! 
" 'Tis he !" — the shudd'ring maid exclaims,— 

But, while she speaks, he's seen no more ; 
High burst in air the funeral flames, 

And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er ! 

One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave ; 
Then sprung, as if to reach that blaze, 
Where still she fix'd her dying gaze, 

And, gazing, sunk into the wave, — 
Deep, deep, — where never care or pain 
Shall reach her innocent heart again ! 



Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter ! 
(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea,) 

1 "This wind (the Samoor) so softens the strings of lutes, 
J that they can never be tuned while it lasts "Stephen's 

Persia. 

2 " One of the greatest curiosities found in the Persian 
Gulf is a fish which the English call Star-fish. It is circu- 
lar, and at night very luminous, resembling the full moon 
surrounded by rays." — Mirza Mil Taleb. 

3 For a description of the merriment of the date-time, of 



No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water, 
More pure in its shell than thy Spirit in thee 

Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, 
How light was thy heart till Love's witchery came, 

Like the wind of the south 1 o'er a summer lute 
blowing, 
And hush'd all its music, and wither'd its frame ! 

But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, 
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 

Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, 
With naught but the sea-star 2 to light up her 
tomb. 

And still, when the merry date-season is burning, 3 
And calls it: + he palm-groves the young and the 
old, 

The happiest there, from their pastime returning 
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 

The young village-maid, when with flow'rs &Le 



Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, 

Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses, 

She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 

Nor shall Iran, beloved of her Hero ! forget thee — 
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, 

Close, close by the side of that Hero she'll set thee, 
Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart. 

Farewell — be it ours to embellish thy pillow 

With ev'ry thing beauteous that grows in the 



Each flow'r of the rock and each gem of the billow 
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. 

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; 4 

With many a shell, in whose hollow- wreath'd cham- 
ber, 
We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept. 

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 

We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian 5 are 
sparkling, 
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 

their work, their dances, and their return home from the 
palm-groves at the end of autumn with the fruits.— See 
Kerrvpfer, Amwnitat. Exot. 

4 Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concre- 
tion of the tears of birds.— See Trevoux, Chambers. 

6 "The bay Kieselarke, which is otherwise called the 
Golden Bay, the sand whereof shines as fire."— Struy. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



441 



Farewell — farewell — until Pity's sweet fountain 
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 

They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that 
mountain, 
They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this 



The singular placidity with which Fadladeex 
had listened, during the latter part of tins obnoxious 
story, surprised the Princess and Feramorz exceed- 
ingly ; and even inclined towards him the hearts of 
these unsuspicious young persons, who little knew 
the source of a complacency so marvellous. The 
truth was, he had been organizing, for the last few 
days, a most notable plan of persecution against 
the poet, in consequence of some passages that 
had fallen from him on the second evening of re- 
cital, — which appeared to this worthy Chamberlain 
to contain language and principles, for which nothing 
short of the summary criticism of the Chabuk 1 would 
be advisable. It was his intention, therefore, imme- 
diately on their arrival at Cashmere, to give infor- 
mation to the King of Bucharia of the veiy danger- 
ous sentiments of his minstrel ; and if, unfortunately, 
that monarch did not act with suitable vigor on the 
occasion, (that is, if he did not give the Chabuk to 
Feramorz, and a place to Fadladeen,) there would 
be au end, he feared, of all legitimate government 
in Bucharia. He could not help, however, augur- 
ing better both for himself and the cause of poten- 
tates in general : and it was the pleasure arising 
from these mingled anticipations that diffused such 
unusual satisfaction through his features, and made 
his eyes shine out like poppies of the desert, over the 
wide and lifeless wilderness of that countenance. 

Having decided upon the Poet's chastisement in 
this manner, he thought it but humanity to spare 
him the minor tortures of criticism. Accordingly, 
when they assembled the following evening hi the 



1 "The application of whips or rods." — Dubois. 

" Kempfer mentions such an officer among the attendants 
of the King of Persia, and calls him " formce corporis esti- 
mator." His business was, at stated periods, to measure the 
ladies of the Haram by a sort of regulation-girdle, whose 
limits it was not thought graceful to exceed. If any of them 
outgrew this standard of shape, they were reduced by absti- 
nence till they came within proper bounds. 

3 The Attack. 

" Akbar on his way ordered a fort to be built upon the 
Nilab, which he called Attack, which means in the Indian 
language Forbidden ; for, by the superstition of the Hindoos, 
it was held unlawful to cross that river."— Dow's Hindostan. 



pavilion, and Lalla Rookh was expecting to see all 
the beauties of her bard melt away, one by one, in 
the acidity of criticism, like pearls in the cup of the 
Egyptian queen, — he agreeably disappointed her, by 
merely saying, with an ironical smile, that the 
merits of such a poem deserved to be tried at a much 
higher tribunal ; and then suddenly passed off into 
a panegyric upon all Mussulman sovereigns, more 
particularly his august and Imperial master, Au- 
rungzebe, — the wisest and best of the descendants 
of Timur — who, among other great things he had 
done for mankind, had given to him, Fadladeen, 
the very profitable posts of Betel-carrier, and Taster 
of Sherbets to the Emperor, Chief Holder of the 
Girdle of Beautiful Forms, 2 and Grand Nazir, or 
Chamberlain of the Haram. 

They were now not far from that Forbidden 
River, 3 beyond which no pure Hindoo ku pass ; 
and were reposing for a time in the rich valley of 
Hussun Abdaul, which had always been a favorite 
resting-place of the Emperors in then annual migra- 
tions to Cashmere. Here often had the Light of the 
Faith, Jehan-Guire, been known to wander with his 
beloved and beautiful Nourmahal ; and here would 
Lalla Rookh have been happy to remain forever, 
giving up the throne of Bucharia and the world, for 
Feramorz and love in this sweet lonely valley. But 
the time was now fast approaching when she must 
see him no longer, — or, what was still worse, behold 
him with eyes whose every look* belonged to an- 
other ; and there was a melancholy preciousness in 
these last moments, which made her heart cling to 
them as it would to life. During the latter part of 
the journey, indeed, she had sunk into a deep sad- 
ness, from which nothing but the presence of the 
young minstrel could awake her. Like those 
lamps in tombs, which only light up when the 
air is admitted, it was only at his approach that her 
eyes became smiling and animated. But here, 
in this dear valley, every moment appeared an 
age of pleasure ; she saw him all day, and was, 
therefore, all day happy, — resembling, she often 
thought, that people of Zinge, 4 who attribute # the 



4 "The inhabitants of this country (Zinge) are never af- 
flicted with sadness or melancholy ; on this subject the 
Sheikh Jlbxi-al-Khcir-Azhari has the following distich :— 

" ' Who is the man without care or sorrow, (tell) that I 
may rub my hand to him. 

" ' (Behold) the Zingians, without care or sorrow, frolic- 
some with tipsiness and mirth.' 

"The philosophers have discovered that the cause of thia 
cheerfulness proceeds from the influence of the star Soheil, 
or Canopus, which rises over them every night." — Extract 
from a Geographical Persian Manuscript called Heft Aklim, 
or the Seven Climates, translated by TV. Ouscley, Esq. 



442 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



unfading cheerfulness they enjoy to one genial star 
that rises nightly over their heads. 1 

The. whole party, indeed, seemed in their liveliest 
mood during the few days they passed in this de- 
lightful solitude. The young attendants of the 
Princess, who were here allowed a much freer range 
than they could safely be indulged with in a less 
sequestered place, ran wild among the gardens and 
bounded through the meadows lightly as young roes 
over the aromatic plains of Tibet. While Fadla- 
deen, in addition to the spiritual comfort derived by 
him from a pilgrimage to the tomb of the saint from 
whom the valley is named, had also opportunities of 
indulging, in a small way, his taste for victims, by 
putting to death some hundreds of those unfortunate 
little lizards, 2 which all pious Mussulmans make it 
a point to kill ; — taking for granted, that the man- 
ner in which the creature hangs its head is meant 
as a mimicry of the attitude in which the Faithful 
say their prayers. 

About two miles from Hussun Abdaul were those 
Royal Gardens, 3 which had grown beautiful under 
the care of so many lovely eyes, and were beautiful 
still, though those eyes could see them no longer. 
This place, with its flowers and its holy silence, in- 
terrupted only by the dipping of the wings of birds 
in its marble basins filled with the pure water of 
those hills, was to Lalla Rookh all that her heart 
could fancy of fragrance, coolness, and almost heav- 
enly tranquillity. As the Prophet said of Damascus, 
" it was too delicious ;" 4 — and here, in listening to 
the sweet voice of Feramorz, or reading in his eyes 
what yet he never dared to tell her, the most exqui- 
site moments of her whole life were passed. One 
evening, when they had been talking of the Sultana 
Nourmahal, the Light of the Haram, 5 who had so 
often wandered among these flowers, and fed with 
her own hands, in those marble basins, the small 

1 The star Soheil, or Canopus. 

2 "The lizard Stellio. The Arabs call it Hardun. The 
Turks kill it, for they imagine that by declining the head it 
mimics them when they say their prayers."— Hasselquist. 

3 For these particulars respecting Hussun Abdaul I am 
indebted to the very interesting Introduction of Mr. Elphin- 
stone's work upon Caubul. 

< "As you enter at that Bazar, without the gate of Da- 
mascus, you see the Green Mosque, so called because it hath 
a steeple faced with green glazed bricks, which render it 
very resplendent ; it is covered at top with a pavilion of the 
same stuff. The Turks say this mosque was made in that 
place, because Mahomet being come so far, would not enter 
the town, saying it was too delicious."— Thevenot. This 
reminds one of the following pretty passage in Isaac Wal- 
ton :— " When I sat last on this primrose bank, and looked 
down these meadows, I thought of them as Charles the 
Emperor did of the city of Florence, ' that they were too 
pleasant to be looked on, but only on holidays.' " 



shining fishes of which she was so fond, 6 the youth, 
in order to delay the moment of separation, proposed 
to recite a short story, or rather rhapsody, of which 
this adored Sultana was the heroine. It related, he 
said, to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers' quarrel 
which took place between her and the Emperor 
during a Feast of Roses at Cashmere ; and would 
remind the Princess of that difference between 
Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress Marida, 7 
which was so happily made up by the soft strains of 
the musician, Moussali As the story was chiefly 
to be told in song, and FeKa.viorz had unluckily for- 
gotten his own lute in the valley, he borrowed the 
vina of Lalla Rookh's little Persian slave, and thus 
began : — 






Who has not heaic of the Vale o' Cashmere, 

With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave, 8 

Its temples, and grottoes, and fountains as clear 
As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their 
wave? 

Oh ! to see it at sunset, — when warm o'er the Lake 

Its splendor at parting a summer eve throws, 
Like a bride, full of blushes, when ling'ring to take 
A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes ! — 
When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming 

half shown, 
And each hallows the hour by some rites of its 

own. 
Here the music of pray'r from a minaret swells, 
Here the Magian his urn, full of perfume, is 
swinging, 
And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells 

Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is 
ringing. 9 

6 Nourmahal signifies Light of the Haram. She was af- 
terwards called Nourjehan, or the Light of the World. 

6 See note s, p. 428. 

7 " Haroun Al Raschid, cinquieme Khalife des Abassides, 
s'etant un jour brouille, avec une de ses maitresses nommee 
Maridah, qu'il aimoit cependant jusqu'a l'exces, et cette 
mesintelligence ayant deja duree quelque terns, commenca 
a s'ennuyer. Giafar Barmaki, son favori, qui s'en appercut, 
commanda a Abbas ben Ahnaf, excellent poete de ce terns 
la, de composer quelques vers sur le sujet de cette brouillerie. 
Ce poete executa l'ordre de Giafar, qui fit chanter ces vers 
par Moussali en presence du Khalife, et ce prince fut tene- 
ment touche de la tendresse des vers du poete, et de la 
douceur de lavoix du musicien, qu'il alia aussitot trouver 
Maridah, et fii sa paix avec elle." — D" Herielot. 

8 " The rose of Kashmire for its brilliancy and delicacy of 
odor has long been proverbial in the East." — Forster. 

9 " Tied round her waist the zone of bells, that sounded 
with ravishing melody."— Song of Jayadeva. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



443 



Or to see it by moonlight, — when mellowly shines 
The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines ; 
When the water-falls gleam, like a quick fall of stars, 
And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars 
Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet 
From the cool, shining walks where the young peo- 
ple meet. — 
Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes 
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, 
Hills, cupolas, fountains, call'd forth every one 
Out of darkness, as if but just born of the Sun. 
When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day, 
From his Haram of night-flowers stealing away ; 
And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover 
The young aspen-trees, 1 till they tremble all over. 
When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes, 

And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl' d, 
Shines in through the mountainous portal 2 that 
opes, 

Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to the world ! 

But never yet, by night or day, 
In dew of spring or summer's ray, 
Did the sweet Valley shine so gay 
As now it shines — all love and light, 
Visions by day and feasts by night ! 
A happier smile illumes each brow, 

With quicker spread each heart uncloses, 
And all is ecstasy, — for now 

The Valley holds its Feast of Roses ; 3 
The joyous time, when pleasures pour 
Profusely round and, in their shower, 
Hearts open, like the Season's Rose, — 

The fiow'ret of a hundred leaves, 4 
Expanding while the dew-fall flows, 

And every leaf its balm receives. 

'Twas when the hour of evening came 

Upon the Lake, serene and cool, 
When Day had hid his sultry flame 

Behind the palms of Baramoule, 6 
When maids began to lift their heads, 
Refresh'd from their embroider'd beds, 
Where they had slept the sun away, 
And waked to moonlight and to play. 

i "The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are set with 
arbors and large-leaved aspen-trees, slender and tall." — 
Bernier. 

2 "The Tuckt Snliman, the name bestowed by the Ma- 
hommetans on this hill, forms one side of a grand portal to 
the Lake." — For star. 

s "The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of their 
remaining in bloom."— See Pietro de la Voile. 

* " Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundred leaves. I believe 
a particular species." — Ouseley. 

6 Bernier. 

• A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeery, or Me- 



All were abroad — the busiest hive 
On Bela's 6 hills is less alive, 
When safFron-beds are full in flow'r, 
Than look'd the Valley in that hour. 
A thousand restless torches playM 
Through every grove and island shade ; 
A thousand sparkling lamps were set 
On every dome and minaret ; 
And fields and pathways, far and near, 
Were lighted by a blaze so clear, 
That you could see, in wand'ring round, 
The smallest rose-leaf on the ground. 
Yet did the maids and matrons leave 
Their veils at home, that brilliant eve ; 
And there were glancing eyes about, 
And cheeks, that would not dare shine out 

In open day, but thought they might 
Look lovely then, because 'twas night. 
And all were free, and wandering, 

And all exclaim'd to all they met, 
That never did the summer bring 

So gay a Feast of Roses yet ; — 
The moon had never shed a light 

So clear as that which bless'd them there ; 
The roses ne'er shone half so bright, 

Nor they themselves look'd half so fair. 

And what a wilderness of flow'rs ! 
It seem'd as though from all the bow'rs 
And fairest fields of all the year, 
The mingled spoil were scatter'd here. 
The Lake, too, like a garden breathes, 

With the rich buds that o'er it lie, — 
As if a shower of fairy wreaths 

Had fall'n upon it from the sky ! 
And then the sounds of joy, — the beat 
Of tabors and of dancing feet ; — 
The minaret-crier's chant of glee 
Sung from his lighted gallery, 7 
And answer'd by a ziraleet 
From neighboring Haram, wild and sweet ; — 
The merry laughter, echoing 
From gardens, wh^re the silken swing 8 
Wafts some delighted girl above 
The top leaves of the orange-grove ; 

moirs of Jehan-Guire, where there is an account of the beds 
of saffron-flowers about Cashmere. 

7 "It is the custom among the women to employ the 
Maazeen to chant from the gallery of the nearest minaret, 
which on that occasion is illuminated, and the women as- 
sembled at the house respond at intervals with a ziraleet or 
joyous chorus." — Russel. 

8 "The swing is a favorite pastime in the East, as pro- 
moting a circulation of air, extremely refreshing in those 
sultry climates." — Richardson. 

"The swings are adorned with festoons. This pastime is 
accompanied with music of voices and of instruments, hired 
by the masters of the swings."— Thevcnot. 



444 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Or, from thos<" infant groups at play 
Among the tonts 1 that line the way, 
Flinging, unawed by slave or mother, 
Handfuls of roses at each other. — ■ 
Then, the sounds from the Lake, — the low whis- 
p'ring in boats, 
As they shoot through the moonlight ; — the dip- 
ping of oars, 
And the wild, airy warbling that ev'rywhere floats, 
Through the groves, round the islands, as if all 
the shores, 
Like those of Kathay, utter'd music, and gave 
An answer in song to the kiss of each wave. 2 
But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of feel- 
ing* 
That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing, — 
Some lover, who knows all the heart-touching 

power 
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour. 
Oh ! best of delights as it ev'rywhere is 
To be near the loved One, — what a rapture is his 
Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may 
glide [side ! 

O'er the Lake of Cashmere, with that One by his 
If woman can make the worst wilderness dear, 
Think, think what a Heav'n she must make of 
Cashmere ! 

So felt the magnificent Son of Acbar, 3 

When from pow'r and pomp and the trophies of 

war 
He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all 
With the Light of the Haram, his young Nourma- 

hal. 
When free and uncrown'd as the Conqueror roved 
By the banks of that lake, with his only beloved, 
He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch 
From the hedges, a glory his crown could not 

match, 
And preferr'd in his heart the least ringlet that 

curl'd 
Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the 

world. 

There's a beauty, forever unchangingly bright, 
Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer-day's light, 



i " At the keeping of the Feast of Roses we beheld an in- 
finite number of tents pitched, with such a crowd of men, 
women, boys, and girls, with music, dances," &c, &c. — 
Herbert. 

2 " An old commentator of the Chou-King says, the an- 
cients having remarked that a current of water made some 
of the stones near its banks send forth a sound, they detach- 
ed some of them, and being charmed with the delightful 
sound they emitted, constructed King or musical instruments 
of them." — Grosier 

This miraculous quality has been attributed "also to the 



Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, 
Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splen- 
dor. 
This was not the beauty — oh, nothing like this, 
That to young Nourmahal, gave such magic of 

bliss ! 
But che loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days, 
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies 
From the lip to the cheek, from the cheek to the 

eyes ; 
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, 
Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav'n in his 

dreams. 
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace, 
That charm of all others, was born with her face ! 
And when angry, — for ev'n in the tranquillest 

climes 
Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimes — 
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
New beauty, like flow'rs that are sweetest when 

shaken. 
If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye 
At once took a darker, a heav'nlier dye, 
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy reveal- 

ings 
From innermost shrines, came the light of her feel- 
ings. 
Then her mirth — oh ! 'twas sportive as ever took 

wing 
From the heart with a burst, like the wild bird in 

spring ; 
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages, 
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages. 4 
While her laugh, full of life, without any control 
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her 

soul ; 
And where it most sparkled no glance could dis- 
cover, 
In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten'd all over, — 
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 
When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun. 
Such, such were the peerless enchantments, that 

gave 
Nourmahal the proud Lord of the East for her 
slave : 



shore of Attica. "Hujus littus, ait Capella, concentum mu- 
sician illisis teme undis reddere, quod propter tantam erudi- 
tionis vim pnto dictum." — Ludov. Vives in .Qugustin. de 
Civitat. Dei, lib. xvlii. c. 8. 

3 Jehan-Guire was the son of the Great Acbar. 

4 In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, whenever the 
former took the latter prisoners, "they shut them up in iron 
cages, and hung them on the highest trees. Here they were 
visited by their companions, who brought them the choicest 
odors." — Richardson. 



LALLA ROOKH. 445 


And though bright was his Haram, — a living par- 


That smiling left the mountain's brow 


terre 


As though its waters ne'er could sever, 


Of the flow'rs 1 of this planet — though treasures 


Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 


were there, 


Breaks into floods, that part forever. 


For which Soliman's self might have giv'n all the 




store 


Oh, you, that have the charge of Love, 


That the navy from Oram e'er wing'd to his shore, 


Keep him in rosy bondage bound, 


Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all, 


As in the Fields of Biiss above 


And the Light of his Haram was young Nourma- 


He sits, with flow'rets fetter'd round ; 3 — 


HAL ! 


Loose not a tie that round him clings, 


1 


Nor ever let him use his wings ; , 


But where is she now, this night of joy, 


For ev'n an hour, a minute's flight 


When bliss is every heart's employ ? — 


Will rob the plumes of half their light. 


When all arouad her is so bright, 


Like that celestial bird, — whose nest 


So like the visions of a trance, 


Is found beneath far Eastern skies, — 


That one might think, who came by chance 


Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, 


Into the vale this happy night, 


Lose all their glory when he flies ! 4 


He saw that City of Delight 2 




In Fairy -land, whose streets and tow'rs 


Some diff'rence, of this dang'rous kind, — 


Are made of gems, and light, and flow'rs ! 


By which, though light, the links that bind 


Where is the loved Sultana ? where, 


The fondest hearts may soon be riv'n ; 


When mirth brings out the young and fair, 


Some shadow in Love's summer heav'n, 


Does she, the fairest, hide her brow, 


Which, though a fleecy speck at first, 


In melancholy stillness now ? 


May yet in awful thunder burst ; — 




Such cloud it is, that now hangs over 


Alas ! — how light a cause may move 


The heart of the Imperial Lover, 


Dissension between hearts that love ! 


And far hath banish'd from his sight 


Hearts that the world in vain had tried, 


His Nourmahal, his Haram's Light I 


And sorrow but more closely tied ; 


Hence is it, on this happy night, 


That stood the storm, when waves were rough, 


When Pleasure through the fields and groves 


Yet in a sunny hour fall off, 


Has let loose all her world of loves, 


Like ships that have gone down at sea, 


And every heart has found its own, 


When heaven was all tranquillity ! 


He wanders, joyless and alone, 


A something, light as air — a look, 


And weary as that bird of Thrace, 


A word unkind or wrongly taken — 


Whose pinion knows no resting-place. 5 


Oh ! love, that tempests never shook, 




A breath, a touch like this hath shaken 


In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes 


And ruder words will soon rush in 


This Eden of the Earth supplies 


To spread the breach that words begin ; 


Come crowding round — the cheeks are pale, 


And eyes forget the gentle ray 


The eyes are dim : — though rich the spot 


They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 


With every flow'r this earth has got, 


And voices lose the tone that shed 


What is it to the nightingale, 


A tenderness round all they said ; 


If there his darling rose is not ? 6 


Till fast declining, one by one, 


In vain the Valley's smiling throng 


The sweetnesses of love are gone, 


Worship him, as he moves along ; 


And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 


He heeds them not — one smile of hers 


Like broken clouds, — or like the stream, 


Is worth a world of worshippers. 


1 In the Malay language the same word signifies women 


beautiful colors, but when it flies they lose all their splen- 


and flowers. 


dor." — Gr osier. 


2 The capital of Shadukiam. See note 2, p. 412. 


6 " As these birds on the Bosphorus are never known to 


3 See the representation of the Eastern Cupid, pinioned 


rest, they are called by the French 'les ames damnees.'" — 


closely round with wreaths of flowers, in Picarfs Ceremo- 


Dalloway. 


nies Religieuses. 


6 " You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs 


4 il Among the birds of Tonqnin is a species of goldfinch 


and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes not, in his 


which sings so melodiously that it is called the Celestial 


constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved 


Bird. Its wings, when it is perched, appear variegated with 


rose." — Jami. 



446 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



They but the Star's adorers are, 

She is the Heav'n that lights the Star ! 

Hence is it, too, that Nourmahal, 

Amid the luxuries of this hour 
Far from the joyous festival, 

Sits in her own sequester'd bow'r, 
With no one near, to sooth or aid, 
But that inspired and wondrous maid, 
Namouna, the Enchantress ; — one, 
O'er whom his race the golden sun 
For unremember'd years has run, 
Yet never saw her blooming brow 
Younger or fairer than 'tis now. 
Nay, rather, — as the west wind's sigh 
Freshens the flow'r it passes by, — 
Erne's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, 
To leave her lovelier than before. 
Yet on ht> >miles a sadness hung, 
And when, as oft, she spoke or sung 
Of other worlds, there came a light 
From her dark eyes so strangely bright, 
That all believed nor man nor ea/th 
Were conscious of Namouna's birth ! 

All spells and talismans she knew, 

From the great Mantra, 1 which around 
The Air's sublimer Spirits drew, 

To the gold gems 2 of Afric, bound 
Upon the wand'ring Arab's arm, 
To keep him from the Siltim's 3 harm. 
And she had pledged her powerful art, — 
Pledged it with all the zeal and heart 
Of one who knew, though high her sphere, 
What 'twas to lose a love so dear, — 
To find some spell that should recall 
Her Selim's 4 smile to Nourmahal ! 

'Twas midnight — through the lattice, wreath'd 
With woodbine, many a perfume breathed 
From plants that wake when others sleep, 
From timid jasmine buds, that keep 
Their odor to themselves all day, 
But, when the sunlight dies away, 

i " He is said to have founA the great Mantra, spell or 
talisman, through which he ruled over the elements and 
spirits of all denominations." — Wilford. 

2 "The gold jewels of Jinnie, which are called by the 
Arabs El Herrez, from the supposed charm they contain." — 
Jackson. 

3 " A demon, supposed to haunt woods, &c, in a human 
shape." — Richardson. 

* The name of Jehan-Guire before his accession to the 
throne. 

& " Hemasagara, or the Sea of Gold, with flowers of the 
brightest gold color."— Sir TV. Jones. 

" TIut tree (the Nagacesara) is one of the most delight- 



Let the delicious secret out 

To eveiy breeze that roams about ; — 

When thus Namouna : — " 'Tis the hour 

" That scatters spells on herb and flow'r, 

" And garlands might be gather'd now, 

" That, twined around the sleeper's brow, 

" Would make him dream of such delights, 

" Such miracles and dazzling sights, 

" As Genii of the Sun behold, 

" At evening, from their tents of gold 

" Upon th' horizon — where they play 

" Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray, 

" Their sunny mansions melt away. 

" Now, too, a chaplet might be wreath'd 

" Of buds o'er which the moon has breathed, 

" Which worn by her, whose love has stray'd, 

" Might bring some Peri from the skies, 
" Some sprite, whose very soul is made 

" Of flow'rets' breaths and lovers' sighs, 

" And who might tell " 

" For me, for me," 
Cried Nourmahal impatiently,— 
" Oh ! twine that wreath for me to-n ght." 
Then, rapidly, with foot as light 
As the young musk-roe's, out she flew, 
To cull each shining leaf that grew 
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams, 
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. 
Anemones and Seas of Gold/ 

And new-blown lilies of the river, 
And those sweet flow'rets, that unfold 

Their buds on Camadeva's quiver ; 6 — 
The tube-rose, with her silv'ry light, 

That in the Gardens of Malay 
Is call'd the Mistress of the Night, 7 
So like a bride, scented and bright, 

She comes out when the sun's away ; — 
Amaranths, such as crown the maids 
That wander through Zamara's shades ; 8 — 
And the white moon-flow'r, as it shows, 
On Serendib's high crags, to those 
Who near the isle at evening sail, 
Scenting her clove -trees in the gale ; 
In short, all flow'rets and all plants, 

From the divine Amrita tree," 

ful on earth, and the delicious odor of its blossoms justly 
gives them a place in the quiver of Camadeva, or the God 
of Love."— Sir W. Jones. 

7 " The Malayans style the tube-rose (Polianthes tubero 
sa) Sandal Malam, or the Mistress of the Night." — Pennant. 

8 The people of the Batta country in Sumatra, (of which 
Zamara is one of the ancient names,) " when not engaged 
in war, lead an idle, inactive life, passing the day in playing 
on a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flowers, among 
which the globe-amaranthus, a native of the country, mostly 
prevails."— Marsden. 

9 The largest and richest sort (of the Jambu, or rose- 
apple) is called Amrita, or immortal, and the mythologists of 



LALLA ROOKH. 



447 



That blesses heaven's inhabitants 

With fruits of immortality, 
Down to the basil tuft, 1 that waves, 
Its fragrant blossom over graves, 

And to the humble rosemary, 
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shod 
To scent the desert 2 and the dead : — 
All in that garden bloom, and all 
Are gather'd by young Nourmahal, 
Who heaps her baskets with the flow'rs 

And leaves, till they can hold no more ; 
Then to Namouna flies, and show'rs 

Upon her lap the shining store. 

With what delight th' Enchantress views 

So many buds, bathed with the dews 

And beams of that bless'd hour ! — her glance 

Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures, 
As, in a kind of holy trance, 

She hung above those fragrant treasures, 
Bending to drink their balmy airs, 
As if she mix'd her soul with theirs. 
And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed 
From flow'rs and scented flame, that fed 
Her charmed life — for none had e'er 
Beheld her taste of mortal fare, 
Nor ever in aught earthly dip, 
But the morn's dew, her roseate lip. 
Fill'd with the cool, inspiring smell, 
Th' Enchantress now begins her spell, 
Thus singing as she winds and weaves 
In mystic form the glittering leaves : — 

I know where the winged visions dwell 

That around the night-bed play ; 
I know each herb and flow'ret's bell, 
Where they hide their wings by day. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The image of love, that nightly flies 
To visit the bashful maid, 

Tibet apply the same word to a celestial tree, bearing am 
brosial fruit." — Sir TV. Jones. 

1 Sweet basil, called Rayhanin Persia, and generally found 
in churchyards. 

" The women in Egypt go, at least two days in the week, 
to pray and weep at the sepulchres of the dead ; and the 
custom then is to throw upon the tombs a sort of herb which 
the Arabs call rihan, and which is our sweet basil." — Maillct, 
Lett. 10. 

2 " In the Great Desert are found many stalks of lavender 
and rosemary." — Asiat. Res. 

3 "The almond tree, with white flowers, blossoms on the 
bare branches." — Hasselquist. 

4 An herb on Mount Libanus, which is said to communi- 
cate a yellow golden hue to the teeth of the goats and other 
animals that graze upon it. 

Niebukr thinks this may be the herb which the Eastern 
ilchymistslook to as a means of making gold. "Most of 



Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs 

Its soul, like her, in the shade. 
The dream of a future, happier hour, 

That alights on misery's brow, 
Springs out of the silv'ry almond-fiow'r, 
That blooms on a leafless bough. 3 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The visions, that oft to worldly eyes 

The glitter of mines unfold, 
Inhabit the mountain-herb, 4 that dyes 

The tooth of the fawn like gold. 
The phantom shapes — oh touch not them — 

That appal the murd'rer's sight, 
Lurk in the fleshly mandrais's stem, 

That shrieks, when pluck'd at night ! 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The dream of the injured, patient mind, 
That smiles with the wrongs of men, 
Is found in the bruised and wounded rind 
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

No sooner was the flow'ry crown 

Placed on her head, than sleep came down, 

Gently as nights of summer fall, 

Upon the lids of Nourmahal ; — 

And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze, 

As full of small, rich harmonies 

As ever wind, that o'er the tents 

Of Azab 5 blew, was full of scents, 

Steals on her ear, and floats and swells, 

Like the first air of morning creeping 
Into those wreathy, Red Sea shells, 

Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping ; 6 

those alchymical enthusiasts think themselves sure of suc- 
cess, if they could but find out the herb, which gilds the 
teeth and gives a yellow color to the flesh of the sheep that 
eat it. Even the oil of this plant must be of a golden color. 
It is called Hasclrischat ed dab. 1 ' 

Father Jerome Dandini, however, asserts that the teeth of 
the goats at Mount Libanus are of a silver color ; and adds, 
" this confirms to me that which I observed in Candia: to 
wit, that the animals that live on Mount Ida eat a ccriain 
herb, which renders their teeth of a golden color ; which, 
according to my judgment, cannot otherwise proceed than 
from the mines which are under ground." — Dandini, Voy- 
age to Mount Libanus. 

6 The myrrh country. 

6 "This idea (of deities living in shells) was not unknown 
to the Greeks, who represent the young Nerites, one of the 
Cupids, as living in shells on the shores of the Red Sea. '— 
Wilford. 



448 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And now a Spirit form'd, 'twould seem, 
Of music and of light, — so fair, 

So brilliantly his features beam, 
And such a sound is in the air 

Of sweetness when he waves his wings, — 

Hovers around her, and thus sings : 

From Chindara's 1 warbling fount I come, 
Call'd by that moonlight garland's spell ; 
From Chindara's fount, my fairy home, 

Where in music, morn and night, I dwell. 
Where lutes in the air are heard about, 

And voices are singing the whole day long, 
And every sigh the heart breathes out 
Is turn'd, as it leaves the lips, to song 
Hither I come 
From my fairy home, 
And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
I swear by the breath 
Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 

For mine is the lay that lightly floats, 
And mine are the murm'ring, dying notes, 
That fall as soft as snow on the sea, 
And melt in the heart as instantly : — 
And the passionate strain that, deeply going, 

Refines the bosom it trembles through, 
As the musk-wind, over the water blowing, 

Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too. 

Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway 
The Spirits of past Delight obey ; — 
Let but the tuneful talisman sound, 
And they come, like Genii, hov'ring round. 
And mine is the gentle song that bears 

From soul to soul, the wishes of love, 
; As a bird, that wafts through genial airs 

The cinnamon-seed from grove to grove. 2 



i " A fabulous fountain, where instruments are said to be 
| constantly playing."— Richardson. 

2 "The Pompadour pigeon is the species, which, by carry- 
! ing the fruit of the cinnamon to different places, is a great 
! disseminator of this valuable tree." — See Brown's Illustr., 
; Tab. 19. 

3 " Whenever our pleasure arises from a succession of 
I sounds, it is a perception of a complicated nature, made up 

; of a sensation of the present sound or note, and an idea or 
! remembrance of the foregoing, while their mixture and con- 
i currence produce such a mysterious delight, as neither could 
! have produced alone. And it is often heightened by an anti- 
I cipalionof tho succeeding notes. Thus Sense, Memory, and 
' Imagination, are conjunctively employed." — Oerrard on 
! Taste. 

This is exactly the Epicurean theory of Pleasure, as ex- 
plained by Cicero :— " Quocirca corpus gaudere tamdiu, dum 
pnesentem sentiret voluptatem : animum et prasentem per- 
cipere pariter cum corpore et prospicere venientem, nee praj- 
teritam pra;(erfluere sinere." 



'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure 
The past, the present, and future of pleasure ; 3 
When Memory links the tone that is gone 

With the blissful tone that's still in the ear ; 
And Hope from a heavenly note flies on 

To a note more heavenly still that is near. 

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me, 
Can as downy soft and as yielding be 
As his own white plume, that high amid death 
Through the field has shone — yet moves with 

breath ! 
And, oh, how the eyes of Beauty glisten, 

When Music has reach'd her inward soul, ' 
Like the silent stars, that wink and listen 
While Heaven's eternal melodies roll. 
So, hither I come 
From my fairy home, 
And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
I swear by the breath 
Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 

'Tis dawn — at least that earlier dawn, 
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn, 4 
As if the morn had waked, and then 
Shut close her lids of light again. 
And Nourmahal is up, and trying 

The wonders of her lute, whose strings — 
Oh, bliss ! — now murmur like the sighing 

From that ambrosial Spirit's wings. 
And then, her voice — 'tis more than human — 

Never, till now, had it been given 
To lips of any mortal woman 

To utter notes so fresh from heaven ; 
Sweet as the breath of angel sighs, 

When angel sighs are most divine. — 
" Oh ! let it last till night," she cries, 

" And he is more than ever mine." 



Madame de Stael accounts upon the same principle for the 
gratification we derive from rhyme : — " Elle est Pimage de 
l'esperance et du souvenir. Un son nous fait desirer celui qui 
doit lui repondre, et quand le second retentitil nous rappelle 
celui qui vient de nous echapper." 

4 " The Persians have two mornings, the Soobhi Kazim 
and the Soobhi Sadig, the false and the real daybreak. They j 
account for this phenomenon in a most whimsical manner. 
They say that as the sun rises from behind the Kohi &af, 
(Mount Caucasus,) it passes a hole perforated through that 
mountain, and that darting its rays through it, it is the cause 
of the Soobhi Kazim, or this temporary appearance of day- 
break. As it ascends, the earth is again veiled in darkness, 
until the sun rises above the mountain, and brings with it 
the Soobhi Sadig, or real morning."— Scott Waring. He 
thinks Milton may allude to this, when he says,— 

" Ere the blabbing Eastern scout, 
The nice morn on the Indian steep 
From her cabin'd loop-hole peep." 



LALLA ROOKH. 



449 



And hourly she renews the lay, 

So fearful lest its heav'nly sweetness 
Should, ere the evening, fade away, — 

For things so heav'nly have such fleet- 
ness ! 
But, far from fading, it but grows 
Richer, diviner as it flows ; 
Till rapt she dwells on every string, 

And pours again each sound along, 
Like echo, lost and languishing, 

In love with her own wondrous song. 

That evening, (trusting that his soul 

Might be from haunting love released 
By mirth, by music, and the bowl,) 

Th' Imperial Selim held a feast 
In his magnificent Shalimar :* — 
In whose Saloons, when the first star 
Of evening o'er the waters trembled, 
The Valley's loveliest all assembled ; 
All the bright creatures that, like dreams, 
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams 
Of beauty from its founts and streams f 
And all those wand'ring minstrel-maids, 
Who leave — how can they leave ? — the shades 
Of that dear Valley, and are found 

Singing in gardens of the South 3 
Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound 

As from a young Cashmerian's mouth. 

There, too, the Haram's inmates smile ; — 
Maids from the West, with sun-bright hair, 

And from the Garden of the Nile, 
Delicate as the roses there f — 

Daughters of Love from Cyprus' rocks, 

With Paphian diamonds in their locks f — 

i "In the centre of the plain, as it approaches the Lake, 
one of the Delhi Emperors, I believe Shah Jehan, construct- 
ed a spacious garden called the Shalimar, which is abun- 
dantly stored with fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. Some of 
the rivulets which intersect the plain are led into a canal at 
the back of the garden, and flowing through its centre, or 
occasionally thrown into a variety of water-works, compose 
the chief beauty of the Shalimar. To decorate this spot the 
Mogul Princes of India have displayed an equal magnificence 
and taste : especially Jehan Gheer, who, with the enchant- 
ing Noor Mahl, made Kashmire his usual residence during 
the summer months. On arches thrown over the canal are 
erected, at equal distances, four or five suites of apartments, 
each consisting of a saloon, with four rooms at the angles, 
where the followers of the court attend, and the servants 
prepare sherbets, coffee, and the hookah. The frame of the 
doors of the principal saloon is composed of pieces of a stone 
of a black color, streaked with yellow lines, and of a closer 
grain and higher polish than porphyry. They were taken, 
it is said, from a Hindoo temple, by one of the Mogul princes, 
and are esteemed of great value."— Forster. 

a " The waters of Cachemir are the more renowned from 
its being supposed that the Caehemirians are indebted for 
their beauty to them." — Mi Yeidi 



Light Peri forms, such as they are 
On the gold meads of Candaiiar f 
And they, before whose sleepy eyes, 

In their own bright Kathaian bow'rs, 
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies, 

That they might fancy the rich flow'rs, 
That round them in the sun lay sighing, 
Had been by magic all set flying. 7 

Every thing young, every thing fair 
From East and West is blushing there, 
Except — except — oh, Nourmahal ! 
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, 
The one, whose smile shone out alone, 
Amidst a world the only one ; 
Whose light, among so many lights, 
Was like that star on starry nights, 
The seaman singles from the sky, 
To steer his bark forever by ! 
Thou wert not there — so Selim thought, 

And every thing seem'd drear without thee ; 
But, ah ! thou wert, thou wert, — and brought 

Thy charm of song all fresh about thee. 
Mingling unnoticed with a band 
Of lutanists from many a land, 
And veil'd by such a mask as shades 
The features of young Arab maids, 8 — 
A mask that leaves but one eye free, 
To do its best in witchery, — 
She roved, with beating heart, around, 

And waited, trembling, for the minute, 
When she might try if still the sound 

Of her loved lute had magic in it 

The board was spread with fruits and wine ; 
With grapes of gold, like those that shine 

3 " From him I received the following little Gazzel, or 
Love Song, the notes of which he committed to paper from 
the voice of one of those singing girls of Cashmere, who 
wander from that delightful valley over the various parts of 
India." — Persian Miscellanies. 

4 " The roses of the Jinan Nile, or Garden of the Nile (at- 
tached to the Emperor of Morocco's palace) are unequalled, 
and mattresses are made of their leaves for the men of rank 
to recline upon." — Jackson. 

5 " On the side of a mountain near Paphos there is a 
cavern which produces the most beautiful rock-crystal. On 
account of its brilliancy it has been called the Paphian dia- 
mond." — Mariti. 

6 " There is a part of Candahar, called Peria, or Fairy 
Land." — Thevcnot. In some of those countries to the north 
of India, vegetable gold is supposed to be produced. 

7 "These are the butterflies which are called in the Chi- 
nese language Flying Leaves. Some of them have such 
shining colors, and are so variegated, that they may be call- 
ed flying flowers ; and indeed they are always produced in 
the finest flower-gardens." — Dunn. 

8 " The Arabian women wear black masks with little 
clasps prettily ordered."— Carreri. Niebuhr mentions their 
showing but one eye in conversation. 



450 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



On Casbin's hills f — pomegranates full 

Of melting sweetness, and the pears, 
And sunniest apples 2 that Caubul 

In all its thousand gardens 3 bears ;— 
Plantains, the golden and the green, 
Malaya's nectar'd mangusteen ; 4 
Prunes of Bokhara, and sweet nuts 

From the far groves of Samarkand, 
And Basra dates, and apricot?, 

Seed of the Sun, 5 from Iran's land ; — 
With rich conserve of Visna cherries, 6 
Of orange flowers, and of those berries 
That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles 
Feed on in Erac's rocky dells. 7 
All these in richest vases smile, 

In baskets of pure sandal-wood, 
And urns of porcelain from that isle 8 

Sunk underneath the Indian flood, 
Whence oft the lucky diver brings 
Vases to grace the halls of kings. 
Wines, too, of every clime and hue, 
Around their liquid lustre threw ; 
Amber Rosolli, 9 — the bright dew 
From vineyards of the Green-Sea gushing ; 10 
And Shiraz wine, that richly ran 

As if that jewel, large and rare, 
The ruby for which Kublai-Khan 
Offer'd a city's wealth," was blushing, 

Melted within the goblets there ! 

And amply Selim quaffs of each, 

And seems resolved the flood shall reach 

His inward heart, — shedding around 

A genial deluge, as they run, 
That soon shall leave no spot undrown'd, 

For Love to rest his wings upon. 
He little knew how well the boy 

Can float upon a goblet's streams, 



i "The golden grapes of Casbin."— Description of Persia. 

2 " The fruits exported from Cabul are apples, pears, pome- 
granates," &c. — Elphinstone. 

3 " We sat down under a tree, listened to the birds, and 
talked with the son of our Mehmaundar about our country 

-and Caubul, of which he gave an enchanting account: that 
city and its 100,000 gardens," &c— iiZ. 

4 " The mangusteen, the most delicate fruit in the world; 
the pride of the Malay islands."— Marsden. ' 

s " A delicious kind of apricot called by the Persians tokm- 
ek-shems, signifying sun's seed."— Description of Persia. 

o " Sweetmeats, i!h a crystal cup, consisting of rose-leaves 
in conserve, with lemon of Visna cherry, orange flowers," 
&x. — Russel. 

i " Antelopes cropping the fresh berries of Erac."— The 
Moallakat, Poem of Tarafa. 

8 " Mauri- ga-Sima, an island near Formosa, supposed to 
have been sunk in the sea for the crimes of its inhabitants. 
The vessels whicn the fishermen and divers bring up from 
it are sold at an immense price in China and Japan."— See 
Kempfer. 



Lighting them with his smile of joy ; — 
As bards have seen him in their dreams, 

Down the blue Ganges laughing glide 
Upon a rosy lotus wreath, 12 

Catching new lustre from the tide 
That with his image shone beneath. 

But what are cups, without the aid 

Of song to speed them as they flow ? 
And see — a lovely Georgian maid, 

With all the bloom, the freshen'd glow 
Of her own country maidens' looks, 
When warm they rise from Teflis' brooks ; 18 
And with an eye, whose restless ray, 

Full, floating, dark — oh, he, who knows 
His heart is weak, of Heav'n should pray 

To guard him from such eyes as those !— 

With a voluptuous wildness flings 

Her snowy hand across the strings 

Of a syrinda, 14 and thus sings : — 

Come hither, come hither — by night and by day, 
We linger in pleasures that never are gone ; 

Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away, 
Another as sweet and as shining comes on. 

And the love that is o'er, in expiring, gives birth 
To a new one as warm, as unequall'd in bliss; 

And, oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 15 

Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh 
As the flow'r of the Amra just oped by a bee ; 16 

And precious their tears as that rain from the sky, 17 
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea. 

Oh ! think what the kiss and the smile must be worth 
When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss, 

And own if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 



9 Persian Tales. 

*o The white wine of Kishma. 

11 " The king of Zeilan is said to have the very finest ruby 
that was ever seen. Kublai-Khan sent and offered the value 
of a city for it, but the King answered he would not give it 
for the treasure of the world."— Marco Polo. 

12 The Indians feign that Cupid was first seen floating down 
the Ganges on the Nymphaja Nelumbo.— See Pennant. 

13 Teflis is celebrated for its natural warm baths. — See Ebn 
Haukal. 

14 " The Indian Syrinda, or guitar." — Symez. 

15 " Around the exterior of the Dewan Khafs (a building 
of Shah Allum's) in the cornice are the following lines in 
letters of gold upon a ground of white marble — ' If there be a 
paradise upon earth, it is this, it is this.' 1 " — Francklin. 

J 6 " Delightful are the flowers of the Amra trees on the 
mountain-tops, while the murmuring bees pursue their vo- 
luptuous toil." — Song of Jayadeva. 

17 " The Nisan or drops of spring rain, which they believe 
to produce pearls if they fall into shells." — Richarditm. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



451 



Here sparkles the nectar, that, hallow'd by love, 
Could draw down those angels of old from their 
sphere, 
Who for wine of this earth 1 left the fountains above, 
And forgot heavVs stars for the eyes we have 
here. 
And. bless'd with the odor our goblet gives forth, 

What Spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss? 
For, oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 

The Georgian's song was scarcely mute, 

When the same measure, sound for sound, 
Was caught up by another lute, 

And so divinely breathed around, 
That all stood hush'd and wondering, 

And turn'd and look'd into the air, 
As if they thought to see the wing, 

Of Israfil, 2 the Angel, there ; — 
So pow'rfully on ev'iy soul 

That new, enchanted measure stole. 
While now a voice, sweet as the note 

Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float 
Along its chords, and so entwine 

Its sounds with theirs, that none knew whether 
The voice or lute was most divine, 

So wondrously they went together ", — 

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, 
When two, that are link'd in one heav'nly tie, 

With heart never changing, and brow never cold, 
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die ! 

One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ; 

And, oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 

'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words, 
But that deep magic in the chords 
And in the lips, that gave such pow'r 
As Music knew not till that hour. » 
At once a hundred voices said, 
" It is the mask'd Arabian maid !" 
While Selim, who had felt the strain 
Deepest of any, and had lain 
Some minutes rapt, as in a trance, 

After the fairy sounds were o'er, 
Too inly touch'd for utterance, 

Now motion'd with his hand for more : — 

Fly to the desert, fly with me, 
Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 



i For an account of the share which wine had in the fall 
of the angels, see Mariti. 
* The Angel of Music. See note 3 , p. 436. 



But, oh ! the choice what heart can doubt, 
Of tents with love, or thrones without ? 

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair, 
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
For flow'ring in a wilderness. 

Our sands are bare, but down their slope 

The silv'ry -footed antelope 

As gracefully and gayly springs 

As o'er the marble courts of kings. i 

Then come — thy Arab maid will be 
The loved and lone acacia-tree, 
The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 

Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart, — 
As if the sold that minute caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought ; 

As if the very lips and eyes, 
Predestined to have all our sighs, 
And never be forgot again, 
Sparkled and spoke before us then ! 

So came thy ev'ry glance and tone 
When first on me they breathed and shone ; 
New, as if brought from other spheres, 
Yet welcome as if loved for years. 

Then fly with me, — if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away, that thou liadst sworn 
Should ever in thy heart be worn. 

Come, if the love thou hast for me, 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, — 
Fresh as the fountain under ground, 
When first 'tis by the lapwing found. 3 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worshipped image from its base, 
To give to me the ruin'd place ; — 

Then, fare thee well — I'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine ! 



3 The Hudhud, or Lapwing, is supposed to have the pow> 
er of discovering water under ground. 



452 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



There was a pathos in this lay, 

That, ev'n without enchantment's art, 
Would instantly have found its way 

Deep into Selim's burning heart ; 
But, breathing, as it did, a tone 
To earthly lutes and lips unknown ; 
With every chord fresh from the touch 
Of Music's Spirit, — 'twas too much ! 
Starting, he dash'd away the cup, — 

Which, all the time of this sweet air, 
His hand had held, untasted, up, 

As if 'twere fix'd by magic there, — 
And naming her, so long unnamed, 
So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd, 

" Oh NOURMAHAL ! oh NoURMAHAL ! 

" Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, 
" I could forget — forgive thee all, 

" And never leave those eyes again." 

The mask is off— the charm is wrought — 
And Selim to his heart has caught, 
In blushes, more than ever bright, 
His Nourmahal, his Haram's Light ! 
And well do vanish'd frowns enhance 
The charm of every brighten'd glance ; 
And dearer seems each dawning smile 
For having lost its light awhile : 
And, happier now for all her sighs. 

As on his arm her head reposes, 
She whispers him, with laughing eyes, 

" Remember, love, the Feast of Roses !" 



Fadladeen, at the conclusion of this light rhap- 
sody, took occasion to sum up his opinion of the 
young Cashmerian's poetry, — of which, he trusted, 
the> had that evening heard the last. Having 
recapitulated the epithets, " frivolous" — " inharmo- 
nious" — " nonsensical," he proceeded to say that, 
viewing it in the most favorable light, it resembled 
one of those Maldivian boats, to which the Princess 
had alluded in the relation of her dream, 1 — a slight, 
gilded thing, sent adrift without rudder or ballast, 
and with nothing but vapid sweets and faded flowers 
on board. The profusion, indeed, of flowers and 
birds, which this poet had ready on all occasions, — 
not to mention dews, gems, &c. — was a most op- 
pressive kind of opulence to his hearers ; and had 



i See p. 427. 

2 "The Chinese had formerly the art of painting on the 
sides of porcelain vessels fish and other animals, which were 
only perceptible when the vessel was full of some liquor. 
They call this species Kia-tsin, that is, azure is put in press, 
on account of the manner in which the azure is laid on." — 



the unlucky effect of giving to his style all the glitter 
of the flower-garden without its method, and all the 
flutter of the aviary without its song. In addition 
to this, he chose his subjects badly, and was always 
most inspired by the worst parts of them. The 
charms of paganism, the merits of rebellion, — these 
were the themes honored with his particular enthu- 
siasm ; and, in the poem just recited, one of his 
most palatable passages was in praise of that bever- 
age of the Unfaithful, wine ; — " being, perhaps," 
said he, relaxing into a smile, as Conscious of his 
own character in the Haram on this point, " one of 
those bards whose fancy owes all its illumination to 
the grape, like that painted porcelain, 2 so curious 
and so rare, whose images are only visible when 
liquor is poured into it." Upon the whole, it was 
his opinion, from the specimens which they had 
heard, and which, he begged to say, were the most 
tiresome part of the journey, that — whatever other 
merits this well-dressed young gentleman might pos- 
sess — poetry was by no means his proper avocation : 
" and indeed," concluded the critic, " from his fond- 
ness for flowers and for birds, I would venture to 
suggest that a florist or a bird-catcher is a much 
more suitable calling for him than a poet." 

They had now begun to ascend those barren 
mountains, which separate Cashmere from the rest 
of India ; and, as the heats were intolerable, and 
the time of their encampments limited to the few 
hours necessary for refreshment and repose, there 
was an end to all their delightful evenings, and 
Lalla Rookh saw no more of Feramorz. She 
now felt that her short dream of happiness was 
over, and that she had nothing but the recollection 
of its few blissful hours, like the one draught of 
sweet water that serves the camel across the wil- 
derness, to be her heart's refreshment during the 
dreary waste of life that was before her. The 
blight that had fallen upon her spirits soon found 
its way to her cheek, and her ladies saw with 
regret — though not without some suspicion of the 
cause — that the beauty of their mistress, of which 
they were almost as proud as of their own, was 
fast vanishing away at the very moment of all when 
she had most need of it. What must the King of 
Bucharia feel, when, instead of the lively and 
beautiful Lalla Rookh, whom the poets of Delhi 
had described as more perfect than the divinest 
images in the house of Azor, 3 he should receive a 



They are every now and then trying to recover the art of 
this magical painting, but to no purpose." — Dunn. 

3 An eminent carver of idols, said in the Koran to be father 
to Abraham. " I have such a lovely idol as is not to be met 
with in the house of Azor." — Hafii. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



453 



pale and inanimate victim, upon whose cheek 
neither health nor pleasure bloomed, and from 
whose eyes Lcve had fled, — to hide himself in her 
heart ? 

If any thing could have charmed away the mel- 
ancholy of her spirits, it would have been the fresh 
airs and enchanting scenery of that Valley, which 
the Persians so justly called the Unequalled. 1 But 
neither the coolness of its atmosphere, so luxurious 
after toiling up those bare and burning mountains, — 
neither the splendor of the minarets and pagodas, 
that shone out from the depth of its woods, nor the 
grottoes, hermitages, and miraculous fountains, 2 
which make every spot of that region holy ground, 
— neither the countless waterfalls, that rush into the 
Valley from all those high and romantic mountains 
that encircle it, nor the fair city on the Lake, whose 
houses, roofed with flowers, 3 appeared at a distance 
like one vast and variegated parterre ; — not all these 
wonders and glories of the most lovely country un- 
der the sun could steal her heart for a minute from 
those sad thoughts, which but darkened, and grew 
bitterer every step she advanced. 

The gay pomps and processions that met her 
upon her entrance into the Valley, and the magnifi- 
cence with which the roads all along were decorated, 
did honor to the taste and gallantry of the young 
King. It was night when they approached the 
city, and, for the last two miles, they had passed 
under arches, thrown from hedge to hedge, festooned 
with only those rarest roses from which the Attar 
Gul, more precious than gold, is distilled, and illu- 
minated in rich and fanciful forms with lanterns of 
the triple-colored tortoise-shell of Pegu. 4 Some- 
times, from a dark wood by the side of the road, a 
display of fireworks would break out, so sudden and 



1 Kachmire be Nazeer. — Forster. 

2 "The pardonable superstition of the sequestered inhabit- 
ants has multiplied the places of worship of Mahadeo, of 
Eeschan, and of Brama. All Cashmere is ho!y land, and 
miraculous fountains abound." — Major RenneVs Memoirs of 
a Map of Hindostan. 

Jehan-Guire mentions "a fountain in Cashmere called 
Tirnagh, which signifies a snake ; probably because some 
large snake had formerly been seen there."—" During the 
lifetime of my father, Invent twice to this fountain, which 
is about twenty coss from the city of Cashmere. The ves- 
tiges of places of worship and scanctity are to be traced 
without number amongst the ruins and the caves which are 
interspersed in its neighborhood." — Toozek Jehavgeenj. — 
Vide Asial. Misc., vol ii- 

There is another account of Cashmere by Abul-Fazil, the 
author of the Ayin-Acbaree, " who," says Major Henncl, 
" appears to have caught some of the enthusiasm of the 
valley, by his description of the holy places in it." 

3 "On a standing roof of wood is laid a covering of fine 



so brilliant, that a Brahmin might fancy he beheld 
that grove, in whose purple shade the God of Battles 
was born, bursting into a flame at the moment of his 
birth ; — while, at other times, a quick and playful 
irradiation continued to brighten all the fields and 
gardens by which they passed, forming a line of 
dancing lights along the horizon ; like the meteors 
of the north as they are seen by those hunters, 5 who 
pursue the white and blue foxes on the confines of 
the Icy Sea. 

These arches and fireworks delighted the Ladies 
of the Princess exceedingly ; and with their usual 
good logic, they deduced from his taste for illumina- 
tions, that the King of Bucb.fc.ria would make the 
most exemplary husband imaginable. Nor, indeed, 
could Lalla Rookh herself help feeling the kind- 
ness and splendor with which the young bridegroom 
welcomed her ; — but she also felt how painful is the 
gratitude, which kindness from those we cannot love 
excites ; and that their best blandishments come 
over the heart with all that chilling and deadly 
sweetness, which we can fancy in the cold, odorifer- 
ous wind 6 that is to blow over this earth in the last 
days. 

The marriage was fixed for the morning after her 
arrival, when she was, for the first time, to be pre- 
sented to the monarch in that Imperial Palace be- 
yond the lake, called the Shalimar. Though never 
before had a night of more wakeful and anxious 
thought been passed in the Happy Valley, yet, when 
she rose in the morning, and her Ladies came around 
her, to assist in the adjustment of the bridal orna- 
ments, they thought they had never seen her look 
half so beautiful. What she had lost of the bloom 
and radiancy of her charms was more than made 
up by that intellectual expression, that soul beaming 



earth, which shelters the building from the great quantity 
of snow that falls in the winter season. This fence com- 
municates an equal warmth in winter, as a refreshing cool- 
ness in the summer season, when the tops of the houses, 
which are planted with a variety of flowers, exhibit at a 
distance the spacious view of a beautifully-checkered par- 
terre." — Forster. 

4 " Two hundred slaves there are, who have no other office 
than to hunt the woodland marshes for triple-colored tor- 
toises for the King's Vivary. Of the shells of these also 
lanterns are made." — Vincent le Blanc's Travels. 

s For a description of the Aurora Borealis as it appears to 
these hunters, vide Encyclopedia. 

6 This wind, which is to blow from Syria Damascena, is, 
according to the Mahometans, one of the signs of the Last 
Day's approach. 

Another of the signs is, " Great distress in the world, so 
that a man when he passes by another's grave shall say, 
Would to God 1 were in his place V— Sale's Preliminary 
Discourse. 



454 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



forth from the eyes, which is worth all the rest of 
loveliness. When they had tinged her lingers with 
the Henna leaf, and placed upon her brow a small 
coronet of jewels, of the shape worn by the ancient 
Queens of Bucharia, they flung over her head the 
rose-colored bridal veil, and she proceeded to the 
barge that was to convey her across the lake ; — 
first kissing, with a mournful look, the little amulet 
of cornelian which her father at parting had hung 
about her neck. 

The morning was as fresh and fair as the maid 
on whose nuptials it rose, and the shining lake all 
covered with boats, the minstrels playing upon the 
shores of the islands, and the crowded summer- 
houses on the green hills around, with shawls and 
banners waving from their roofs, presented such a 
picture of animated rejoicing, as only she who was 
the object of it all, did not feel with transport. To 
Lalla Rookh alone it was a melancholy pageant ; 
nor could she have even borne to look upon the 
scene, were it not for a hope that, among the crowds 
around, she might once more perhaps catch a glimpse 
of Feramorz. So much was her imagination haunt- 
ed by this thought, that there was scarcely an islet 
or boat she passed on the way, at which her heart 
did not flutter with the momentary fancy that he 
was there. Happy, in her eyes, the humblest slave 
upon whom the light of his dear looks fell ! — In the 
barge immediately after the princess sat Fadladeen, 
with his silken curtains thrown widely apart, that 
all might have the benefit of his august presence, 
and with his head full of the speech he was to de- 
liver to the King, " concerning Feramorz, and lit— 
i erature, and the Chabuk, as connected therewith." 

They now had entered the canal which leads from 
the Lake to the splendid domes and saloons of the 
Shalimar, and went gliding on through the gardens 
that ascended from each bank, full of flowering 
shrubs that made the air all perfume ; while from 
the middle of the canal rose jets of water, smooth 
and unbroken, to such a dazzling height, that they 
stood like tall pillars of diamond ill the sunshine. 



i " On Mahommed Shaw's return to Koolburga, (the capi- 
tal of Dekkan,) he made a great festival, and mounted this 
throne with much pomp and magnificence, calling itFirozeh, 
or Cerulean. I have heard some old persons, who saw the 
throne Firozeh in the reign of Sultan Mamood Bhamenee, 
describe it. They say that it was in length nine feet, and 
three in breadth ; made of ebony, covered with plates of pure 
gold, and set with precious stones of immense value- Every 



After sailing under the arches of various saloons, 
they at length arrived at the last and most magnifi- 
cent, where the monarch awaited the coming of his 
bride ; and such was the agitation of her heart and 
frame, that it was with difficulty she could walk up 
the marble steps which were covered with cloth of 
gold for her ascent from the barge. At the end of 
the hall stood two thrones, as precious as the Ceru- 
lean Throne of Coolburga, 1 on one of which sat 
Aliris, the youthful King of Bucharia, and on the 
other was, in a few minutes, to be placed the most 
beautiful Princess in the world. Immediately upon 
the entrance of Lalla Rookh into the saloon, the 
monarch descended from his throne to meet her ; 
but scarcely had he time to take her hand in his, 
when she screamed with surprise, and fainted at his 
feet. It was Feramorz himself that stood before 
her ! — Feramorz was, himself, the Sovereign of 
Bucharia, who in this disguise had accompanied his 
young bride from Delhi, and, having won her love 
as an humble minstrel, now amply deserved to enjoy 
it as a King. 

The consternation of Fadladeen at this discovery 
was, for the moment, almost pitiable. But change 
of opinion is a resource too convenient in courts for 
this experienced courtier not to have learned to avail 
himself of it. His criticisms were all, of course, 
recanted instantly : he was seized with an admira- 
tion of the King's verses, as unbounded as, he begged 
him to believe, it was disinterested ; and the follow- 
ing week saw him in possession of an additional 
place, swearing by all the Saints of Islam that never 
had there existed so great a poet as the Monarch 
Aliris, and, moreover, ready to prescribe his favor- 
ite regimen of the Chabuk for eveiy man, woman, 
and child that dared to think otherwise. 

Of the happiness of the King and Queen of 
Bucharia, after such a beginning, there can be but 
little doubt ; and, among the lesser symptoms, it is 
recorded of Lalla Rookh, that, to the day of her 
death, in memory of their delightful journey, she never 
called the King by any other name than Feramorz. 



prince of the house of Bhamenee, who possessed this throne, 
made a point of adding to it some rich stones ; so that when, 
in the reign of Sultan Mamood, it was taken to pieces, to re- 
move some of the jewels to be set in vases and cups, the 
jewellers valued it at one corore of oons, (nearly four millions 
sterling.) I learned also that it was called Firozeh from 
being partly enamelled of a sky-blue color, which was in time 
totally concealed by the number of jewels."— Fer ishta. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 



455 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS, 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR. 
P—RC— V— L. 

In the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was 
heard, 
Unembitter'd and free did the tear-drop de- 
scend ; 
We forgot, in that hour, how the statesman had 
err'd, 
And wept for the husband, the father, and friend. 

Oh, proud was the meed his integrity won, 

And gen'rous indeed were the tears that we shed, 

When, in grief, we forgot all the ill he had done, 
And, though wrong'd by him, living, bewail'd 
him, Avhen dead. 

Even now, if one harsher emotion intrude, 

'Tis to wish he had chosen some lowlier state, 

Had known what he was — and, content to be good, 
Had ne'er, for our ruin, aspired to be great. 

So, left through their own little orbit to move, 

His years might have roll'd inoffensive away ; 
His children might still have been bless'd with his 
love, , 

And England would ne'er have been cursed with 
his sway. 



To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle. 

Sir, 
In order to explain the following Fragment, it is 
necessary to refer your readers to a late florid de- 
scription of the Pavilion at Brighton, in the apart- 
ments of which, we are told, " Fum, The Chinese 
Bird of Royalty," is a principal ornament. 

I am, Sir, yours, &c. 

Mum. 

FUM AND HUM, THE TWO BIRDS OF 
ROYALTY 

One day the Chinese Bird of Royalty, Fum, 
Thus accosted our own Bird of Royalty, Hum, 



In that Palace or China-shop (Brighton, which is 

it?) 
Where Fum had just come to pay Hum a short 

visit. — 
Near akin are these Birds, though they differ in 

nation, 
(The breed of the Hums Is 'js old as creation ;) 
Both, full-craw'd Legitimates — both, birds of prey, 
Both, cackling and ravenous creatures, half way 
'Twixt the goose and the vulture, like Lord 

C — STL GH. 

While Fum deals in Mandarins, Bonzes, Bohea, 
Peers, Bishops, and Punch, Hum, are sacred to 

thee! 
So congenial their tastes, that, when Fum first did 

light on 
The floor of that grand China-warehouse at 

Brighton, 
The lanterns, and dragons, and things round the 

dome 
Were so like what he left, " Gad," says Fum, " I'm 

at home." — 
And when, turning, he saw Bishop L ge, 

" Zooks, it is," 
Quoth the Bird, " Yes — I know him — a Bonze, by 

his phiz — 
" And that jolly old idol he kneels to so low 
"Can be none but our round-about godhead, fat 

Fo!" 
It chanced at this moment, th' Episcopal Prig 
Was imploring the P e to dispense with his 

wig, 1 
Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high o'er his 

head, 
And some TouiT-like marks of his patronage shed, 
Which so dimm'd the poor Dandy's idolatrous eye, 
That, while Fum cried " Oh Fo !" all the court 

cried " Oh fie !" 

But, a truce to digression ; — these Birds of a 
feather 

Thus talk'd, t'other night, on State matters to- 
gether ; 



i In consequence of an old promise, that he should be 
allowed to wear his own hair, whenever he might be ele- 
vated to a Bishopric by his R 1 II ss 



456 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



(The P e just in bed, or about to depart for't, 

His legs full of gout, and his arms full of 

H — RTF — D,) 
" I say, Hum," says Fum — Fum, of course, spoke 

Chinese, 
But, bless you, that's nothing — at Brighton one 

sees 
Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated with ease — 
" I say, Hum, how fares it with Royalty now ? 
" Is it up ? is it prime ? is it spooney — or how ?" 
(The Bird had just taken a flash-man's degree 
Under B — rr — m — re, Y th, and young 

Master L e,) 

" As for us in Pekin" here, a devil of a din 

From the bedchamber came, where that long 

Mandarin, 
C — stl gh (whom Fum calls the Confucius of 

Prose,) 
Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe's repose 
To the deep, double bass of the fat Idol's nose. 

(Nota bene — his Lordship and L — v— -rp — l come, 

In collateral lines, from the old Mother Hum, 

C — stl gh a HuM-bug — L — v— rp — l a Hum- 

drum.) 
The Speech being fmish'd, out rush'd C — stl — gh, 
Saddled Hum in a hurry, and, whip, spur, away, 
Through the regions of air, like a Snip on his 

hobby, 
Ne'er paused, tilf. he lighted in St. Stephen's lobby. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF SIS— R— D— N. 

Principibus placuisse viris ! — Horat. 

Yes, grief will have way — but the fast falling tear 
Shall be mingled with deep execrations on those, 

Who could bask in that Spirit's meridian career, 
And yet leave it thus lonely and dark at its 
close : — 

Whose vanity flew round him only while fed 
By the odor his fame in its summer-time 
gave ;— 
Whose vanity now, with quick scent for the dead, 
Like the Ghole of the East, comes to feed at his 
grave. 

Oh ! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow, 
And spirits so mean in the great and high-born ; 



To think what a long line of titles may follow 
The relics of him who died — friendless and lorn ! 

How proud they can press'to the fun'ral array 
Of one, whom they shunn'd in his sickness and 
sorrow : — 
How baliffs may seize his last blanket, to-day, 
Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-mor- 
row ! 

And Thou, too, whose life, a sick epicure's dream, 

Incoherent and gross, even grosser had pass'd, 
x V e re it not for that cordial and soul-giving 
beam, 
Which his friendship and wit o'er thy nothingness 
cast : — 

No, not for the wealth of the land, that supplies 
thee 
With millions to heap upon Foppeiy's shrine ; — 
No, not for the riches of all who despise thee, 
Though this would make Europe's whole opulence 
mine ; — 

Would I suffer what — ev'n in the heart that thou 
hast — 
All mean as it is — must have consciously 
bunj'd, 
When the pittance, which shame had wrung from 
thee at last, 
And which found all his wants at an end, was 
return'd ;* 

" Was this then the fate," — future ages will say, 
When some names shall live but in history's curse ; 

When Truth will be heard, and these Lords of a 
day 
Be forgotten as fools, or remember'd as worse ; — 

" Was this then the fate of that high-gifted man, 
" The pride of the palace, the bow'r and the hall, 

" The orator, — dramatist, — minstrel, — who ran 
" Through each mode of the lyre, and was master 
of all ;— 

" Whose mind was an essence, compounded with 
art 
"From the finest and best of all other men's 
pow'rs : — 
" Who ruled, like a wizard, the world of the heart, 
" And could call up its sunshine, or bring down 
its show'rs ; — 



1 The sum was two hundred pounds— offered when 
Sh— r— d— n could no longer take any sustenance, and de- 
clined, for him, by his friends. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS, 



457 



" Whose humor, as gay as the fire-fly's light, 

"Play'd round ever)- subject, and shone as it 
play'd : — 

" Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright, 
•'•' Xe'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade ; — 

" Whose eloquence — bright'ning whatever it tried, 
•'•'Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the 
grave, — 

u Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide, 
'•' As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave !" 

Yes — such was the man, and so wretched his fate ; — 
And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve, 

Who waste their morn's dew in the beams of the 
Great, 
And expect 'twill return to refresh them at eve. 

In the woods of the Xorth there are insects that 
prey 
On the brain of the elk till his very last sigh f 
Oh, Genius ! thy patrons, more cruel than they, 
First feed on thy brains, and then leave thee to 
die! 



EPISTLE 

FROM 

TOM CRIB TO BIG BEX.* 

CONCERNING SOME FOUL PLAY IX A LATE TRANSACTION. 3 

•• Alii, mio Ben '.'* — Metastasio. 4 

What ! Bex, my old hero, is this your renown ? 
Is this the new go ? — kick a man when he's down ! 
When, the foe has knock'd under, to tread on him 

then — 
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Bex ! 
" Foul ! foul I" all the lads of the Fancy exclaim — 
Charley Shock is electrified — Belcher spits 

flame — 
And Molyxeux — ay, even Blacky 5 cries " shame !" 

i Naturalists have observed that, upon dissecting an elk, 
there were found in its head some large flies, with its brain 
almost eaten away by them.— History of Poland. 

2 A nickname given, at this time, to the Pr — ce R— g— -t 

3 Written soon after Bonaparte's transportation to St. 
Helena. 

4 Tom I suppose, was " assisted'' to this Notto by Mr. 



I Time was, when Johx Bell little difference spied 

'Twixt the foe at his feet, and the friend at his side : 
' When he found (such his humor in fighting and 

eating) 
| His foe, like his beef-steak, the sweeter for beating. 
But this comes, Master Bex, of your cursed foreign 

notions, 
Your trinkets, wigs, thingumbobs, gold lace and j 

lotious ; 
Your Noyeausj Curacoas, and the Devil knows j 

what — 
(One swig of Blue Ruin 6 is worth the whole lot !) 
Your great and small crosses — (my eyes, what a 

brood ! 
A cross-buttock from me would do some of them 

good !) 
Which have spoil'd you, till hardly a drop, my old 

porpoise, 
Of pure English claret is left in your corpus ; 
And (as Jut says) the only one trick, good or bad, 
Of the Fancy you're up to, Is fibbing, my lad. 
Hence it comes, — Boxiaxa, disgrace to thy page ! — 
Having floord, by good luck, the t:^ swell of the 

Having conquer' d the prime one, that milfd us all 

round, 
You kick'd him, old Bex, as he gasp'd on the 

ground ! 
Ay — just at the time to show spunk, if you'd got 

any — 
Kick'd him, and jaw'd him, and lagg'cF him to 
Botany ! 
| Oh, shade of the Cheesemonger I s you, who, alas, 
; Doubled up, by the dozen, those Mounseers in brass, 
' On that great day of milling, when blood lay in lakes, 
I When Kings held the bottle, and Europe the stakes, 
I Look down upon Bex — see him, dunghill all o'er, 
I Insult the falFn foe, that can harm him no more ! 
Out, cowardly spooney .' — again and again, 
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Bex. 
To show the ichite feather is many men's doom, 
But, what of one feather ? — Bex shows a whole 
Plume. 

Jackson, who, it is well knowu, keeps the most learned 
company going. 

6 Names -and nicknames of celebrated pugilists at that 
time. 

6 Gin. 7 Transported. 

s A Life Guardsman, one of the Fanci;, who distinguished 
himself, and was killed in the memorable set-to at Waterloo. 



458 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS, 



Le Leggi della Maschera richiedono che una persvma mascherata non sia salutata per nome da uno che la conosce 
malgrado il suo travestimento.— Castiglione. 



PREFACE. 

In what manner the following Epistles came into 
my hands, it is not necessary for the public to know. 
It will be seen by Mr. Fudge's Second Letter, that 
he is one of those gentlemen whose Secret Services 
in Ireland, under the mild ministry of my. Lord 
C -gh, have been so amply ai.d gratefully re- 
munerated. Like his friend and associate, Thomas 
Reynolds, Esq., he had retired upon the reward of 
his honest industry ; but has lately been induced to ap- 
pear again in active life, and superintend the training 
of that Delatorian Cohort, which Lord S — dm — th, 
in his wisdom and benevolence, has organized. 

Whether Mr. Fudge, himself, has yet made any 
discoveries, does not appear from the following 
pages. But much may be expected from a person 
of his zeal and sagacity, and, indeed, to him, Lord 
S — dm — th, and the Greenland-bound ships, the 
eyes of all lovers of discoverie are now most 
anxiously directed. 

I regret much that I have been obliged to omit 
Mr. Bob Fudge's Third Letter, concluding the ad- 
ventures of his Day with the Dinner, Opera, &c, 
&c. ; — but, in consequence of some remarks upon 
Marinette's thin drapery, which, it was thought, 
might give offence to certain well-meaning persons, 
the manuscript was sent back to Paris for his revi- 
sion, and had not returned when the last sheet was 
put to press. 

It will not, I hope, be thought presumptuous, if 
I take this opportunity of complaining of a very 
serious injustice I have suffered from the public. 
Dr. King wrote a treatise to prove that Bentley 
" was not the author of his own book," and a similar 
absurdity has been asserted of vie, in almost all the 
best-informed literary circles. With the name of 
the real author staring them in the face, they have 
yet persisted in attributing my works to other peo- 
ple ; and the fame of the Twopenny Post-Bag — 
such as it is — having hovered doubtfully over various 



persons, has at last settled upon the head of a cer- 
tain little gentleman, who wears it, I understand, as 
complacently as if it actually belonged to him ; 
without even the honesty of avowing, with his own 
favorite author, (he will excuse the pun,) 
Eyco <5' 'O MilPOS apag 

I can only add, that if any lady or gentleman, 
curious in such matters, will take the trouble of call- 
ing at my lodgings, 245 Piccadilly, I shall have the 
honor of assuring them, in propria persona, that I 
am — his, or her, 

Very obedient 

And very humble Servant, 
THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER. 

April 17, 1818. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



LETTER I. 



FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY , OF 

CLONKILTY, IN IRELAND. 

Amiens. 
Dear Doll, while the tails of our horses are plait- 
ing* 
The trunks tying on, and Papa, at the door, 
Into very bad French is, as usual, translating 
His English resolve not to give a sou more, 
I sit down to write you a line — only think ! — 
A letter from France, with French pens and French 

ink, 
How delightful ! though, would you believe it, my 

dear? 
I have seen nothing yet very wonderful here ; 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



459 



No adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come, 
Bat the corn-fields and trees quite as dull as at home ; 
And but for the post-hoy, his boots and his queue, 
I might just as well be at Clonkilty with you ! 
In vain, at Dessein's, did I take from my trunk 
That divine fellow, Sterne, and fall reading " The 

Monk ;" 
In vain did I think of his charming Dead Ass, 
And remember the crust and the wallet — alas ! 
No monks can be had now for love or for money, 
(All owing, Pa says, to that infidel Boney ;) 
And, though one little Neddy we saw in our drive 
Out of classical Nampont, the beast was alive ! 

By the by, though, at Calais, Papa had a touch 
Of romance on the pier, which affected me much. 
At the sight of that spot, where our darling Dix- 

HUIT 

Set the first of his own dear legitimate feet, 1 
(ModelFd out so exactly, and — God bless the mark ! 
Tis a foot, Dolly, worthy so Grand a Monarque,) 
He exclaim'd, " Oh, mon Roi !" and, with tear- 
dropping eye, 
Stood to gaze on the spot — while some Jacobin, 

nigh, 
Mutter'd out with a shrug, (what an insolent thing !) 
" Ma foi, he be right — 'tis de Englishman's King ; 
And dat gros pied de cochon — begar, me vil say 
Dat de foot look mosh better, if turn'd toder way." 
There's the pillar, too— Lord ! I had nearly forgot — 
What a charming idea ! — raised close to the spot ; 
The mode being now, (as you've heard, I suppose,) 
To build tombs over legs, 2 and raise pillars to toes. 

This is all that's occurr'd sentimental as yet ; 
Except, indeed, some little flow'r-nymphs we've met, 
Who disturb one's romance with pecuniary views, 
Flinging flow'rs in your path, and then — bawling 

for soils I 
And some picturesque beggars, whose multitudes 

seem 
To recall the good days of the ancien regime, 
All as ragged and brisk, you'll be happy to learn, 
And as thin as they were in the time of dear 

Sterne. 

Our party consists (in a neat Calais job) 

Of Papa and myself, Mr. Connor and Bob. 

You remember how sheepish Bob look'd at Kil- 

randy, 
But, Lord ! he's quite alter'd — they've made him a 

Dandy ; 



1 To commemorate the landing of Louis le Desire from 
England, the impression of his foot is marked out on the pier 



A thing, you know, whisker'd, great-coated, and 

laced, 
Like an hour-glass, exceedingly small in the waist : 
Quite a new sort of creatures, unknown yet to 

scholars, 
With heads, so immoveably stuck in shirt-collars, 
That seats, like our music-stools, soon must be found 

them, 
To twirl, when the creatures may wish to look round 

them. 
In short, dear, " a Dandy" describes what I mean, 
And Bob's far the best of the genus I've seen : 
An improving young man, fond of learning, ambi- 
tious, 
And goes now to Paris to study French dishes, 
Whose names — think, how quick ! he already 

knows pat, 
S A la braise, petits pates, and — what d'ye call that 
They inflict on potatoes ? — oh ! maitre dliotel — 
I assure you, dear Dolly, he knows them as well 
As if nothing else all his life he had eat, 
Though a bit of them Bobby has never touch'd yet ; 
But just knows the names of French dishes and 

cooks, 
As dear Pa knows the titles of authors and books. 

As to Pa, what d'ye think ? — mind, it's all entre nous, 
But you know, love, I never keep secrets from you — 
Why, he's writing a book — what ! a tale ? a ro- 
mance ? 
No, ye Gods, would it were ! — but his Travels in 

France ; 
At the special desire (he let out t'other day) 
Of his great friend and patron, my Lord C-stl-r-gh, 

Who said, " My dear Fudge" 1 forget the exact 

words, 
And, it's strange, no one ever remembers my Lord's ; 
But 'twas something to say that, as all must allow 
A good orthodox work is much wanting just now, 
To expound to the world the new — thingummie — 

science, 
Found out by the — what's-its-name — Holy Alli- 
ance, 
And prove to mankind that their rights are but folly, 
Their freedom a joke, (which it is, you know, 

Dolly,) 
" There's none," said his Lordship, " if I may be 

judge, 
Half so fit for this great undertaking as Fudge !" 

The matter's soon settled — Pa flies to the Row 
(The first stage your tourists now usually go,) 



at Calais, and a pillar with an inscription raised opposite to 
the spot. - CI git la jambe de, &c, &c. 



460 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Settles all for his quarto — advertisements, praises — 
Starts post from the door, with his tablets — French 

phrases — 
1 Scctt's Visit," of course — in short, ev'ry thing he 

has 
An author can want, except words and ideas : — 
And, lo ! the first thing, in the spring of the year, 
Is Phil. Fudge at the front of a Quarto, my dear ! 

But, bless me, my paper's near out, so I'd better 
Draw fast to a close : — this exceeding long letter 
You owe to a dejeuner a la fourchette, 
Which Bobby would have, and is hard at it yet. — 
What's next ? oh, the tutor, the last of the party, 
Young Connor : — they say he's so like Bonaparte, 
His nose and his chin — which Papa rather 

dreads, 
As the Bourbons, you know, are suppressing all 

heads 
That resemble old Nap's, and who knows but 

their honors 
May think, in their fright, of suppressing poor Con- 
nor's ? 
Au reste, (as we say,) the young lad's well enough, 
Only talks much of Athens, Home, virtue, and 

stuff; 
A third cousin of ours, by the way — poor as Job 

(Though of royal descent by the side of Mamma,) 
And for charity made private tutor to Bob ; — 
Entre nous, too, a Papist — how lib'ral of Pa ! 

This is all, dear, — forgive me for breaking off thus, 
But Bob's dejeuner's done, and Papa's in a fuss. 

B. F. 

P. S. 

How provoking of Pa ! he will not let me stop 
Just to run in and rummage some milliner's shop ; 
And my debut in Paris, I blush to think on it, 
Must now, Doll, be made in a hideous low bonnet. 
But Paris, dear Paris ! — oh, there will be joy, 
And romance, and high bonnets, and Madame Le 
Roi! 1 



1 A celebrated mantua-maker in Paris. 

2 This excellent imitation of the noble Lord's style shows 
how deeply Mr. Fudge must have studied his great original. 
Irish oratory, indeed, abounds with such startling pecu- 
liarities. Thus the eloquent Counsellor B , in de- 
scribing some hypocritical pretender to charity, said, "He 
put his hand in his breeches-pocket, like a crocodile, and," 
&c, &c. 



LETTER II. 

FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE LORD VISCOUNT 
C — ST — R — GH. 



Paris. 



At length, my Lord, I have the bliss 
To date to you a line from this 
" Demoralized" metropolis ; 
Where, by plebeians low and scurvy, 
The throne was turn'd quite topsy-turvy, 
And Kingship, tumbled from its seat, 
" Stood prostrate" at the people's feet ; 
Where (still to use your Lordship's tropes) 
The level of obedience slopes 
Upward and downward, as the stream 
Of hydra faction Jacks the beam .' 2 
Where the poor Palace changes masters 

Quicker than a snake its skin, 
And Louis is roll'd out on castors, 

While Boney's borne on shoulders in : — 
Bu-t where, in every change, no doubt, 

One special good your Lordship traces, — 
That 'tis the Kings alone turn out, 

The Ministers still keep their places. 



How oft, dear Viscount C gh, 

I've thought of thee upon the way, 
As in my job (what place could be 
More apt to wake a thought of thee ?) — 
Or, oftener far, when gravely sitting 
Upon my dicky, (as is fitting 
For him who writes a Tour, that he 
May more of men and manners see,) 
I've thought of thee and of thy glories, 
Thou guest of Kings, and King of Tories ! 
Reflecting how thy fame has grown 

And spread, beyond man's usual share, 
At home, abroad, till thou art known, 

Like Major Semple, everywhere ! 
And marv'ling with what powers of breath 
Your Lordship, having speech'd to death 
Some hundreds of your fellow-men, 
Next speech'd to Sov'reigns' ears, — and when 
All Sov'reigns else were dozed, at last 
Speech'd down the Sov'reign 3 of Belfast. 
Oh ! mid the praises and the trophies 
Thou gain'st from Moroeophs and Sophis ; 



3 The title of the chief magistrate of Belfast, before whom 
his Lordship (with the "studium immane loquendi" at- 
tributed by Ovid to that chattering and rapacious class of 
birds, the pies) delivered sundry long and self-gratulatory 
orations, on his return from the Continent. It was at one 
of these Irish dinners that his gallant broths, Lord S., pro- 
posed the health of "The best cavalry o-?*,er in Europe— 
the Regent !" 



r 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



461 



Mid all the tributes to thy fame, 

There's one thou shouldst be chiefly pleased at — 
That Ireland gives her snuff thy name, 

And C gii's the thing now sneezed at ! 

But hold, my pen ! — a truce to praising— 

Though ev'n your Lordship will allow 
The theme's temptations are amazing ; 

But time and ink run short, and now, 
(As thou wouldst say, my guide and teacher 

In these gay metaphoric fringes, 
I must embark into the feature 

On which this letter chiefly hinges ;) x — 
My Book, the Book that is to prove — 
And will, (so help ye Sprites above, 
That sit. :n clouds, as grave as judges, 
Watching the labors of the Fudges !) 
Will prove that all the world, at present, 
Is in a state extremely pleasant ; 
That Europe — thanks to royal swords 

And bay'nets, and the Duke commanding — 
Enjoys a peace which, like the Lord's, 

Passeth all human understanding : 
That France prefers her go-cart King 

To such a coward scamp as Boney ; 
Though round, with each a leading-string, 

There standeth many a Royal crony, 
^or fear the chubby, tott'ring thing 

Should fall, if left there loney-poney — 
That England, too, the more her debte. 
The more she spends, the richer gets ; 
And that the Irish, grateful nation ! 

Remember when by thee reign'd over, 
And bless thee for their flagellation 

As Heloisa did her lover ! 2 — 
That Poland, left for Russia's lunch 

Upon the si^ aboard, snug reposes : 
While Saxony's as pleased as Punch, 

And Norway " on a bed of roses !" 
That, as for some few million souls, 

Transferr'd by contract, bless the clods ! 
If half were strangled — Spaniards, Poles, 

And Frenchmen — 't wouldn't make much odds, 
So Europe's goodly Royal ones, 
Sit easy on their sacred thrones ; 
So Ferdinand embroiders gayly, 3 
And Louis eats his salmi* daily ; 

1 Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount's Speeches — 
" And now, Sir, I must embark into the feature on which 
this question chiefly hinges." 

2 See her Letters. 

3 It would be an edifying thing to write a history of the 
private amusements of sovereigns, tracing them down from 
the fly-sticking of Domitian, the mole-catching of Artabanus, 
the hog-mimicking of Parmenides, the horse-currying of 
Aretas, to the petticoat-embroidering of Ferdinand, and the 
patience-playing of the P e R 1 



So time is left to Emperor Sandy 
To be half Csesar and half Dandy ; 

And G ge the R — g--t (who'd forget 

That doughtiest chieftain of the set ?) 
Hath wherewithal for trinkets new, 

For dragons, after Chinese models, 
And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo, 

Might come and nine times knock their 
noddles ! — 
All this my Quarto'll prove — much more 
Than Quarto ever proved before : 
In reas'ning with the Post I'll vie, 
My facts the Courier shall supply, 
My jokes V— ns — t, P — le my "«nse, 
And thou, sweet Lord, my eloquence ! 

My Journal, penn'd by fits and starts, 

On Biddy's back or Bobby's shoulder, 
(My son, my Lord, a youth of parts, 

Who longs to be a small place-holder,) 
Is — though / say't, that shouldn't say — 
Extremely good ; and, by the way, 
One extract from it — only one — 
To show its spirit, and I've done. 
"Jul. thirty-first. — Went, after snack, 

" To the Cathedral of St. Denny ; 
" Sigh'd o'er the Kings of ages back, 

" And — gave the old Concierge a penny. 
" {Mem. — Must see Rheims, much famed, 'tis said, 
" For making Kings and gingerbread.) 
" Was shown the tomb where lay, so stately, 
" A little Bourbon, buried lately, 
" Thrice high and puissant, we were told, 
" Though only twenty -four hours old ! 5 
" Hear this, thought I, ye Jacobins : 
" Ye Burdetts, tremble in your skins ! 
" If Royalty, but aged a day, 
" Can boast such high and puissant sway, 
" What impious hand its pow'r would fix, 
" Full fledged and wigg'd 6 at fifty-six !" 

The argument's quite new, you see, 
And proves exactly Q. E. D. 
So now, with duty to the R — g — t, 
I am, dear Lord, 

Your most obedient, 

P. F. 



* Oipa re, ola eSovai Siorpsipses Pix<n\ri£s. 

Hombr, Odyss. 3. 

5 So described on the coffin : " tres-haute et puissante 
Princesse, agee d'un jour." 

6 There is a fulness and breadth in this portrait of Royal- 
ty, which reminds us of what Pliny says, in speaking of 
Trajan's great qualities : — " nonne longo latcque Principem 
ostentantl" 



462 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Hotel Breteuil, Rue RivoH. 
Neat lodgings — rather dear for me ; 
But Biddy said she thought 'twould look 
Genteeler thus to date my Book ; 
And Biddy's right — besides, it curries 
Some favor with our friends at Murray's, 
Who scorn what any man can say, 
That dates from Rue St.-Honore I 1 



LETTER III. 



FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD 



Oh Dick ! you may talk of your writing and read- 
ing. 

Your Logic and Greek, but there's nothing like 
feeding ; 

And this is the place for it, Dicky, you dog, 

Of all places on earth — the head-quarters of Prog ! 

Talk of England — her famed Magna Charta, I 
swear, is 

A humbug, a flam, to the Carte 2 at old Very's ; 

And as for your Juries — who woul.;. not set o'er 
'em 

A Jury of Tasters, 3 with wooucocks before 'em ? 

Give Cartwright his Parliaments, fresh every 
year ; 

But those friends of short Commons would never do 
here ; 

And, let Romilly speak as he will on the question, 

No Digest of Law's like the laws of digestion 1 

By the by, Dick, I fatten — but nHmporte for that, 
'Tis the mode — your Legitimates always get fat. 
There's the R — g — t, there's Louis — and Boney 

tried too, 
But, though somewhat imperial in paunch, 

'twouldn't do : — 



i See the Quarterly Review for May, 1816, where Mr. 
Ilobhouse is accused of having written his book " in a back 
street of the French capital." 

2 The Bill of Fare. — Very, a well-known Restaurateur. 

3 Mr. Bob alludes particularly, I presume, to the famous 
Jury Degustateur, which used to assemble at the Hotel of 
M. Grimod de la Reyniere, and of which this modern Ar- 
chestratus has given an account in his Almanach des Gour- 
mands, cinquieme annee, p. 78. 

4 The fairy-land of cookery and gourmandise : " Pays, oii 
le ciel offre les viandes toutes cuites, etou, comme on parle, 
les alouettes toinbent toutes roties. Du Latin, coquere." — 
JDvckat. 

6 The process by which the liver of the unfortunate goose 
is enlarged, in order to produce that richest of all dainties, 



He improved, indeed, much in this point, when he 

wed, 
But he ne'er grew right royally fat in the head. 

Dick, Dick, what a place is this Paris ! — but 

stay — 
As my raptures may bore you, I'll just sketch a 

day, 
As we pass it, myself and some comrades I've got, 
All thorough-bred Gnostics, who know what is 

what. 

After dreaming some hours of the land of Co- 

caigne, 4 
That Elysium of all that is friand and nice, 
Where for hail they have bon-bons, and claret for 

rain, 
And the skaiters in winter show off on cream- 
ice ; 
Where so ready all nature its 0C\*kery yields, 
Macaroni au parmesan grows in the fields ; 
Little birds fly about with the true pheasant taint, 
And the geese are all born with a liver complaint ! 5 
I rise — put on neckcloth — stiff", tight, as can be — 
For a lad who goes into the world, Dick, like me, 
Should have his neck tied up, you know — there's no 

doubt of it — 
Almost as tight as some lads who go out of it. 
With whiskers well oil'd, and with boots that " hold 

up 
" The mirror t o nature" — so bright you could sup 
Off the leather like china ; with coat, too, that 

draws 
On the tailor, who suffers, a martyr's applause ! 
With head bridled up, like a four-in-hand leader, 
And gtays — devil's in them — too tight for a 

feeder, 
I strut to the old Cafe Hardy, which yet 
Beats the field at a dejeuner a la fourchette. 
There, Dick, what a breakfast ! oh, not like your 

ghost 
Of a breakfast in England, your cursed tea and 

toast : 6 



the foie gras, of which such renowned pdtcs are made at 
Strasbourg and Toulouse, is thus described in the Cours 
Gastronomiquc : — " On deplume l'estomac des oies ; on at- 
tache ensuite ces animaux aux chenets d'une cheminee, et 
on les nourrit devant le feu. La captivite et la chaleur 
donnent a ces volatiies une maladie hepatique, qui fait 
gonfler leur foie," &c, p. 206. 

6 Is Mr. Bob aware that his contempt for tea renders him 
liable to a charge of atheism ? Such, at least, is the opinion 
cited in Christian. Falster. Jimamilat. Philog.— " Atheum 
interpretabatur hominem ad IierM Th6 nversum." He would 
not, I think, have been so irreverent to this beverage of 
scholars, if he had read Peter PctWs Poem in praise of Tea, 
addressed to the learned Huet—ot the Epigraphe which 
Pechlinus wrote for an altar he meant to dedicate to this herb 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



463 



But a sideboard, you dog, where one's eye roves 

about, 
Like a Turk's in the Haram, and thence singles out 
One pale of larks, just to tune up the throat, 
One's small limbs of chickens, done en papillote, 
One's erudite cutlets, dress'd all ways but plain, 
Or one's kidneys — imagine, Dick — done with 

champagne ! 
Then, some glasses of Beanne, to dilute — or, may- 
hap, 
Chambertin, 1 which you know's the pet tipple of 

Nap, 
And which Dad, by the by, that legitimate stickler, 
Much scruples to taste, but /'m not so partic'lar. — 
Your coffee comes next, by prescription : and then, 

Dick, 's 
The coffee's ne'er-failing and glorious appendix, 
(If books had but such, my old Grecian, depend on't, 
I'd swallow ev'n W — tk — ns', for sake of the end 

on't,) 
A neat glass of parf ait-amour, which one sips 
Just as if bottled velvet 2 tipp'd over one's lips. 
This repast being ended, and paid for — (how odd ! 
Till a man's used to paying, there's something so 
queer in't !) — 
The sun now well out, and the girls all abroad, 
And the world enough air'd for us, Nobs, to ap- 
pear in't, 
We lounge up the Boulevards, where — oh, Dick, 

the phyzzes, 
The turn-outs, we meet — what a nation of quizzes ! 
Here toddles along some old figure of fun, 
With a coat you might date Anno Domini 1. ; 
A laced hat, worsted stockings, and — noble old soul ! 
A fine riband and cross in his best button-hole ; 

Just such as our Pr ce, who nor reason nor fun 

dreads, 
Inflicts, without ev'n a court-martial, on hundreds.' 
Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish eye, 
(Rather eatable things these grisettes by the by ;) 
And there an old demoiselle, almost as fond, 
In a silk that has stood sine? the time of the Fronde. 



—or the Anacreontics of Peter Frcmcius, in which he calls 
Tea 

Qeav, Strjv, §£aivav 

The following passage from one of these Anacreontics 
will, I have no doubt, be gratifying to all true Theists. 

Qsoig, $ecjv te varpi, 

Eu XPVGtOlS GKV(f>OlCri 
AlSot TO VEKTap 'H/?/) 

Zs jioi 6ia.KovoivTo 
'ZkvQois tv jivppivoLo-i, 
Tm kclWe'i' TTptnova-ai 
KaXais xepeo-o-t Kovpai 



Which may be thus translated : 



There goes a French Dandj — ah, Dick ! unlike 
some ones 

We've seen about White's — the Mounscers are but 
rum ones ; 

Such hats ! — fit for monkeys— I'd back Mrs Dra- 
per 

To cut neater weather-boards out of brown paper : 

And coats — how I wish, if it wouldn't distress 'em, 

They'd club for old Br — mm — l, from Calais, to 
dress 'em ! 

The collar sticks out from the neck such a space, 
That you'd swear 'twas the plan of this head- 
lopping nation, 

To leave there behind them a snug little place 
For the head to drop into, on decapitation. 

In short, what with mountebanks, counts, and fri- 
seurs, 

Some mummers by trade, and the rest amateurs — 

What with captains in new jockey-boots and silk 
breeches, 
Old dustmen with swinging great opera-hats, 

And shoeblacks reclining by statues in niches, 
There never was seen such a race of Jack 
Sprats ! 

From the Boulevards — but hearken! — y?<3 — as I'm 

a sinner, 
The clock is just striking the half-hour to dinner : 
So no more at present — short time for adorning — 
My Day must be finish'd some other fine morn- 
ing. 
Now, hey for old Beauvilliers' 4 larder, my boy ! 
And, once there, if the Goddess of Beauty and Joy 
Were to write " Come and kiss me, dear Bob !" I'd 

not budge — 
Not a step, Dick, as sure as my name is 

R. Fudge. 



Yes, let Hebe ever young, 

High in heav'n her nectar hold, 
And to Jove's immortal throng 

Pour the tide in cups of gold — 
ril not envy heaven's Princes, 

While, with snowy hands, for me, 
Kate the china tea-cup rinses, 

And pours out her best Bohea ! 

1 The favorite wine of Napoleon 

2 Velours en bouteille. 

8 It was said by Wicquefort, more than a hundred years 
ago, "Le Roi d'Angleterre fait seul plus de chevaliers que 
tous les autres Rois de la Chretiente ensemble."— What 
would he say now ? 

4 A celebrated restaurateur. 



464* 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO . 

" Return !" — no, never, while the withering hand 
Of bigot power is on that hapless land ; 
While, for the faith my fathers held to God, 
Ev'n in the fields where free those fathers trod, 
I am proscribed, and — like the spot left bare 
In Israel's halls, to tell the proud and fair 
Amidst their mirth, that Slav'ry had been there 1 — 
On all I love, home, parents, friends, I trace 
The mournful mark of bondage and disgrace ! 
No ! — let them stay, who in their country's pangs 
See naught but food for factions and harangues ; 
Who yearly kneel before their masters' doors, 
And hawk their wrongs, as beggars do their sores : 
Still let your 2 * * * * ' 



Still hope and suffer, all who can ! — but I, 
Who durst not hope, and cannot bear, must fly. 

But whither ? — everywhere the scourge pursues — 
Turn where he will, the wretched wand'rer views, 
In the bright, broken hopes of all his race, 
Countless reflections of th' Oppressor's face. 
Everywhere gallant hearts, and spirits true, 
Are served up victims to the vile and few ; 
While E — gl — d, everywhere — the general foe 
Of Truth and Freedom, wheresoe'er they glow — 
Is first, when tyrants strike, to aid the blow. 

Oh, E — gl — d ! could such poor revenge atone 
For wrongs, that well might claim the deadliest one ; 
Were it a vengeance, sweet enough to sate 
The wretch who flies from thy intolerant hate, 
To hear his curses on such barb'rous sway 
Echoed, where'er he bends his cheerless way ; — 
Could this content him, every lip he meets 
Teems for his vengeance with such poisonous 

sweets ; 
Were this his lux'ry, never is thy name 
Pronounced, but he doth banquet on thy shame ; 
Hears maledictions ring from every side 
Upon that grasping power, that selfish pride, 
Which vaunts its own, and scorns all rights beside ; 
That low and desp'rate envy, which to blast 
A neighbor's blessings, risks the few thou hast ; — 



i " They used to leave a yard square of the wall of the 
house unplastered, on which they wrote, in large letters, 
either the fore-mentioned verse of the Psalmist ('If I forget 
thee, O Jerusalem,' &c.) or the words—' The memory of 
the desolation.' "—Leo of Modcna. 

2 I have thought it prudent to omit some parts of Mr. 
Phelim Connor's letter. He is evidently an intemperate 



That monster, Self, too gross to be conceal'd, 

Which ever lurks behind thy proffer'd shield ; — 

That faithless craft, which, in thy hour of need, 

Can court the slave, can swear he shall be freed, 

Yet basely spurns him, when thy point is gain'd, 

Back to his masters, ready gagg'd and chain'd 

Worthy associate of that band of Kings, 

That royal, rav'ning flock, whose vampire wings 

O'er sleeping Europe treacherously brood, 

And fan her into dreams of promised good, 

Of hope, of freedom — but to drain her blood ! 

If thus to hear thee branded be a bliss 

That Vengeance loves, there's yet more sweet than 

this, 
That 'twas an Irish head, an Irish heart, 
Made thee the fall'n and tarnish'd thing thou art ; 
That, as the centaur 3 gave th' infected vest 
In which he died, to rack his conqu'ror's breast, 

We sent thee C gh : — as heaps of dead 

Have slain their slayers by the pest they spread, 
So hath our land breathed out, thy fame to dim, 
Thy strength to waste, and rot thee, soul and limb, 
Her worst infections all condensed in him ! 

****** 
When will the world shake off such yokes ? oh, 

when 
Will that redeeming day shine out on men, 
That shall behold them rise, erect and free 
As Heav'n and Nature meant mankind should be ! 
When Reason shall no longer blindly bow 
To the vile pagod things, that o'er her brow, 
Like him of Jaghernaut, drive trampling now : 
Nor Conquest dare to desolate God's earth : 
Nor drunken Vict'ry, with a Nero's mirth, 
Strike her lewd harp amidst a people's groans : — 
But, built on love, the world's exalted thrones 
Shall to the virtuous and the wise be given — 
Those bright, those sole Legitimates of Heaven ! 

When will this be ? — or, oh ! is it, in truth, 

But one of those sweet, day-break dreams of youth, 

In which the Soul, as round her morning springs, 

'Twixt sleep and waking, sees such dazzlirg things! 

And must the hope, as vain as it is bright, 

Be all resign'd ? — and are they only right, 

Who say this world of thinking souls was made 

To be by Kings partition'd, truck'd, and weigh'd 

In scales that, ever since the world begun 

Have counted millions but as dust to one 1 



young man, and has associated with his cousins, the Fudges, 
to very little purpose. 

3 Membra et Herculeos toros 

Urit lues Nessea. . . 
Ille, ille victor vincitur. 

Senkc. Hercul. (Et. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



465 



Are they the only wise, who laugh to scorn 
Tho rights, the freedom to which man was born ? 
Who ***** 

****** 
Who, proud to kiss each sep'rate rod of pow'r, 
Bless, while he reigns, the minion of the hour ; 
Worship each would-be God, that o'er them moves, 
And take the thund'ring of his brass for Jove's ! 
If this be wisdom, then farewell, my books, 
Farewell, ye shrines of old, ye classic brooks, 
Which fed my soul with currents, pure and fair, 
Of living Truth, that now must stagnate there ! — 
Instead of themes that touch the lyre with light, 
Instead of Greece, and her immortal fight 
For Liberty, which once awaked my strings, 
Welcome the Grand Conspiracy of Kings, 
The High Legitimates, the Holy Band, 
Who, bolder ev'n than He of Sparta's land, 
Against whole millions, panting to be free, 
Would guard the pass of right-line tyranny. 
Instead of him, th' Athenian bard, whose blade 
Had stood the onset which his pen portray'd, 
Welcome ***** 

****** 

And, 'stead of Aristides — wo the day 

Such names should mingle ! — welcome C gh ! 

Here break we off, at this unhallow'd name, 1 
Like priests of old, when words ill-omen'd came. 
My next shall tell thee, bitterly shall tell, 
Thoughts that * * * * 

^» r£ vfc if: t£ 7F 

Thoughts that — could patience hold — 'twere wiser 

far 
To leave still hid and burning where they are. 



LETTER V. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY . 

What a time since I wrote ! — I'm a sad, naughty 

girl— 
For, though, like a tee-totum, I'm all in a twirl ; — 
Yet ev'n (as you wittily say) a tee-totum 
Between all its twirls gives a letter to note 'em. 

1 The late Lord C. of Ireland had a curious theory about 
names , — he held that every man with three names was a 
jacobin. His instances in Ireland were numerous : — viz. 
Archibald Hamilton Rowan, Theobald Wolfe Tone, James 
Napper Tandy, John Philpot Curran, &c, &c; and in Eng- 
land he produced as examples Charles James Fox, Richard 
Brinsley Sheridan, John Home Tooke, Francis Burdett 
Jones, &c, &c. 

The Romans called a thief " homo trium literarum.' 



But, Lord, such a place ! and then, Dolly, my 



My gowns, so divine ! — there's no language ex- 



Except just the two words "superbe," " magnifique," 
The trimmings of that which I had home last week ! 
It is call'd — I forget — a la — something which 

sounded 
Like alicampane — but, in truth, I'm confounded 
And bother'd, my dear, 'twixt that troublesome 

boy's 
(Bob's) cookery language, and Madame le Roi's : 
What with fillets of roses, and fillets of veal, 
Things garni with lace, and things garni with eel, 
One's hair and one's cutlets both en papillate, 
And a thousand more things I shall ne'er have by 

rote, 
I can scarce tell the diff'rence, at least as to phrase, 
Between beef a, la Psyche and curls d la braise. — 
But, in short, dear, I'm trick'd out quite a la 

Franchise, 
With my bonnet — so beautiful ! — high up and po- 
king, 
Like things that are put to keep chimneys from 
smoking. 

Where shall I begin with the endless delights 
Of this Eden of milliners, monkeys, and sights — 
This dear busy place, where there's nothing trans- 
acting 
But dressing and dinnering, dancing and acting ? 
Imprimis, the Opera — mercy, my ears ! 

Brother Bobby's remark, t'other night, was a 

true one ; — 

" This must be the music," said he, " of the spears, 

" For I'm cursed if each note of it doesn't run 

through one !" 

Pa says (and you know, love, his Book's to make 

out 
'Twas the Jacobins brought ev'ry mischief about) 
That this passion for roaring has come in of late, 
Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the State. — 
What a frightful idea, one's mind to o'erwhelm ! 
What a chorus, dear Dolly, would soon be let 
loose of it, 
If, when of age, every man in the realm 

Had a voice like old Lais, 2 and chose to make 
use of it ! 

Turn' trium literarum homo 
Me vituperas 1 Fur. a 

Plautus, Aulular. Act. ii. Scene 4. 

2 The oldest, most celebrated, and most noisy of the sing- 
ers at the French Opera. 

' Dissaldeus supposes this word to be a glossema:— that is, he thinks 
" Fur" has made hia escape from the margin into vfae text. 



466 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



No — never was known in this riotous sphere 

Such a breach of the peace as their singing, my dear 

So bad, too, you'd swear that the God of both arts, 

Of Music and Physic, had taken a frolic 
For setting a loud fit of asthma in parts, 

And composing a fine rumbling bass to a cholic ! 

But, the dancing — ah ! parlez-moi, Dolly, de ca — 
There, indeed, is a treat that charms all but Papa. 
Such beauty — such grace — oh ye sylphs of ro- 
mance ! 
Fly, fly to Titania, and ask her if she has 
One light-footed nymph in her train, that can dance 

Like divine Bigottini and sweet Fanny Bias ! 
Fanny Bias in Flora — dear creature ! — you'd 
swear, 
When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle 
round, 
That her steps are of light, that her home is the air, 
And she only par complaisance touches the 
ground. 
And when Bigottini in Psyche dishevels 

Her black flowing hair, and by daemons is driven, 
Oh ! who does not envy those rude little devils, 
That hold her and hug her, and keep her from 
heaven ? 
Then, the music — so softly its cadences die, 
So divinely — oh, Dolly ! between you and I, 
It's as well for my peace that there's nobody nigh 
To make love to me then — you've a soul, and can 

judge 
What a crisis 'twould be for your friend Biddy 
Fudge ! 

The next place (which Bobby has naar lost his 

heart in) 
They call it the Play-house— I think— of St. Mar- 
tin ;* 
Quite charming — and very religious — what folly 
To say that the French are not pious, dear Dolly, 
When here one beholds, so correctly and rightly, 
The Testament turn'd into melo-drames nightly ; 2 
And, doubtless, so fond they're of scriptural facts, 
They will soon get the Pentateuch up in five acts. 

» The Theatre de la Porte St.-Martin, which was built 
when the Opera House in the Palais Royal was burnt down, 
in 1781. — A few days after this dreadful fire, which lasted 
more than a week, and in which several persons perished, the 
Parisian elegantes displayed flame-colored dresses, " couleur 
de feu d'Opera !" — Dulaure, Curiosites de Paris. 

2 "The old Testament," says the theatrical Critic in the 
Gazette de France, " is a mine of gold for the managers of our 
small play-houses. A multitude crowd round the Theatrede 
la Gaiete every evening to see the Passage of the Red Sea." 

In the play-bill of one of these sacred melo-drames at 
Vienna, we find " The Voice of G— d, hy M. Schwartz." 

8 A piece very popular last year, called "Daniel, ou La 
Fosse aux Lions." The following scene will give an idea of 



Here Daniel, in pantomime, 3 bids bold defiance 
To Nebuchadnezzar and all his stuff'd lions, 
While pretty youug Israelites dance round the 

Prophet, 
In very thin clothing, and but little of it ; — 
Here Begrand, 4 who shines in this scriptural path, 

As the lovely Suzanna, without ev'n a relic 
Of drapery round her, comes out of the bath 

In a manner that, Bob says, is quite Eve-angelic .' 
But in short, dear, 'twould take me a month to recite 
All the exquisite places we're at, day and night ; 
And, besides, ere I finish, I think you'll be glad 
Just to hear one delightful adventure I've had. 

Last night, at the Beaujon, 6 a place where — I 

doubt 
If its charms I can paint — there are cars, that set out 
From a lighted pavilion, high up in the air, 
And rattle you down, Doll — you hardly know 

where. 
These vehicles, mind me, in which you go through 
This delightfully dangerous journey, hold two. 
Some cavalier asks, with humility, whether 

You'll venture down with him — you smile — 'tis a 

match ; 

In an instant you're seated, and down both together 

Go thund'ring, as if you went post to old scratch ! 6 

Well, it was but last night, as I stood and remark'd 

On the looks and odd ways of the girls who em- 

bark'd, 
The impatience of some for the perilous flight, 
The forced giggle of others, 'twixt pleasure and 

fright,— 
That there came up — imagine, dear Doll, if you 

can 
A fine sallow, sublime, sort of Werter-faced man, 
With mustachios that gave (what we read of so oft) 
The dear Corsair expression, half savage, half 

soft, 
As hysenas in love may be fancied to look, or 
A something between Abelard and old Blucher ! 
Up he came, Doll, to me, and, uncov'ring his 

head, 
(Rather bald, but so warlike !) in bad English said, 

the daring sublimity of these Scriptural pantomimes. " Seem 
20. — La fournaise devient nn berceau de nuages azures, au 
fond duquel est tin groupe de nuages plus lumineux, et au 
milieu ' Jehovah' au centre d'un cercle de rayons brillans, 
qui annonce la presence de l'E'ternel." 

4 Madame Begrand, a finely-formed woman, who acts in 
"Susanna and the Elders," — "L'Amour et la Folie," &c., 
&c. 

5 The Promenades Aeriennes, or French Mountains. — 
See a description of this singular and fantastic place of 
amusement in a pamphlet, truly worthy of it, by "F. F. 
Cotterel, Medecin, Docteur de la Faculte de Paris," &c., &c. 

e According to Dr. Cotterel the cars go at the rate of forty- 
eight miles an hour. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



467 



" Ah ! my dear — if Ma'mselle vil be so very 

good — 
Just for von littel course" — though I scarce under- 
stood 
What he wish'd me to do, I said, thank him, I would. 
Off we set — and, though faith, dear, I hardly knew 
whether 
My head or my heels were the uppermost then, 
For 'twas like heav'n and earth, Dolly, coming 
together, — 
Yet, spite of the danger, we dared it again. 
And oh ! as I gazed on the features and air 

Of the man, who for me all this peril defied, 
I could fancy almost he and I were a pair 

Of unhappy young lovers, who thus, side by side, 
Were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a 
Desperate dash down the falls of Niagara ! 

This achieved, through the gardens 1 we saunter'd 
about, 
Saw the fireworks, exclaim'd " magnifique !" at 
each cracker, 
And, when 'twas all o'er, tne dear man saw us out 
With the air I will say, of a Prince, to our 
fiacre. 



Now, 



hear 
folly- 



me — this stranger — it may be mere 



But who do you think we all think it is, Dolly? 
Why, bless you, no less than the great King of 

Prussia, 
Who's here now incog. 2 — he, who made such a 

fuss, you 
Remember, in London, with Blucher and Pla- 

toff, 
When Sal was near kissing old Blucher's cra- 
vat off! 
Pa says he's come here to look after his money, 
(Not taking things now as he used under Boney,) 
Which suits with our friend, for Bob saw him, he 

swore, 
Looking sharp to the silver received at the door. 
Besides, too, they say that his grief for his Queen 
(Which was plain in this sweet fellow's face to be 

seen) 
Requires such a stimulant dose as this car is, 
Used three times a day with young ladies in 

Paris. 
Some Doctor, indeed, has declared that such grief 
Should — unless 'twould to utter despairing its folly 

push — 

1 In the Cafe attached to these gardens there are to be (as 
Doctor Cotterel informs us) "douze negres, tres-alertes, qui 
contrasteront par l'ebene de leur peau avec le teint de lis et 
de roses de nos belles. Les glaces et les sorbets, servis par 



Fly to the Beaujon, and there seek relief 

By rattling, as Bob says, " like shot through a 
holly-bush." 

I must now bid adieu ; — only think, Dolly, think 
If this should he the King — I have scarce slept a 

wink 
With imagining how it will sound in the papers 

And how all the Misses my good luck will grudge, 
When they read that Count Ruppin, to drive away 
vapors, 
Has gone down the Beaujon with Miss Biddy 
Fudge. 

Nota Bene. — Papa's almost certain 'tis he — 
For he knows the Legiti.-iate cut, and could see, 
In the way he went poising and managed to tower 
So erect in the car, the true Balance of Power. 



LETTER VI. 

FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO HIS BROTHER TIM TUDGE, 
ESQ., BARRISTER AT LAW. 

Yours of the 12th received just now — 
Thanks for the hint, my trusty brother ! 

'Tis truly pleasing to see how 

We, Fudges, stand by one another. 

But never fear — I know my chap, 

And he knows me too — verhum sap. 

My Lord and I are kindred spirits, 

Like in our ways as two young ferrets ; 

Both fashion'd, as that supple race is, 

To twist into all sorts of places ; — 

Creatures lengthy, lean, and hungering, 

Fond of blood and burrow -mongering. 

As to my Book in 91, 

CalPd " Down with Kings, or, Who'd have 
thought it ?" 
Bless you, the Book's long dead and gone, — 

Not ev'n th' Attorney-General bought it. 
And, though some few seditious tricks 
I play'd in 95 and 6, 
As you remind me in your letter, 
His Lordship likes me all the better ; — 
We proselytes, that come with news full, 
Are, as he says, so vastly useful ! 



Tine main bien noire, fera davantage ressortir l'albalre des 
bras arrondis de celles-ci." — p. 22. 

2 His Majesty, who was at Paris under the travelling«name 
of Count Ruppin, is known to have gone down the Beau- 
jon very frequently. 



468 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Reynolds and I — (you know Tom Reynolds — 

Drinks his claret, keeps his chaise — 
Lucky the dog that first unkennels 

Traitors and Luddites now-a-days ; 
Or who can help to bag a few, 

When S — d th wants a death or two :) 

Reynolds and I, and some few more, 

All men, like us, of information, 
Friends, whom his Lordship keeps in store, 

As under -snv\o\\rs of the nation 1 — 
Have form'd a Club this season, where 
His Lordship sometimes takes the chair, 
And gives us many a bright oration 
In praise of our sublime vocation ; 
Tracing it up to great King Midas, 
Who, though in fable typified as 
A royal Ass, by grace divine 
And right of ears, most asinine, 
Was yet no more, in fact historical, 

Than an exceeding well-bred tyrant ; 
And these, his ears, but allegorical, 

Meaning Informers, kept at high rent 2 — 
Gem'men, who touch'd the Treasury glist'ners, 
Like us, for being trusty list'ners ; 
And picking up each tale and fragment, 
For royal Midas's Green Bag meant. 
" And wherefore," said this best of Peers, 
" Should not the R — g — t too have ears, 3 
" To reach as far, as long and wide as 
" Those of his model, good King Midas ?" 
This speech was thought extremely good, 
And (rare for him) was understood — 
Instant we drank " The R — g — t's Ears," 
With three times three illustrious cheers, 

Which made the room resound like thunder — 
"The R — g — t's Ears, and may he ne'er 
" From foolish shame, like Midas, wear 

" Old paltry wigs to keep them under !" 4 
This touch at our old friends, the Whigs, 
Made us as merry all as grigs. 
In short, (I'll thank you not to mention 

These things again,) we get on gayly ; 
And, thanks to pension and Suspension, 

Our little Club increases daily. 

i Lord C.'s tribute to the character of his friend, Mr. Rey- 
nolds, will long be remembered with equal credit to both. 

2 This interpretation of the fable of Midas's ears seems the 
most probable of any, and is thus stated in Hoffmann:— 
" Hac allegoria significatum, Midam, utpote tyrannum, sub- 
auscultatores dimittere solitum, per quos, quaecunque per 
omnem regionem vel fierent, vel dicerentur, cognosceret, 
nimirum illis utens aurium vice." 

3 Brossette, in a note on this line of Boileau, 

" Midas, le Roi Midas, a des ore lies d'Ane," 
tells us, that " M. Perrault le Medecin /oulut faire a notre 
auteur un crime d'etat de ce vers, comme d'une maligne al- 
lusion au Roi." I trust, however, that no one will suspect 
the line in the text of any such indecorous allusion. 



Castles, and Oliver, and such, 

Who don't as yet full salary touch, 

Nor keep their chaise and pair, nor buy 

Houses and lands, like Tom and I, 

Of course don't rank with us, salvators* 

But merely serve the Club as waiters. 

Like Knights, too, we've our collar days, 

(For us, I own, an awkward phrase,) 

When, in our new costume adorn'd, — 

The R — g — t's buff-and-blue coats turn'd — 

We have the honor to give dinners 

To the chief Rats in upper stations* 8 
Your W ys, V ns, — half-fledged sin- 
ners, 

Who shame us by their imitations ; 
Who turn, 'tis true— bat what of that? 
Give me the useful peaching Rat ; 
Not things as mute as Punch, when t. light, 
Whose wooden heads are all they've brought ; 
Who, false enough to shirk their friends, 

But too faint-hearted to betray, 
Are, after all their twists and bends, 

But souls in Limbo, damn'd half way. 
No, no, we nobler vermin are 
A genus useful as we're rare ; 
'Midst all the things miraculous 

Of which your natural histories brag, 
The rarest must be Rats like us, 

Who let the cat out of the bag. 
Yet still these Tyros in the cause 
Deserve, I own, no small applause ; 
And they're by us received and treated 
With all due honors — only seated 
In th' inverse scale of their reward, 
The merely promised next my Lord ; 
Small pensions then, and so on, down, 

Rat after rat, they graduate 
Through job, red ribbon, and silk gown, 

To Chanc'llorship and Marquisate. 
This serves to nurse the ratting spirit ; 
The less the bribe the more the merit. 

Our music's good, you may be sure ; 
My Lord, you know, 's an amateur 7 — 

* It was not under wigs, but tiaras, that King Midas en- 
deavored to conceal these appendages : 

Tempora purpureis tentat velare tiaris.— Ovid. 

The Noble Giver of the toast, however, had evidently, with 
his usual clearness, confounded King Midas, Mr. Liston, and 

the P e R— g— t together. 

6 Mr. Fudge and his friends ought i; go by this name — 
as the man, who, some years since, saved the late Right 
Hon. George Rose from drowning, was ever after called Sal- 
vator Rosa. 

6 This intimacy between the Rats and Informers is just as 
it should be — " vere dulce sodalitium." 

7 His Lordship, during one of the busiest periods of his 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 469 


Takes every part with perfect ease, 


There's Jack, the Doctor — night and day 


Though to the Base by nature suited ; 


Hundreds of patients so besiege him, 


And. form'd for all, as best may please, 


You'd swear that all the rich and gay 


For whips and bolts, or chords and keys, 


Fell sick on purpose to oblige him. 


Turns from his victims to his glees, 


And while they think, the precious ninnies, 


And has them both well executed. 1 


He's counting o'er their pulse so steady, 


H t d, who, though no Rat himself, 


The rogue but counts how many guineas 


Delights in all such liberal arts, 


He's fobb'd, for that day's work, already. 


Drinks largely to the House of Guelph, 


I'll ne'er forget th' old maid's alarm, 


And superintends the Corni parts. 


When, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, he 


While C — nx — g," who'd be first by choice, 


Said, as lie dropp'd he. shriveU'd arm, 


Consents to take an under voice ; 


" Damn d bad this morning — only thirty !" 


And Gr — v— s, 3 wbo well that signal knows, 




Watches the Yolti subitos.* 


Your dowagers, too, every one, 




So gen'rous are, when they call him in, 


In short, as I've already hinted, 


That he might now retire upon 


We take, of late, prodigiously ; 


The rheumatisms of three old women. 


But as our Club is somewhat stinted 


Then, whatsoe'er your ailments are, 


For Gentlemen, like Tom and me, 


He can so learnedly explain ye 'em — 


We'll take it kind if you'll provide 


Your cold, of course, is a catarrh, 


A few Squireens 5 from t'other side ; — 


Your headache is a hemi-cranium ; 


Some of those loyal, cunning elves, 


His skill, too, in young ladies' lungs, 


(We often tell the tale with laughter,) 


The grace with which, most mild of men, 


Who used to hide the pikes themselves, 


He begs them to put out their tongues, 


Then hang the fools who found them after 


Then bids them — put them in again : 


I doubt not you could find us, too, 


In short, there's nothing now like Jack ! — 


Some Orange Parsons that might do ; 


Take all your doctors great and small, 


Among the rest, we've heard of cue, 


Of present times and ages back, 


The Reverend — something — Hamilton, 


Dear Doctor Fudge is worth them all. 


Who stufFd a figure of himself 




(Delicious thought !) and had it shot at, 


So much for physic — then, in law too, 


To bring some Papists to the shelf, 


Counsellor Tim, to thee we bow ; 


That couldn't otherwise be got at — 


Not one of us gives more eclat to 


If he 1 ]! but join th' Association, 


Th' immortal name of Fudge than thou. 


We'll vote him in by acclamation. 


Not to expatiate on the art 




With which you play'd the patriot's part, 


And now, my brother, guide, and friend, 


Till something good and snug should offer ; — 


This somewhat tedious serawi must end. 


Like one, who, by the way he acts 


I've gone into this long detail, 


Th' enlight'ning part of candle-snuffer, 


Because I saw your nerves were shaken 


The managers keen eye attracts, 


With anxious fears lest I should fail 


And is promoted thence by him 


In this new, loyal, course I've taken. 


To strut in robes, like thee, my Tim ! — 


But, bless your heart ! you need not doubt — 


Who shall describe thy pow'rs of face, 


We, Fudges, know what we're about 


Thy well-feed zeal in ev'ry case, 


Look round, and say if you can see 


Or wrong or right — but ten times warmer 


A much more thriving family. 


(As suits thy calling) in th* former — 


! Ministerial career, took lessons three times a week from a 


Says Clarinda, " though tears it may cost, 


: celebrated music-master, in glee-singing. 


It is time we should part, my dear Sue ; 


1 How amply these two propensities of the Noble Lord 


For your characters totally lost, 


' would have been gratified among that ancient people of 


And /have not sufficient for twoP* 


Etmria, who, as Aristotle tells us, used to whip their slaves 




once a year to the sound of flutes ! 


s The rapidity of this Xoble Lord's transformation, at the 


2 This Right Hon. Gentleman ought to give up his present 


same instant, into a Lord of the Bedchamber and an oppo- 


alliance with Lord C, if upon no other principle than that 


nent of the Catholic Claims, was truly miraculous. 


which is inculcated in the following arrangement between 


4 Turn instantly — a frequent direction in music-books 


. twc Toadies of Fashion : — 


5 The Irish diminutive of Squire. 



470 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Thy glorious, lawyer-like delight 
In puzzling all that's clear and right, 
Which, though conspicuous in thy youth, 

Improves so with a wig and band on, 
That all thy pride's to waylay Truth, 

And leave her not a leg to stand on. 
Thy patent, prime, morality, — ■ 

Thy cases, cited from the Bible — 
Thy candor, when it falls to thee 

To help in trouncing for a libel ; — 
" God knows, I, from my soul, profess 

" To hate all bigots and benighters ! 
" God knows, I love, to ev'n excess, 
" The sacred Freedom of the Press, 

" My only aim's to — crush the writers." 
These are the virtues, Tim, that draw 

The briefs into thy bag so fast ; 
And these, oh Tim — if Law be Law — ■ 

Will raise thee to the Bench at last. 

I blush to see this letter's length — 

But 'twas my wish to prove to thee 
How full of hope, and wealth, and strength, 

Are all our precious family. 
And, should affairs go on as pleasant 
As, thank the Fates, they do at present — 
Should we but still enjoy the sway 

Of S — dm — H and of C gh, 

I hope, ere long, to see the day 

When England's wisest statesmen, judges, 

Lawyers, peers, will all be — Fudges ! 

Good-by — my paper's out so nearly, 

I've only room for Yours sincerely. 



LETTER VII. 



FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO 



Before we sketch the Present — let us cast 
A few, short, rapid glances to the Past. 

i 
When he, who had defied all Europe's strength, 
Beneath his own weak rashness sunk at length ; — 
When, loosed, as if by magic, from a chain 
That seem'd like Fate's, the world was free again, 
And Europe saw, rejoicing in the sight, 
The cause of Kings, for once, the cause of Right ; — 

i While the Congress was reconstructing Europe— not 
according to rights, natural affiances, language, habits, or 
laws , but by tables of finance, which divided and subdivided 
her population into souls, demi-souls, and even fractions, 



Then was, indeed, an hour of joy to those 
Who sigh'd for justice — liberty — repose, 
And hoped the fall of one great vulture's nest 
Would ring its warning round, and scare the rest 
All then was bright with promise ; — Kings began 
To own a sympathy with suff'ring Man, 
And Man was grateful ! Patriots of the South 
Caught wisdom from a Cossack Emperor's mouth, 
And heard, like accents thaw'd in Northern air, 
Unwonted words of freedom burst forth there ! 

Who did not hope, in that triumphant time, 
When monarchs, after years of spoil and crime, 
Met round the shrine of Peace, and Heav'n look'd 

on, — 
Who did not hope the lust of spoil was gone ; 
That that rapacious spirit, which had play'd 
The game of Pilnitz o'er so oft, was laid ;■ 
And Europe's Rulerss, conscious of the past, 
Would blush, and deviate into right at last ? 
But no — the hearts, that nursed a hope so fair, 
Had yet to learn what men on thrones can dare ; 
Had yet to know, of all earth's rav'ning things, 
The only quite untameable are Kings ! 
Scarce had they met, when, to its nature true, 
The instinct of their race broke out anew ; 
Promises, treaties, charters, all were vain, 
And " Rapine ! rapine !" was the cry again. 
How quick they carved their victims, and how well, 
Let Saxony, let injured Genoa tell ; — 
Let all the human stock that, day by day, 
Was, at that Royal slave-mart, truck'd away, — 
The million souls that, in the face of heaven, 
Were split to fractions, 1 barter'd, sold, or given 
To swell some despot Power, too huge before, 
And weigh down Europe with one Mammoth more. 
How safe the faith of Kings let France decide ; — ■ 
Her charter broken, ere its ink had dried ; — 
Her Press enthrall'd — her Reason mock'd again 
With all the monkery it had spurn'd in vain ; 
Her crown disgraced by one, who dared to own 
He thank'd not France but England for his throne ; 
Her triumphs cast into the shade by those, 
Who had grown old among her bitterest foes, 
And now retum'd, beneath her conqu'rors' shields, 
Unblushing slaves ! to claim her heroes' fields ; 
To tread down every trophy of her fame, 
And curse that glory which to them was shame ! — 
Let these — let all the damning deeds, that then 
Were dared through Europe, cry aloud to men, 
With voice like that of crashing ice that rings 
Round Alpine huts, the perfidy of Kings ; 

according to a scale of the direct duties or taxes which could 
be levied by the acquiring state," &c— Sketch of the Mili- 
tary and Political Power of Russia. The words on the pro- 
tocol are dmes, demi-dmes, &c. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



471 



And tell the world, when hawks shall harmless bear 
The shrinking dove, when wolves shall learn to spare 
The helpless victim for whose blood they lusted, 
Then, and then only, monarchs may be trusted. 

It could not last — these horrors could not last — 
France would hefself have ris'n, in might, to cast 
Th' insulters off— and oh ! that then, as now, 
Chain'd to some distant islet's rocky brow, 
Napoleon ne'er had come to force, to blight, 
Ere half matured, a cause so proudly bright ; — 
To palsy patriot hearts with doubt and shame, 
And write on Freedom's flag a despot's name ; — 
To rush into the lists, unask'd, alone, 
And make the stake of all the game of one ! 
Then would the world have seen again what pow'r 
A people can put forth in Freedom's hour ; 
Then would the fire of France once more have 

blazed ; — 
For every single sword, reluctant raised 
In the stale cause of an oppressive throne, 
Millions would then have leap'd forth in her own ; 
And never, never had th' unholy stain 
Of Bourbon feet disgraced her shores again. 

But fate decreed not so — th' Imperial Bird, 
That, in his neighboring cage, unfear'd, unstirr'd, 
Had seem'd to sleep with head beneath his wing, 
Yet watch'd the moment for a daring spring ; — 
Well might he watch, when deeds were done, that 

made 
His own transgressions whiten in their shade ; 
Well might he hope a world, thus trampled o'er 
By clumsy tyrants, would be his once more : — 
Forth from his cage the eagle burst to light, 
From steeple on to steeple 1 wing'd his flight, 
With calm and easy grandeur, to that throne 
From which a Royal craven just had flown ; 
And resting there, as in his eyry, furl'd 
Those wings, whose very rustling shook the world ! 

What was your fury then, ye crown'd array, 
Whose feast of spoil, whose plund'ring holiday 
Was thus broke up, in all its greedy mirth. 
By one bold chieftain's stamp on Gallic earth ! 
Fierce was tho cry, and fulminant the ban, — 
" Assassinate, who will — enchain, who can, 
" The vile, the faithless, outlaw'd, low-born man !" 
" Faithless !" — and this from you — from you, for- 
sooth, 
Ye pious Kings, pure paragons of truth, 

1 " L'aigle volera de clocher en clocher, jusqu'aux tours 
de Notre-Dame."— Napoleon's Proclamation on landing from 
Elba. 

2 Singulis annis in quodam Atticae fonte lota virginitatem 
rccuperasse fingitar. 



Whose honesty all knew, for all had tried ; 

Whose true Swiss zeal had served on every side ; 

Whose fame for breaking faith so long was known, 

Well might ye claim tii3 craft as all your own, 

And lash your lordly tails, and fume to see 

Such low-born apes of Royal perfidy ! 

Yes — yes — to you alone did it belong 

To sin forever, and yet ne'er do wrong. — 

The frauds, the lies of Lords legitimate 

Are but fine policy, deep strokes of state ; 

But let some upstart dare to soar so high 

In Kingly craft, and " outlaw" is the cry ! 

What, though long years of mutual treachery 

Had peopled full your diplomatic shelves 

With ghosts of treaties, murder'd 'mong your- 



Though each by turns was knave and dupe — what 

then ? 
A Holy League would set all straight again ; 
Like Juno's virtue, which a dip or two 
In some bless'd fountain made as ge<c as new ! 5 
Most faithful Russia — faithful to whoe'er 
Could plunder best, and give him amplest share ; 
Who, e'en when vanquished, sure to gain his ends, 
For want of foes to rob, made free with friends, 3 
And, deepening still by amiable gradations, 
When foes were stripp'd of all, then fleeced relations !* 
Most mild and saintly Prussia — steep'd to th' ears 
In persecuted Poland's blood and tears, 
And now, with all her harpy wings outspread 
O'er sevcr'd Saxony's devoted head ! 
Pure Austria too — whose hist'ry naught repeats 
But broken leagues and subsidized defeats ; 
Whose faith, as Prince, extinguished Venice shows, 
Whose faith, as man, a widow'd daughter knows ! 
And thou, oh England — who, though once as 

shy 
As cloister'd maids, of shame or perfidy, 

Art now broke in. and, thanks to C gh, 

In all that's worst and falsest lead'st the way ! 

Such was the pure divan, whose pens and wits 

Th' escape from Elba frighten'd into fits ; — 

Such were the saints, who doom'd Napoleon's 

life, 
In virtuous phrensy to th' assassin's knife. 
Disgusting crew ! — who would not gladly fly 
To open, downright, bold-faced tyranny, 
To honest guilt, that dares do all but lie, 
From the false, juggling craft of men like these, 
Their canting crimes and varnish'd villanies ; 

3 At the peace of Tilsit,* where he abandoned his ally 
Prussia, to France, and received a portion of her territory 

4 The seizure of Finland from his relative of Sweden. 



r 



472 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



These Holy Leaguers, who then loudest boast 

Of faith and honor, when they've stain'd them 

most ; 
From whose affection men should shrink as loath 
As from their hate, for they'll be fleeced by both ; 
Who, ev'n while plund'ring, forge Religion's name 
To frank their spoil, and, without fear or shame 
Call down the Holy Trinity 1 to bless 
Partition leagues, and deeds of devilishness ! 
But hold — enough — soon would this swell of rage 
O'erflow the boundaries of my scanty page ; — 
So, here I pause — farewell — another day, 
Return we to those Lords of pray'r and prey, 
Whose loathsome cant, whose frauds by right divine, 
Deserve a lash — oh ! weightier far than mine ! 



LETTER VIII. 



FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD 



ESQ. 



Dear Dick, while old Donaldson's 2 mending my 
stays, — [days, 

Which I knew would go smash with me one of these 
And, at yesterday's dinner, when, full to the throttle, 
We lads had begun our desert with a bottle 
Of neat old Constantia, on my leaning back 
Just to order another, by Jove, I went crack ! — 
Or, as honest Tom said, in his nautical phrase, 
" D — n my eyes, Bob, in doubling the Cape you've 

miss'd stays." 3 
So, of course, as no gentleman's seen out without 

them, 
They're now at the Schneider's 4 — and, while he's 

about them, 
Here goes for a letter, post-haste, neck and crop. 
Let us see — in my last I was — where did I stop? 
Oh, I know — at the Boulevards, as motley a road as 

Man ever would wish a day's lounging upon ; 
With its cafes and gardens, hotels and pagodas, 

Its founts, and old Counts sipping beer in the sun : 
With its houses of all architectures you please, 
From the Grecian and Gothic, Dick, down by de- 
grees 
To the pure Hottentot, or the Brighton Chinese ; 

1 The usual preamble of these flagitious compacts. In the 
same spirit, Catherine, after the dreadful massacre of War- 
saw, ordered a solemn " thanksgiving to God in all the 
churches, for the blessings conferred upon the Poles ;" and 
commanded that each of them should " swear fidelity and 
loyalty to her, and to shed in hjer defence the last drop of 
their blood, as they should answer for it to God,and his terrible 
judgment, kissing the holy word and cross of their Saviour !" 

a An English tailor at Paris. 

3 A ship is said to miss stays, when she does not obey the 
he m in tacking. 



Where in temples antique you may breakfast or 

dinner it, 
Lunch at a mosque, and see Punch from a minaret. 
Then, Dick, the mixture of bonnets and bow'rs, 
Of foliage and fripp'ry, fiacres and flow'rs, 
Green-grocers, green gardens — o^ue hardly knows 

whether 
'Tis country or town, they're so mess'd up together ! 
And there, if one loves the romantic, one sees 
Jew clothes-men, like shepherds, reclined under 

Crees ; 
Or Quidnuncs, on Sunday, just fresh from the 

barber's, 
Enjoying their news and groseille* in those arbors ; 
While gayly their wigs, like the tendrils, are curling, 
And founts of red currant-juice 6 round them are 

purling. 

Here, Dick, arm in arm as wo chattering stray, 
And receive a few civil " God-dems" by the way, — 
For, 'tis odd, these mounseers, — though we've 

wasted our wealth 
And our strength, til -e've thrown ourselves into 

a phthisic, 
To cram down their throats an eld King for their 

health, 
As Ave whip little children to make them take 

physic ; — 
Yet, spite of our good-natured money and slaughter, 
They hate us as Beelzebub hates holy water ! 
But who the deuce cares, Dick, as long as they 

nourish us 
Neatly as now, and good cookery flourishes — 
Long as, by bay'nets protected, we, Natties, 
May have our full fling at their salmis and pates ? 
And, truly, I always declared 'twould be pity 
To burn to the ground such a choice-feeding city. 
Had Dad but his way, he'd have long ago blown 
The whole batch to old Nick — and the people, I 

own, 
If for no other cause than their cursed monkey looks, 
Well deserve a blow-up— but then, damn it, their 

Cooks ! 
As to Marshals, and Statesmen, and all their whole 

lineage, 
For aught that I care, you may knock them to 

spinage ; 

4 The dandy term for a tailor. 

5 " Lemonade and eau-de-groseille are measured out at 
every corner of every street, from fantastic vessels, jingling 
with bells, to thirsty tradesmen or wearied messengers." — 
See Lady Morgan's lively description of the streets of Paris, 
in her very amusing work upon France, book vi. 

6 These gay, portable fountains, from which the groseille 
water is administered, are among the most characteristic or- 
naments of the streets of Paris. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



473 



But think, Dick, their Cooks — what a loss to man- 
kind ! 

What a void in the world wculd their art leave be- 
hind ! 

Thiir chronometer spits — their intense salaman- 
ders — 

Their ovens — their pots, that can soften old ganders, 

All vanish'd forever — their miracles o'er, 

And the Marmite Perpetuelle 1 bubbling no more ! 

Forbid it, forbid it, ye Holy Allies ! 

Take whatever ye fancy — take statues, take 
money — 

But leave them, oh leave them, their Perigueux pies, 
Their glorious goose-livers, and high pickled 
tunny ! 2 

Though many, I own, are the evils they've brought 
us, 
Though Royalty's here on her very last legs, 

Yet, who can help loving the land that has taught us 
Six hundred and eighty -five ways to dress eggs ? 3 

You see, Dick, in spite of their cries of " God-dam," 
" Coquin Anglais," et caet'ra — how gen'rous I am ! 
And now, (to return, once again, to my " Day," 
Which will take us all night to get through in this 

way,) 
From the Boulevards we saunter through many a 

street, 
Crack jokes on the natives — mine, all very neat — 
Leave the Signs of the Times to political fops, 
And find twice as much fun in the Signs of the 

Shops ; — 
Here, a Louis Dix-huit — there, a Martinmas goose, 
(Much in vogue since your eagles are gone out of 

use) — 
Henri Quatres in shoals, and of Gods a great many, 
But Saints are the most on hard duty of any : — 
St. Tony, who used all temptations to spurn, 
Here hangs o'er a beer-shop, and tempts in his turn ; 
While there St. Venecia 4 sits hemming and frilling 

her 
Holy mouchoir o'er the door of some milliner ; — 

1 "Cette merveilleuse Marmite Perpetuelle, sur le feu 
depuis pres d'un siecle ; qui a donne le jour a plus de 300.000 
chapons." — Mman. de Gourmands, Quatrieme Annee, p. 152. 

2 Le thon marine, one of the most favorite and indi- 
gestible hors-d'auvres. This fish is taken chiefly in the 
Golfe de Lyon. "La tete et le dessous du ventre sont les 
parties les plus recherchees des gourmets." — Cours Gaslro- 
nomigue, p. 252. 

3 The exact number mentioned by M. de la Reyniere— 
"On connoit en France 085 manieres differentes d'accom- 
moder les ceufs ; sans compter celles que nos savans vtna- 
ginent chaque jour." 

* Veronica, the Saint of the Holy Handkerchief, is also, 
under the name of Venisse, or Venecia, the tutelary saint of 
milliners. 

s St. Denys walked three miles after his head was cutoff. 
The mot of a woman of wit upon this legend is well known : 



Saint Austin's the " outward and visible sign 

" Of an inward" cheap dinner, and pint of small 

wine ; 
While St. Denys hangs out o'er some hatter of 

ton, 
And possessing, good bishop, no head of his own, 5 
Takes an int'rest in Dandies, who've got — next to 

none ! 
Then we stare into shops — read the evening's af- 

fiches — 
Or, if some, who're Lotharios in feeding, should 

wish 
Just to flirt with a luncheon, (a devilish bad trick, 
As it takes off the bloom of one's appetite, Dick.) 
To the Passage des — what d'ye calPt — des Pano- 
ramas 6 
We quicken our pace, and there heartily cram as 
Seducing young pates, as ever could cozen 
One out of one's appetite, down by the dozen. 
We vary, of course — petits pates do one day, 
The next we've our lunch with the Gaufrier Hol- 

landais, 7 
That popular artist, who brings out, like Sc — tt, 
His delightful productions so quick, hot and hot ; 
Not the worse for the exquisite comment that fol- 
lows, — 
Divine maresquino, which — Lord, how one swal- 
lows ! 

Once more, then, we saunter forth after our snack, or 
Subscribe a few francs for the price of a fiacre, 
And drive far away to the old Montagnes Russes, 
Where we find a few twirls in the car of much use 
To regen'rate the hunger and thirst of us sinners, 
Who've lapsed into snacks — the perdition of dinners. 
And here, Dick — in answer to one of your queries, 
About which we, Gourmands, have had much 

discussion — 
I've tried all these mountains, Swiss, French, and 

Ruggieri's, 
And think, for digestion? there's none like the 

Russian ; 

— " Je le crois bien ; en paroil cas, il n'y a que le premier 
pas qui cohte." 
e Off the Boulevards Italiens. 

7 In the Palais Royal ; successor, I believe, to the Flamand, 
so long celebrated for the moclleux of his Gaufres. 

8 Doctor Cotterel recommends, for this purpose, the Beau- 
jon or French Mountains, and calls them' ; une medecine 
aerienne, couleur de rose ;" but I own I prefer the authority 
of Mr. Bob, who seems, from the following note found in his 
cwn handwriting, to have studied all these mountains very 
carefully :— 

Memoranda— The Swiss little notice deserves, 
While the fall at Ruggieri's is death to weak nerves ; 
And (whate'er Doctor Cott'rel may write on the question) 
The turn at the Beaujon's too sharp for digestion. 

I doubt whether Mr. Bob is quite correct in accenting the 

second syllable of Ruggieri. 



474 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



So equal the motion — so gentle, though fleet — 

It, in short, such a light and salubrious scamper is, 
That take whom you please — take old L — s D — x- 

11 — T, 
And stuff him — ay, up to the neck — with stew'd 

lampreys, 1 
So wholesome these Mounts, such a solvent I've 

found them, 
That, let me but rattle the Monarch well down them, 
The fiend, Indigestion, would fly far away, 
And the regicide lampreys 2 be foil'd of their prey i 

Such, Dick, are the classical sports that content us, 

Till five o'clock brings on that hour so moment- 
ous, 3 

That epoch but woa ! — my lad — here comes the 

Schneider, 

And, curse him, has made the stays three inches 
wider — 

Too wide by an inch and a half — what a Guy ! 

But, no matter — 'twill all be set right by-and-by. 

As we've MassinotV eloquent carte to eat still up, 

An inch and a half's but a trifle to fill up. 

So — not to lose time, Dick, — here goes for the task ; 

Au revoir, my old boy — of the Gods I but ask, 

That my life, like " the Leap of the German," 5 
may be, 

" Du lit a la table, de la table au lit !" 

R. F. 



LETTER IX. 

FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE LORD VISCOUNT 
C ST GH. 

My Lord, th' Instructions, brought to-day, 
" I shall in all my best obey." 
Your Lordship talks and writes so sensibly ! 
And — whatsoe'er some wags may say — 
Oh ! not at all incomprehensibly. 

i A dish so indigestible, that a late novelist, at the end of 
his book, could imagine no more summary mode of getting 
rid of all his heroes and heroines than by a hearty supper 
of stewed lampreys 

2 They killed Henry I. of England:— "a food (says 
Hume, gravely) which always agreed better with his palate 
than his constitution." 

Lampreys, indeed, seem to have been always a favorite 
dish with kings-— whether from some congeniality between 
them and that fish, I know not ; but Dio Cassius tells us 
that Pollio fattened his lampreys with human blood. St. 
Louis of France was particularly fond of them.— See the 
anecdote of Thomas Aquinas eating up hia majesty's la;ji- 
prey, in a note upon Rabelais, liv. hi., chap. 2. 

s Had Mr. Bob's Dinner Epistle been inserted, I was pre- 
wired with an abundance of learned matter to illustrate it, for 
which, as, indeed, for all my " scientia popinae," a I am in- 



I feel th' inquiries in your letter 

About my health and French most nattering ; 
Thank ye, my French, though somewhat better, 

Is, on the whole, but weak and smattering : — 
Nothing, of course, that can compare 
With his who made the Congress stare, 
(A certain Lord we need not name,) 

Who ev'n in French, would have his trope, 
And talk of " batir un systeme 

" Sur Vequilibre de l'Europe !" 
Sweet metaphor ! — and then th' Epistle, 
Which bid the Saxon King go whistle, — 
That tender letter to " Mon Prince," 6 
Which show'd alike thy French and sense ; — 
Oh no, my Lord — there's none can do 
Or say un-English things like you ; 
And, if the schemes that fill thy breast 

Could but a vent congenial seek, 
And use the tongue that suits them best, 

What charming Turkish wouldst thou speak ! 
But as for me, a Frenchless grub, 

At Congress never born Jo stammer, 
Nor learn like thee, my Lord, to snub 

Fall'n Monarchs, out of Chambald's grammar — 
Bless you, you do not, cannot know 
How far a little French will go ; 
For all one's stock, one need but draw 

On some half dozen words like these — 
Comme ca — par-la. — Id-bas — ah ha ! 

They'll take you all through France with ease. 

Your Lordship's praises of the scraps 

I sent you from my Journal lately, 
(Enveloping a few laced caps 

For Lady C.) delight me greatly. 
Her flatt'ring speech — " what pretty things 

" One finds in Mr. Fudge's pages !" 
Is praise which (as some poet sings) 

Would pay one for the toils of ages. 

Thus flatter'd, I presume to send 
A few more extracts by a friend ; 

debted to a friend in the Dublin University,— whose reading 
formerly lay in the magic line ; but, in consequence of the 
Provost's enlightened alarm at such studies, he has taken to 
the authors, " de re riband" instead ; and has left Bodin, 
Remigius, rfgrippa and his little dog Filiolus, for Jlpicius, 
Nonius, and that most learned and savory Jesuit, Bulen-. 
gerus. 

4 A famous Restaurateur— now Dupont. 

5 An old French saying ;—" Faire le saut de l'Allemand, 
du lit a la table et de la table au lit." 

6 The celebrated letter to Prince Hardenburgh, (written, 
however, I believe, originally in English,) in which his 
Lordship, professing to see " no moral or political objection" 
to the dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the unfortu- 
nate King as "not only the most devoted, but the most fa- 
vored of Bonaparte's vassals." 

a Seneca. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS 



470 



And I should hope they'll be no less 
Approved of than my last MS. — 
The former ones, I fear, were creased, 

As Biddy round the caps would pin them .' 
But these will come to hand, at least 

Unrumpled, for there's nothing hi them. 

Extracts from Mr. Fudge's Journal, addressed to 
Lord C. 

Aug. 10. 
Went to the Mad-house — saw the man, 1 

Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while the Fiend 
Of Discord here full riot ran, 

He, like the rest, was guillotined ; — 
But that when, under Boney's reign, 

(A more discreet, though quite as strong one,) 
The heads were all restored again, 

He, in the scramble, got a wrong one. 
Accordingly, he still cries out 

This strange head fits him most unpleasantly ; 
And always runs, poor devil, about 

Inquiring for his own incessantly ! 

While to his case a tear I dropp'd, 

And saunter'd home, thought I — ye Gods ! 
How many heads might thus be swopp'd, 

And, after all, not make much odds ! 
For instance, there's V — s — tt — t's head — 
(" Tam carum 1 '' 1 it may well be said) 
If by some curious chance it came 

To settle on Bill Soames's 3 shoulders, 
Th' effect would turn out much the same 

On all respectable cash-holders : 
Except that while, in its new socket, 

The head was planning schemes to win 
A zig-zag way into one's pocket, 

The hands would plunge directly in. 

Good Viscount S — dm — h, too, instead 
Of his own grave, respected head, 
Might wear (for aught I see that bars) 

Old lady Wilhelmina Frump's — 
So while the hand sign'd Circulars, 

The head might lisp out, " What is trumps ?" — 
The R — g — t's brains could we transfer 
To some robust man-milliner, 

i This extraordinary madman is, I believe, in the Bicotre. 
He imagines, exactly as Mr. Fudge states it, that, when the 
heads of those who had been guillotined were restored, he by 
mistake got some other person's instead of his own. 

2 Tam cari capitis.— Houat. 

s A celebrated pickpocket. 

4 The only change, if I recollect right, is the substitution 
of lilies for bees. This war upon the bees is, of course, uni- 
versal ; "exitium misere apibus," like the angry nymphs in 
Virgii :—but may not new swarms arise out of the victims 
of Legitimacy yet ? 



The shop, the shears, the lace, and riband 
Would go, I doubt not, quite as glib on ; 
And, vice versa, take the pains 
To give the P — ce the shopman's brains, 
One only change from thence would flow, 
Ribands would not be wasted so. 

'Twas thus I ponder'd on, my Lord ; 

And, ev'n at night, when laid in bed, 
I found myself, before I snored, 

Thus chopping, swopping head for head. 
At length I thought, fantastic elf ! 
How such a change would suit myself. 
'Twixt sleep and waking, one by one, 

With various pericraniums saddled, 
At last I tried your Lordship's on, 

And then I grew completely addled — 
Forgot all other heads, od rot 'em ! 
And slept, and dreamt that I was — Bottom. 

Aug. 21. 
Walk'd out with daughter Bid — was shown 
The house of Commons, and the Throne, 
Whose velvet cushion's just the same 4 
Napoleon sat on — what a shame ! 
Oh, can we wonder, best of speechers, 

When Louis seated thus we see, 
That France's " fundamental features" 

Are much the same they used to be ? 
However, — God preserve the Throne, 

And cushion too — and keep them free 
From accidents, which have been known 

To happen ev'n to Royalty ! 5 



Read, at a stall (for oft one pops 

On something at these stalls and shops, 

That does to quote, and gives one's Book 

A classical and knowing look. — 

Indeed I've found, in Latin, lately, 

A course of stalls improves me greatly) — 

'Twas thus I read, that, in the East, 

A monarch's fafs a serious matter ; 
And once in ev'ry year, at least, 

He's weigh' d — to see if lie gets fatter : 6 
Then, if a pound or two he be 
Increased, there's quite a jubilee ! 7 

s I am afraid that Mr. Fudge alludes here to a very awk- 
ward accident, which is well known to have happened to poor 
L — s ie D — s — e, some years since, at one of the R — g — t's 
Fetes. He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the 
time. * 

e " The third (Jay of the Feast the King causeth himself 
to be weighed with great care."— F. Bender's Voyage to 
Surat, &c. 

7 "I remember," says Bernier, " that all the Omrahs ex- 
pressed great joy that the King weighed two pounds more 
now than the year preceding." — Another author tells us that 



476 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Suppose, my Lord — and far from me 
To treat such things with levity — 
But just suppose the R — g — t's weight 
Were made thus an affair of state ; 
And, ev'ry sessions, at the close, — 

'Stead of a speech, which, all can see, is 
Heavy and dull enough, God knows — 

We were to try how heavy he is. 
Much would it glad all hearts to hear 

That, while the Nation's Revenue 
Loses so many pounds a year, 

The P e, God bless him ! gains a few. 

With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices, 

I see the Easterns weigh their Kings ; — 
But, for the R — g — t, my advice is, 

We should throw in much heavier things : 
For instance 's quarto volumes, 

Which, though not spices, serve to wrap them 
Dominie St — dd — -t's Daily columns, 

f ' Prodigious!" — in, of course, we'd clap them— 
Letters .hat C — rtw t's 1 pen indites, 

In which, with logical confusion, 
The Major like a Minor writes, 

And never comes to a Conclusion : — 
Lord S — m — rs' pamphlet — or his head — 
(Ah, that were worth its weight in lead !) 
Along with which we in may whip, sly, 
The Speeches of Sir John C — x H — pp — sly ; 
That Baronet of many words, 
Who loves so, in the House of Lords, 
To whisper Bishops — and so nigh 

Unto their wigs in whisp'ring goes, 
That you may always know him by 

A patch of powder on his nose ! — 
If this won't do, we in must cram 
The " Reasons" of Lord B — ck — gh — m ; 
(A Book his Lordship means to write, 

Entitled "Reasons for my Ratting:") 
Or, should these prove too small and light, 

His r p's a host — we'll bundle that in ! 

And, still should all these masses fail 
To turn the R — g — t's ponderous scale, 



" Fatness, as well as a very large head, is considered, through- 
out India, as one of the most precious gifts of heaven. An 
enormous skull is absolutely revered, and the happy owner is 
looked up to as a superior being. To a Prince a joulter head 
is invaluable." — Oriental Field Sports. 
i Major Cartwright. 

2 The name of the first worthy who set up the trade of 
informer at Rome (to whom our Olivers and Castleses ought 
to erect a statue) was Roman us Hispo;— "qui formam vitas 
iniit, quam postea celebrem miseriffi temporum et audacise 
hominum fecerunt."— Tacit. Jinnal. i. 74. 

3 They certainly possessed the same art of instigating their 
victims, which the Report of the Secret Committee attributes 
to Lord Sidmouth's agents:— " soiius (says Tacitus of one 



Why then, my Lord, in Heaven's name, 

Pitch in, without reserve or stint, 
The whole of R — gl — y's beauteous Dame — 

If that won't raise him, devil's in it ! 

Aug. 31. 
Consulted Murphy's Tacitus 

About those famous spies at Rome, 2 
Whom certain Whigs — to make a fuss — 
Describe as much resembling us, 3 

Informing gentlemen, at home. 
But, bless the fools, they can't be serious, 
To say Lord S — dm — th's like Tiberius ! 
What ! he, the Peer, that injures no man, 
Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman ! — 
'Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to 
All sorts of spies — so doth the Peer, too 
'Tis true my Lord's Elect tell fibs, 
And deal in perjury — ditto Tib's. 
'Tis true, the Tyrant screen'd and hid 
His rogues from justice 4 — ditto Sid. 
'Tis true the Peer is grave and glib 
At moral speeches — ditto Tib. 5 
'Tis true, the feats the Tyrant did 
Were in his dotage — ditto Sid. 

So far, I own, the parallel 
'Twixt Tib and Sid goes vastly well ; 
But there are points in Tib that strike 
My humble mind as much more like 
Yourself, my dearest Lord, or him, 
Of th' India Board — that soul of whim ! 
Like him, Tiberius loved his joke, 6 

On matters, too, where few can bear one ; 
E. g. a man, cut up, or broke 

Upon the wheel — a devilish fair one ! 
Your common fractures, wounds, and fits, 
Are nothing to such wholesale wits ; 
But, let the stiff 'rer gasp for life, 

The joke is then worth any money ; 
And, if he writhe beneath a knife, — 

Oh dear, that's something quite too funny. 
In this respect, my Lord, you see 
The Roman wag and ours agree : 



of them) libidinum ct necessitatum, qxiopluribus indiciis inli- 
garet" 

4 " Neque tamen id Sereno noxaa fuit, quern odium pub- 
licum tutiorem faciebat. Nam ut quis districtior accusator 
velut sacrosanctus erat.' 1 '' — Jinnal. lib. iv. 36. — Or, as it is 
translated by Mr. Fudge's friend, Murphy :— " This daring 
accuser had the curses of the^eo^e, and the protection of the 
Emperor. Informers, in proportion as they rose in guilt, 
became sacred characters.'''' 

5 Murphy even confers upon one of his speeches the epithet 
" constitutional." Mr. Fudge might have added to his parallel, 
that Tiberius was a good private character : -" egregium 
vita famfique quoad privatus." 

6 ll Ludibria seriis permiscere solitus." 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



477 



Now as tc your resemblance — mum — 

This parallel we need not follow ; a 
Though 'tis, in Ireland, said by some 

Your Lordship beats Tiberius hollow : 
Whips, chains — but these are things too serious 

For me to mention or discuss ; 
Whenever your Lordship acts Tiberius, 

Phil. Fudge's part is Tacitus ! 

Sept. 2. 
Was thinking, had Lord S — dm — th got 
Any good decent sort of Plot 
Against the winter-time — if not, 
Alas, alas, our ruin's fated : 
All done up, and spijlicated ! 
Ministers and all their vassals, 

Down from C — tl gh to Castles, — 

Unless we can kick up a riot, 

Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet ! 

What's to be done ? — Spa-Fields was clever ; 

But even thai brought gibes and mockings 
Upon oiv heads — so, mem. — must never 

Keop a_- munition in old stockings ; 
For fear some wag should in his cursed head 
Take it to say our force was worsted. 
Mem. too — when Sid an army raises, 
It must not be "incog." like Bayes's: 
Nor must the General be a hobbling 
Professor of the art of cobbling ; 
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns, 

Should say, with Jacobinic grin, 
He felt, from soleing Wellingtons, 2 

A Wellington's great soul within ! 
Nor must an old apothecary 

Go take the Tower, for lack of pence, 
With (what these wags would call, so merry) 

Physical force and vial-ence ! 
No — no — our Plot, my Lord, must be 
Next time contrived more skilfully. 
John Bull, I grieve to say, is growing 
So troublesomely sharp and knowing, 
%So wise — in short, so Jacobin — 
'Tis monstrous hard to take him in. 

Sept. 6. 
Heard of the fate of our Ambassador 

In China, and was sorely nettled ; 
But think, my Lord, we should not pass it o'er 

Till all this matter's fairly settled ; 



i There is one point of resemblance between Tiberius 
and Lord C. which Mr. Fudge might have mentioned— 
" siispensa semper et obscura verba." 

2 Short boots, so called. 

s The open countenance, recommended by Lord Chester- 
field. 

4 Mr. Fndge is a little mistaken here. It was not Gri- 



And here's the mode occurs to me : — 

As none of our Nobility, 

Though for their own most gracious King, 

(They would kiss hands, or- — any thing,) 

Can be persuaded to go through 

This farce-like trick of the Ko-tou; 

And as these Mandarins won't bend, 

Without some mumming exhibition, 
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send 

Grimaldi to them on a mission : 
As Legate, Joe could play his part, 
And if, in diplomatic art, 
The " volto sciolto" 3 's meritorious, 
Let Joe but grin, he has it, glorious ! 
A title for him's easily made ; 

And, by-the-by, one Christinas time, 
If I remember right, he play'd 

Lord Morley in some pantomime ; 4 — ■ 
As Earl of M — rl — y then gazette him, 
If t'other Earl of M— rl— y'11 let him. 
(And why should not the world be blest 
With two such stars, for East and West?) 
Then, when before the Yellow Screen 

He's brought — and, sure, the very essence 
Of etiquette would be that scene 

Of Joe in the Celestial Presence ! — 
He thus should say : — " Duke Ho and Soo, 
" I'll play what tricks you please for you, 
" If you'll, in turn, but do for me 
" A few small tricks you now shall see. 
" If I consult your Emperor's liking, 
" At least you'll do the same for my King." 
He then should give them nine such grins, 
As would astound ev'n Mandarins ; 
And throw such somersets before 

The picture of King George (God bless him I) 
As, should Duke Ho but try them o'er, 

Would, by Confucius, much distress him ! 

I start this merely as a hint, 

But think you'll find some wisdom in't ; 

And, should you follow up the job, 

My son, my Lord, (you know poor Bob,) 

Would in the suite be glad to go 

And help his Excellency, Joe ; — 

At least, like noble Ajvih — rst's son, 

The lad will do to practise on. 6 



maldi, but some very inferior performer, who played this 
part of " Lord Morley" in the pantomime,— so much to the 
horror of the distinguished Earl of that name. The expos- 
tulary letters of the Noble Earl to Mr. H— rr— s, upon this 
vulgar profanation of his spick-and-span new title, will, I 
trust, some time or other, be given to the world. 
6 Fee Mr. Ellis's account of the Embassy. 



478 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



LETTER X. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY . 

Well, it isn't the King, after all, my dear crea- 
ture ! 
But don't you go laugh, now — there's nothing to 

quiz in't — 
For grandeur of air and for grimness of feature, 
He might be a King, Doll, though, hang him, 

he isn't. 
At first, I felt hurt, for I wish'd it, I own, 
If for no other cause but to vex Miss Malone, — 
(The great heiress, you know, of Shandangan, 

who's here, 
Showing off with such airs, and a real Cashmere, 1 
While mine's but a paltry old rabbit-skin, dear !) 
Bat Pa says, on deeply consid'ring the thing, 
" I am just as well pleased it should not be the 

King; 
" As I think for my Biddy, so gentille and jolie, 
"Whose charms may their price in an honest 

way fetch, 
" That a Brandenburgh " — (what is a Branden- 

burgh, Dolly?) — 
" Would be, after all, no such very great catch. 
"If the R — G — t indeed," — added he, looking 

sly— - 
(You remember that comical squint of his eye,) — 
But I stopp'd him with " La, Pa, how can you say so, 
'•' When the R — g — t loves none but old women, 

you know !" 
Which is fact, my dear Dolly — we, girls of eigh- 
teen, 
And so slim — Lord, he'd think us not fit to be 

seen ; 
And would like us much better as old — ay, as old 
As that Countess of Desmond, of whom I've been 

told 
That she lived to much more than a hundred and 

ten, 
And was kill'd by a fall from a cherry-tree then ! 

i See Lady Morgan's " France" for the anecdote, told her 
by Madame de Genlis, of the young gentleman whose love 
was cured by finding that his mistress wore a shawl "peau 
de" hi pin." 

2 The cars, on the return, are dragged up slowly by a 
chain. 

3 Mr. Bob need not be ashamed of his cookery jokes, when 
he is kept in countenance by such men as Cicero, St. Augus- 
tine, and that jovial bishop, Venantius Fortunatus. The pun 
of the great orator upon the "jus Verrinum," which he calls 
bad hog-broth, from a play upon both the words, is well 
known: and the Saint's puns upon the conversion of Lot's 
wife into salt, are equally ingenious :— " In salem conversa 
hominlbus fidelibus quoddam prastitit condimentum, quo sa- 
piant aliquid,unde illud caveatur exemplum."— De Civitat. 



What a frisky old girl ! but — to come to my lover, 
Who, though not a King, is a hero I'll swear, — 
You shall hear all that's happen'd, just briefly run 
over, 
Since that happy night, when we whisk'd through 
the air ! 

Let me see — 'twas on Saturday — yes, Dolly. 

yes— 
From that evening I date the first dawn of my bliss, 
"When we both rattled off in that dear little car- 
riage, 
Whose journey, Bob says, is so like Love and Mar- 
riage, 
" Beginning gay, desperate, dashing, down-hilly, 
" And ending as dull as a six-inside Dilly !" 2 
Well, scarcely a wink did I sleep the flight 

through ; 
And, next day, having scribbled my letter to you, 
With a heart full of hope this sweet fellow to 

meet, 
I set out with Papa, to see Louis Dix-huit 
Make his bow to some half dozen women and boys, 
Who get up a small concert of shrill Vive le Rois — 
And how vastly genteeler, my dear, even this is, 
Than vulgar Pall-Mall's oratorio of hisses ! 
The gardens seem'd full — so, of course, we walk'd 

o'er 'em, 
'Mong orange-trees, clipp'd into town bred deco- 
rum, 
And daphnes, and vases, and many a statue, 
There staring, with not ev'n a stitch on them, at 

you! 
The ponds, too, we view'd — stood awhile on the 
brink 
To contemplate the play of those pretty gold 
fishes — 
"Live bullion" says merciless Bob, " which, I think, 
"Would, if coin'd, with a little mini sauce, be 
delicious !" 3 

But what, Dolly, what, is the gay orange-grove, * 
Or gold fishes, to her that's in search of her love ? 

Dei, lib. xvi., cap. 30.— The jokes of the pious favorite of 
Queen Radagunda, the convivial Bishop Venantius, maybe 
found among his poems, in some lines against a cook who had 
robbed him. The following is similar to Cicero's pun : — 
Plus juscella Coci quam mea jura valent. 

See his poems, Corpus Poetar. Latin, torn, ii., p. 1732. — 
Of the same kind was Montmaur''s joke, when a dish vvat> 
spilt over him—" summum jus, summa injuria ;" and the 
same celebrated parasite, in ordering a sole to be placed be- 
fore him, said, — 

Eligi cui dicas, tu mihi sola places. 

The reader may likewise see, among a good deal of kitchen 
erudition, the learned Lipsius's jokes on cutting up a ca- 
pon in his Saturnal. Sermon, lib. ii., cap. 2. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



479 



In vain did I wildly explore every chair 

Where a thing like a man was — no lover sat there ! 

In vain my fond eyes did I eagerly cast 

At the whiskers, mustachios, and wigs that went 

past, 
To obtain, if I conld, but a glance at that curl, — 
A glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, my girl, 
As the lock that, Pa says, 1 is to Mussulmen giv'n, 
For the angel to hold by that " lugs them to heav'n !" 
Alas, there went by me full many a quiz, 
And mustachios in plenty, but nothing like his ! 
Disappointed, I found myself sighing out " well-a- 

day," 
Thought of the words of T — m M — re's Irish 

Melody, 
Something about the " green spot of delight," 2 
[Which, you know, Captain Mackintosh sung 
to us one day :) 
Ah* Dolly, my " spot" was that Saturday night, 
And its verdure, how fleeting, had wither'd by 
Sunday ! 
We dined at a tavern — La, what do I say ? 

If Bob was to know I — a Restaurateurs, dear ; 
Where, your propercst ladies go dine every day, 
And drink Burgundy out of large tumblers, like 
beer. 
Fine Bob (for he's really grown super-fine) 

Condescended, for once, to make one of the party ; 
Of course, though but three, we had dinner for nine, 
And in spite of my grief, love, I own I ate hearty. 
Iudeed, Doll, I know not how 'tis, but, in grief, 
I have always found eating a wondrous relief; 
And Bob, who's in love, said he felt the same, 
quite — 
•'•' My sighs," said he, " ceased with the first glass 
I drank you ; 
" The lamb made me tranquil, the puffs made me 
light, 
" And — now that all's o'er — why, I'm — pretty 
well, thank you !" 

To my great annoyance, we sat rather late ; 
For Bobby and Pa had a furious debate 



i For this scrap of knowledge " Pa" was, I suspect, in- 
debted to a note upon Yolney's ruins ; a bonk which usually 
forms part of a Jacobin's library, and with which Mr. Fudge 
must have been well acquainted at the time when he wrote 
his u Down with Kings," &c. The note in Volney is as fol- 
lows : — "It is by this tuft of hair, (on the crown of the head,) 
worn by the majority of Mussulmans, that the Angel of the 
Tomb is to take the elect and carry them to Paradise." 

2 The young lady, whose memory is not very correct, 
mnst allude, I think, to the following lines : — 

Oh that fairy form is ne'er forgot, 

Which First Love traced ; 
Still it ling'ring haunts the greenest spot 

On Memory's waste ! 



About singing and cookery — Bobby, of course, 
Standing up for the latter Fine Art in full force ; 3 
And Pa saying, " God only knows which is worst, 

'•' The French Singers or Cooks, but I wish us 
well over it — 
" What with old Lais and Very, I'm cursed * 

" If my head or my stomach will ever recover it !" 

'Twas dark, when we got to the Boulevards to stroll, 

And in vain did I look 'mong the street Macaronis, 

When, sudden it struck me — last hope of my soul — 

That some angel might take the dear man to 

Tortoxi's ! 4 
We enter'd — and, scarcely had Bob, with an air, 

For a grappe a la jardiniere call'd to the waiters. 
When, oh Doll ! I saw him — my hero was there, 
(For I knew his white small-clothes and brown 

leather gaiters,) 
A group of fair statues from Greece smiling o'ei 

him, 5 
And lots of red currant -juice sparkling before him ! 
Oh Dolly, these heroes — what creatures they are ; 
In the boudoir the same as in fields full of 

slaughter ! 
As cool in the Beaujon's precipitous car, 

As when safe at Tortoxi's, o'er iced currant 

water ! 
He join'd us — imagine, dear creatine, my ecstasy — 
Join'd by the man I'd have broken ten necks to see ! 
Bob wish'd to treat him with Punch a la glace, 
But the sweet fellow swore that my beaute, my 

grace, 
And my je-ne-sais-quoi (then his whiskers he 

twirl'd) 
Were, to him, " on de top of all Ponch in de 

vorld." — 
How pretty ! — though oft (as of course, it must be) 
Both his French and his English are Greek, Doll, 

to me. 
But, in short, I felt happy as ever fond heart did ; 
And happier still, when 'twas fix'd, ere we parted, 
That, if the next day should be pastoral weather, 
We all would set off, in French bugo-ies, together, 



3 Cookery has been dignified by the researches of a Ba- 
con, (see his Natural History, Receipts, &c.,) and takes its 
station as one of the Fine Arts in the following passage of 
Mr. Dugald Stcicart :—•' Agreeably to this view of the sub- 
ject, sitett may be said to be intrinsically pleasing, and bitter 
to be relatively pleasing; while both are, in many case<, 
equally essential to those effects, which, in the art of cook- 
ery, correspond to that composite beauty, which it is the ob- 
ject of the painter and of the poet to create." — Philosophical 
Essays. 

* A fashionable cafe glacier on the Italian Boulevards. 

5 " You eat your ice at Tortoni's," says Mr. Scott, " urder 
a Grecian group." 



480 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



To see Montmorency — that place which, you know, 
Is so famous for cherries and Jean Jacques 

Rousseau. 
His card then he gave us — the name, rather 

creased — 
•But 'twas Calicot — something — a Colonel at 

least ! 
After which — sure there never was hero so civil — 

he 
Saw us safe home to our door in Rue Rivoli, 
Where his last words, as, at parting, he threw 
A soft look o'er his shoulders, were — " How do you 

do I" 1 

But, Lord, — there's Papa for the post — I'm so vex' d — 
Montmorency must now, love, be kept for my next. 
That dear Sunday night ! — I was charmingly dress'd, 
And — so providential ! — was looking my best ; 
Such a sweet muslin gown, with a flounce — and my 

frills, 
You've no notion how rich — (though Pa has by the 

bills) 
And you'd smile had you seen, where we sat rather 

near, 
Colonel Calicot eyeing the cambric, my dear. 
Then the flow'rs in my bonnet — but, la, it's in 

vain — 
So, good-by, my sweet Doll — I shall soon write 

again. B. F. 

Nota bene — our love to all neighbors about — 
Your Papa in particular — how is his gout ? 

P.S. — I've just open'd my letter to say, 

In your next you must tell me, (now do, Dolly, 

pray, 
For I hate to ask Bob, he's so ready to quiz,) 
What sort of a thing, dear, a Brandenburgh is. 



LETTER XL 

FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO . 

Yes, 'twas a cause, as noble and as great 
As ever hero died to vindicate — 
A Nation's right to speak a Nation's voice, 
And own no power but of the Nation's choice 



i Not an unusual mistake with foreigners. 

2 See JEli&n, lib. v., cap. 29,— who tells us that these 
geese, from a consciousness of their own loquacity, always 
cross Mount Taurus with stones in their bills, to prevent 
any unlucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles — 
SttnrerovTai GtcjTrcJvres. 

3 Somebody (Fontenelle, I believe) has said, that if he 



Such was the grand, the glorious cause that now 
Hung trembling on Napoleon's single brow ; 
Such the sublime arbitrament, that pour'd, 
In patriot eyes, a light around his sword, 
A hallowing light, which never, since the day 
Of his young victories, had illumed its way ! 

Oh, 'twas not then the time for tame debates, 
Ye men of Gaul, when chains were at your gates ; 
When he, who late had fled your Chieftain's eye, 
As geese from eagles on Mount Taurus fly, 2 
Denounced against the land, that spurn'd his chain, 
Myriads of swords to bind it fast again — 
Myriads of fierce invading swords, to track 
Through your best blood his path of vengeance back ; 
When Europe's Kings, that never yet combined 
But (like those upper Stars, that, when conjoin'd, 
Shed war and pestilence) to scourge mankind, 
Gather'd around, with hosts from eveiy shore, 
Hating Napoleon much, but Freedom more, 
And, in that coming strife, appall'd to see 
The world yet left one chance for liberty ! — 
No, 'twas not then the time to weave a net 
Of bondage around your Chief ; to curb and fret 
Your veteran war-horse, pawing for the fight, 
When eveiy hope was in his speed and might — 
To waste the hour of action in dispute, 
And coolly plan how freedom's boughs should shoot, 
When your Invader's axe was at the root ! 
No, sacred Liberty ! that God, who throws 
Thy light around, like his own sunshine, knows 
How well I love thee, and how deeply hate 
All tyrants, upstart and Legitimate — 
Yet, in that hour, were France my native land, 
I would have follow'd, with quick heart and hand, 
Napoleon, Nero, — ay, no matter whom — 
To snatch my country from that damning doom, 
That deadliest curse that on the conquer'd waits — 
A Conqueror's satrap, throned within her gates ! 

True, he was false — despotic — all you please — 
Had trampled down man's holiest liberties — 
Had, by a genius, form'd for nobler things 
Than lie within the grasp of vulgar Kings, 
But raised the hopes of men — as eaglets fly 
With tortoises aloft into the sky — 
To dash them down again more shatt'ringly ! 
All this I own— but still 3 * * 

****** 



had his hand full of truths, he would open but one finger at 
a time ; and the same sort of reserve I find to be necessary 
with respect to Mr. Connor's very plain-spoken letters. The 
remainder of this Epistle is so full of unsafe matter-of-fact, 
that it must, for the present at least be withheld fran the 
public. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



481 



LETTER XII. 



FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY . 

At last, Dolly, — thanks to a potent emetic, 
Which Bobby and Pa, with grimace sympathetic, 
Have swallow'd this morning to balance the bliss, 
Of an eel matelote and a bisque d'ecrevisses — 
I've a morning at home to myself, and sit down 
To describe you our heavenly trip out of town. 
How agog you must be for this letter, my dear ! 
Lady Jane, in the novel, less languished to hear 
If that elegant cornet she met at Lord Neville's 
Was actually dving with love or — blue devils. 
But Love, Dolly, Love is the theme I pursue ; 
With Blue Devils, thank heavn, I have nothing to 

do— 
Except, indeed, dear Colonel Calicot spies 
Any imps of that color in certain blue eyes, 
Which he stares at till J, Doll, at Ms do the same ; 
Then he simpers — I blush — and would often ex- 
claim, 
If I knew but thb French for it, " Lord, Sir, for 
shame !" 

Well, the morning was lovely — the trees in full 

dress 
For the happy occasion — the sunshine express — 
Had we order'd it, dear, of the best poet going, 
It scarce could be furnish' d more golden and glow- 
ing. 
Though late when we started, the scent of the air 
Was like Gattie's rose-water, — and, bright, here 

and there, 
On the grass an odd dew-drop was glittering yet, 
Like my aunt's diamond pin on her green tabbinet ! 
While the birds seem'd to warble as bless'd on the 

boughs, 
As if each a plumed Calicot had for her spouse ; 
And the grapes were all blushing and kissing in 

rows, 
And — in short, need I tell you, wherever one goes 
With the creature one loves, 'tis all couleur de rose ; 
And, ah, I shall ne'er, lived I ever so long, see 
A day such as that at divine Montmorency ! 

There was but one drawback — at first when we 

started, 
The Colonel and I were inhumanly parted ; 



i The column in the Place Vendome. 

2 '■ Employant pour celaleplus beau papier dore, sechant 
l'ecriture avec de la poudre d'azur et d'argent, et cousant 
mes cahiers avec de la nompareille bleue." — Les Confessions, 
part ii. liv . 9. 

3 This word, "exquisite," is evidently a favorite of Miss 



How cruel — young hearts of such moments to rob ! 
He went in Pa's buggy, and I went with Bob ; 
And, I own, I felt spitefully happy to know 
That Papa and his comiade agreed but so-so. 
For the Colonel, it seems, is a stickler of Boney's — 
Served with him of course — nay, I'm sure they were 

cronies. 
So martial his features ! dear Doll, you can trace 
Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in his face 
As you do on that pillar of glory and brass, 1 
Which the poor Due de B — ri must hate so to 

pass ! 
It appears, too, he made — as most foreigners do — 
About English affairs an odd blunder or two. 
For example — misled by the names, I dare say — 

He confounded Jack Castles with Lord C gh ; 

And — sure such a blunder no mortal hit ever 

on — 
Fancied the present Lord C — md — n the clever one ! 

But politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's trade ; 

'Twas for war and the ladies my Colonel was made. 

And, oh, had you heard, as together we walk'd 

Through that beautiful forest, how sweetly he 
talk'd ; 

And how perfectly well he appear'd, Doll, to know 

All the life and adventures of Jean Jacques 
Rousseau ! — 

" 'Twas there," said he — not that his words I can 
state ; — 

'Twas a gibb'rish that Cupid alone could trans- 
late ; — 

But "there," said he, (pointing where, small and 
remote, 

The dear Hermitage rose,) " there Ins Julie he 
wrote, — 

" Upon paper gilt-edged, 2 without blot or erasure ; 

" Then sanded it over with silver and azure, 

" And — oh, what will genius and fancy not do ? — 

" Tied the leaves up together with nompareille blue !" 

What a trait of Rousseau ! what a crowd of emo- 
tions 
From sand and blue ribands are conjured up here ! 

Alas, that a man of such exquisite 3 notions 

Should send his poor brats to the Foundling, my 
dear ! 

" 'Twas here, too, perhaps," Colonel Calicot 

said — 
As down the small garden he pensively led — 



Fudge's ; and I understand she was not a little angry when 
her brother Bob committed a pun on the hist two syllables 
of it in the following couplet : — 

"I'd fain praise your Poem— but tell me, how is it 
When /cry out "Exquisite," Echo cries "yuu it ?' 



31 



482 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



(Though once I could see his sublime forehead 

wrinkle 
With rage not to find there the loved periwinkle 1 ) 
" 'Twas here he received from the fair D'Epinay, 
" (Who call'd him so sweetly her Bear, 2 every 

day,) 
" That dear flannel petticoat, pull'd off to form 
" A waistcoat to keep the enthusiast warm !" 3 

Such, Doll, were the sweet recollections we pon- 

der'd, 
As, full of romance, through that valley we wan- 

der'd. 
The flannel (one's train of ideas, how odd it is !) 
Led us to talk about other commodities, 
Cambric, and silk, and — I ne'er shall forget, 
For the sun was then hast'ning in pomp to its set, 
And full on the Colonel's dark whiskers shone 

down, 
When he ask'd me, with eagerness, — who made 

my gown ? 
The question confused me — for, Doll, you must 

know, 
And I ought to have told my best friend long ago, 
That, by Pa's strict command, I no longer employ 4 
That enchanting couturiere, Madame le Roi ; 
But am forced now to have Victorine, who — ■ 

deuce take her ! — 
It seems is, at present, the King's mantua-maker — 
I mean of his party — and, though much the smartest, 
Le Roi is condemn'd as a rank Bonapartist. 6 
Think, Doll, how confounded I look'd — so well 

knowing 
The Colonel's opinion — my cheeks were quite 

glowing ; 
I stammer'd out something — nay, even half named 
The legitimate sempstress, when, loud, he exclaim'd, 
" Yes, yes, by the stitching 'tis plain to be seen 
" It was made by that Bourbonite b h, Vic- 
torine !" 
What a word for a hero ! — but heroes will err, 
And I thought, dear, I'd tell you things just as 

they were. 
Besides, though the word on good manners in- 

. trench, 
I assure you 'tis not half so shocking in French. 

i The flower which Rousseau brought into such fashion 
among the Parisians, by exclaiming one day, " Ah, yoila de 
la pervenche !" 

2 " Mon ours, voila votre asyle — et vous, mon ours, ne 
▼iendrez vous pas aussi?" — &c. &c. 

3 " Un jour, qu'il geloit tres-fort, en ouvrant un paquet 
qu'elle m'envoyoit, je trouvai un petit juponde flanelle d'An- 
gleterre, qu'elle me marquoit avoir porte, et dont elle vouloit 
que je me fisse faire un gilet. Ce soin, plus qu'amical, me 
parut si tendre, comme si elle se fut diipouillee pour me vetir, 
que, dans mon emotion, je baisai vingt fois en pleurant le 
billet et le jupon." 



But this cloud, though embarrassing, soon pass'd 

away, 
And the bliss altogether, the dreams of that day, 
The thoughts that arise, when such dear fellows 

woo us — 
The nothings that then, love, are every thing to us — 
That quick correspondence of glances and sighs, 
And what Bob calls the " Twopenny -post of the 

Eyes"— 
Ah, Doll ! though I know you've a heart, 'tis in vain 
To a heart so unpractised these things to explain. 
They can only be felt, in their fulness divine, 
By her who has wander'd, at evening's decline, 
Through a valley like that, with a Colonel like 

mine ! 

But here I must finish — for Bob, my deal Tolly, 
Whom physic, I find, always makes melancholy, 
Is seized with a fancy for churchyard reflections ; 
And, full of all yesterday's rich recollections, 
Is just setting off for Montmartre — " for there is," 
Said he, looking solemn, " The tomb of the Verys ! 
" Long, long have I wish'd, as a votary true, 

" O'er the grave of such talents to utter my moans ; 
" And, to-day — as my stomach is not in good cue 

" For the flesh of the Verys — I'll visit their 
bones .'" 
He insists upon my going with him — how teasing ! 

This letter, however, dear Dolly, shall lie 
Unseal'd in my draw'r, that, if any thing pleasing 

Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you — good-by. 

B. F. 

Four o'clock. 
Oh, Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm ruin'd forever — 
I ne'er shall be happy again, Dolly, never ! 
To think of the wretch — what a victim was I ! 
'Tis too much to endure — I shall die, I shall die — 
My brain's in a fever — my pulses beat quick — 
I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick ! 
Oh, what do you think ? after all my romancing, 
My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing, 
This Colonel — I scarce can commit it to paper — 
This Colonel's no more than a vile linen-draper ! ! 
'Tis true as I live — I had coax'd brother Bob so, 
(You'll hardly make out what I'm writing, I sob so,) 

4 Miss Biddy's notions of French pronunciation may be 
perceived in the rhymes which she always selects for " Le 
Roi." 

6 Le Roi, who was the Couturiere of the Empress Maria 
Louisa, is at present, of course, out of fashion, and is suc- 
ceeded in her station by the Royaljst mantua-maker, 
Victorine. 

6 It is the brother of the present excellent Restaurateur 
who lies entombed so magnificently in the Cimetiere Mont- 
martre. The inscription on the column at the head of the 
tomb concludes with the following words : — " Toute sa vie 
fut consacree aux arts utiles." 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



483 



For some little gift on my birth-day — September 
The thirtieth, dear, I'm eighteen, you remember — 
That Bob to a shop kindly order'd the coach, 

(Ah, little I thought who the shopman would 

prove,) 
To bespeak me a few of those moucJioirs de poche, 
Which, in happier hours, I have sigh'd for, my 

love — 
(The most beautiful things — two Napoleons the 

price — 
And one's name in the corner embroider'd so 

nice !) 
Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enter'd the shop, 
But — ye Gods, what a phantom ! — I thought I 

should drop — 
There he stood, my dear Dolly — no room for a 

doubt — 
There, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw 

him stand, 
With a piece of French cambric, before him roll'd 

out, 
And that horrid yard-measure upraised in his 

hand ! 
Oh — Papa, all alongi knew the secret, 'tis clear — 
'Twas a shopman he meant by a " Brandenburgh," 

dear ! 
The man, whom I fondly had fancied a King, 

And, when that too delightful delusion was past, 
As a hero had worshipp'd — vile, treacherous thing — 
To turn out but a low linen-draper at last ! 



My head swam around — the wretch smiled, I be- 
lieve, 
But his smiling, alas, could no longer deceive — 
I fell back on Bob — my whole heart seem'd to 

wither — 
And, pale as a ghost, I was carried back hither! 
I only remember that Bob, as I caught him, 

With cruel facetiousness said, " Curse the Kiddy ! 
" A stanch Revolutionist always I've thought him, 

" But now I find out he's a Counter one, Biddy !" 

Only think, my dear creature, if this should be 

known 
To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss Malone 
What a story 'twill be at Shandangan forever < 
What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with 
the men ! 
It will spread through the country — and never, oh, 
never 
Can Biddy be seen at Kilrandy again ! 
Farewell — I shall do something desp'rate, I fear — 
And, ah ! if my fate ever reaches your ear, 
One tear of compassion my Doll will not grudge 
To her poor — broken-hearted — young friend, 

Biddy Fudge. 

Nota bene — -I am sure you will hear, with delight, 
That we're going, all three, to see Brunet to-night, 
A laugh will revive me — and kind Mr. Cox 
(Do you know him?) has got us the Governors box. 



484 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE, 



Tu Regibus alas 



Eripe. 



-Clip the wings 



Of these high-flying, arbitrary Kings. 



Viuoil, Oeorg. lib. iv. 
Dryden's Translation. 



TO 

LORD BYRON. 

Dear Lord Byron, 

Though this Volume should possess no other 
merit in your eyes, than that of reminding you of 
the short time we passed together at Venice, when 
some of the trifles which it contains were written, 
you will, I am sure, receive the dedication of it with 
pleasure, and believe that I am, 

My dear Lord, 

Ever faithfully yours, 

T. B. 



PREFACE. 



Though it was the wish of the members of the 
Poco-curante Society (who have lately done me the 
honor of electing me their Secretary) that I should 
prefix my name to the following Miscellany, it is 
but fair to them and to myself to state, that, ex- 
cept in the " painful pre-eminence" of being em- 
ployed to transcribe their lucubrations, my claim to 
such a distinction in the title-page is not greater 
than that of any other gentleman, who has contrib- 
uted his share to the contents of the volume. 

I had originally intended to take this opportu- 
nity of giving some account of the origin and ob- 
jects of our Institution, the names and characters 
of the different members, &c. &c. — but, as I am at 
present preparing for the press the First Volume 
of the " Transactions of the Poco-curante Society," 
I shall reserve for that occasion all further de- 
tails upon the subject ; and content myself here 
with referring, for a general insight into our tenets, 
to a Song which will be found at the end of this 
work, and which is sung to us on the first day of 
every month, by one of our oldest members, to the 
tune of (as far as I can recollect, being no musi- 
cian,) either " Nancy Dawson" or " He stole away 
the Bacon." 

It may be well also to state, for the informa- 
tion of those critics who attack with the hope of 
being answered, and of being, thereby, brought into 



notice, that it is the rule of this Society to return 
no other answer to such assailants, than is con- 
tained in the three words, " Non curat Hippoclides," 
(meaning, in English, " Hippoclides does not care a 
fig,") which were spoken two thousand years ago 
by the first founder of Poco-curantism, and have 
ever since been adopted as the leading dictum of 
the sect. 

THOMAS BROWN. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



FABLE I. 



THE DISSOLUTION OF THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 

A DREAM. 

I've had a dream that bodes no good 

Unto the Holy Brotherhood. 

I may be wrong, but I confess — 

As far as it is right or lawful 
For one, no conjurer, to guess — 

It seems to me extremely awful. 

Mcthought, upon the Neva's flood 

A beautiful Ice Palace stood, 

A dome of frost-work, on the plan 

Of that once built by Empress Anne, 1 

Which shone by moonlight — as the tale is — 

Like an Aurora Borealis. 

In this said Palace, fumish'd all 

And lighted as the best on land are, 
I dreamt there was a splendid Ball, 

Given by the Emperor Alexander, 
To entertain with all due zeal 

Those holy gentlemen, who've shown a 
Regard so kind for Europe's weal, 

At Troppau, Laybach, and Verona 

1 " It is well known that the Empress Anne built a palace 
of ice on the Neva, in 1740, which was fifty-two feet in length, 
and when illuminated had a surprising effect." — Pinkertok 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



485 



The thought was happy — and design'd 
To hint how thus the human Mind 
May, like the stream imprison'd there, 
Be check'd and chill'd, till it can bear 
The heaviest Kings, that ode or sonnet 
E'er yet be-praised, to dance upon it. 

And all were pleased, and cold, and stately, 

Shivering in grand illumination — 
Admired the superstructure greatly, 

Nor gave one thought to the foundation 
Much too the Czar himself exulted, 

To all plebeian fears a stranger, 
For, Madame Krudener, when consulted, 

Had pledged her word there was no danger 
So, on he caper'd, fearless quite, 

Thinking himself extremely clever, 
And waltz'd away with all his might, 

As if the Frost would last forever. 

Just fancy bow a bard like me, 

Who reverence monarchs, must have trembled 
To see that goodly company, 

At such a ticklish sport assembled. 

Nor were the fears, that thus astounded 
My loyal soul, at all unfounded — 
For, lo ! ere long, those walls so massy 

Were seized with an ill-omen ! d dripping, 
And, o'er the floors, now growing glassy, 

Their Holinesses took to slipping. 
The Czar, half through a Polonaise, 

Could scarce get on for downright stumbling ; 
And Prussia, though to slippery ways 

Well used, was cursedly near tumbling. 

Yet still 'twas, who could stamp the floor most, 
Russia and Austria 'mong the foremost. — 
And now, to an Italian air, 

This precious brace would, hand in hand, go ; 
Now — while old Louis, from his chair, 
Entreated them his toes to spare — 

CalPd loudly out for a Fandango. 

And a Fandango, 'faith, they had, 

At which they all set to, like mad ! 

Never were Kings (though small th' expense is 

Of wit among their Excellencies) 

So out of all their princely senses. 

But, ah, that dance — that Spanish dance — 

Scarce was the luckless strain begun, 
When, glaring red, as 'twere a glance 

Shot from an angry Southern sun, 
A light through all the chambers flamed, 

Astonishing old Father Frost, 
Who, bursting into tears, exclaim'd, 

" A thaw, by Jove — we're lost, we're lost ; 



" Run, France — a second Waterloo 

" Is come to drown you — sauve qui pent .'" 

Why, why will monarchs caper so 

In palaces without foundations ? — 
Instantly all was in a flow, 

Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations — 
Those Royal Arms, that look'd so nice, 
Cut out in the resplendent ice — 
Those Eagles, handsomely provided 

With double heads for double dealings — 
How fast the globes and sceptres glided 

Out of their claws on all the ceilings ! 
Proud Prussia's double bird t'orey, 
Tame as a spatch cock, slunk i way ; 
While — just like France herself, when she 

Proclaims how great her naval skill i& — 
Poor Louis' drowning fieur-de-lys 

Imagined themselves water-lilies 

And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves, 

But — still more fatal execution — 
The Great Legitimates themselves 

Seem'd in a state of dissolution. 
Th' indignant Czar — when just about 

To issue a sublime Ukase, 
" Whereas all light must be kept out" — 

Dissolved to nothing in its blaze 
Next Prussia took its turn to melt, 
And, while his lips illustrious felt 
The influence of this southern air, 

Some word, like " Constitution" — long 
Congeal'd in frosty silence there — 

Came slowly thawing from his tongue 
While Louis, lapsing by degrees, 

And sighing out a faint adieu 
To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese, 

And smoking fondus, quickly grew, 

Himself, into afondu too; — 
Or like that goodly King they make 
Of sugar for a Twelfth-night cake, 
When, in some urchin's mouth, alas, 
It melts into a shapeless mass ! 

In short, I scarce could count a minute, 
Ere the bright dome, and all within it, 
Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors, all were gone— 

And nothing now was seen or heard 
But the bright river, rushing on, 

Happy as an enfranchised bird, 
And prouder of that natural ray, 
Shining along its chainless way — 
More proudly happy thus to glide 

In simple grandeur to the sea, 
Than when, in sparkling fetters tied, 
'Twas deck'd with all that kingly pride 

Could bring to light its slavery ! 









, 




486 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Such is my dream — and, I confess, 


Your Peers were decent — Knights, so so— 


I tremble at its awfulness. 


But all your common people, gorgons ! 


That Spanish Dance — that southern beam — 




But I say nothing — there's my dream — 


Of course, if any knave had hinted 


And Madame Krudener, the she-prophet. 


That the King's nose was turn'd awry, 


May make just what she pleases of it. 


Or that the Queen (God bless her !) squinted — 




The judges doom'd that knave to die. 




But rarely things like this occurr'd, 




The people to their King were duteous, 




And took it, on his Royal word, 


FABLE II. 


That they were frights, and He was beauteous 


THE LOOKING-GLASSES. 


The cause whereof, among all classes, 




Was simply this — these island elves 


PROEM. 


Had never yet seen looking-glasses, 




And, therefore, did not know themselves. 


Where Kings have been ;y mob-elections 




Raised to the Throne, 'tis strange to see 


Sometimes, indeed, their neighbors' faces 


What different and what odd perfections 
Men Wave required in Royalty. 


Might strike them as more full of reason, 


More fresh than those in certain places — 


Some, liking monarchs large and plumpy, 


But, Lord, the very thought was treason. 


Have chos'n their Sovereigns by the weight ; — ■ 




Some wish'd them tall, some thought your dumpy, 


Besides, howe'er we love our neighbor, 


Dutch-built, the true Legitimate. 1 


And take his face's part, 'tis known 


The Easterns in a Prince, 'tis said, 


We ne'er so much in earnest labor, 


Prefer what's call'd a jolter-head ; 2 


As when the face attack'd's our own. 


Th' Egyptians wer'n't at all particular, 
So that their Kings had not red hair- 
This fault not even the greatest stickler 


So, on they went — the crowd believing — 
(As crowds well govern'd always do) 

Their rulers, too, themselves deceiving — 
So old the joke, they thought 'twas true. 


For the blood royal well could bear. 
A thousand more such illustrations 


Might be adduced from various nations. 


But jokes, we know, if they too far go, 


But, 'mong the many tales they tell us, 


Must have an end — and so, one day, 


Touching th' acquired or natural right 


Upon that coast there was a cargo 


Which some men have to rule their fellows, 


Of looking-glasses cast away. 


There's one, which I shall here recite : — 






'Twas said, some Radicals, somewhere, 


FABLE. 


Had laid their wicked heads together, 


There was a land — to name the place 


And forced that ship to founder there, — 


Is neither now my wish nor duty — 


While some believe it was the weather. 


Where reign'd a certain Royal race, 




By right of their superior beauty. 


However this might be, the freight 




Was landed without fees or duties ; 


What was the cut legitimate 


And from that hour historians date 


Of these great persons' chins and noses, 


The downfall of the Race of Beauties. 


* By right of which they ruled the state, 




No history I have seen discloses. 


The looking-glasses got about, 




And grew so common through the land, 


Bui so it was — a settled case — 


That scarce a tinker could walk out, 


Some Act of Parliament, pass'd snugly, 


Without a mirror in his hand. 


Had voted them a beauteous race, 




And all their faithful subjects ugly. 


Comparing faces, morning, noon, 




And night, their constant occupation — 


As rank, indeed, stood high or low, 


By dint of looking-glasses, soon, 


Some change it made in visual organs ; 


They grew a most reflecting nation. 


i The Goths had a law to choose always a short, thick man 


2 "In a Prince a jolter-head is invaluable." 


for their King.— Munster, Cosmog. lib. iii. p. 164. 


Oriental Field Sports. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



487 



In vain the Court, aware of errors 
In all the old, establish'd mazards, 

Prohibited the use of mirrors, 

And tried to break them at all hazards : — 

In vain — their laws might just as well 
Have been waste paper on the shelves ; 

That fatal freight had broke the spell ; 
People had look'd — and knew themselves. 

If chance a Duke, of birth sublime, 

Presumed upon his ancient face, 
(Some calf-head, ugly from all time,) 

They popp'd a mirror to his Grace : — 

Just hinting, by that gentle sign, 

How little Nature holds it true, 
That what is calFd an ancient line, 

Must be the line of Beauty too. 

From Dukes' they pass'd to regal phizzes, 
Compared them proudly with their own, 

And cried. " How could such monstrous quizzes 
" In Beauty's name usurp the throne !" — 

They then wrote essays, pamphlets, books, 

Upon Cosmetical (Economy, 
Which made the King tiy various looks, 

But none improved his physiognomy. 

And satires at the Court were levell'd, 
And small lampoons, so full of slynesses, 

That soon, in short, they quite be-devill'd 
Their Majesties and Royal Highnesses. 

At length — but here I drop the veil, 
To spare some loyal folks' sensations ; 

Besides, what folio w'd is the tale 
Of all such late enlighten'd nations ; 

Of all to whom old Time discloses 

A truth they should have sooner known — 

That Kings have neither rights nor noses 
A whit diviner than their own 



FABLE III. 



THE TORCH OF LIBERTY. 



I saw it all in Fancy's glass — 

Herself, the fair, the wild magician, 

Who bids this splendid day-dream pass, 
And named each gliding apparition. 

'Twas like a torch-race — such as they 
Of Greece perform'd, in ages gone, 



When the fleet youths, in long array, 
Pass'd the bright torch triumphant on. 

I saw th' expectant nations stand, 

To catch the coming flame in turn ; — 

I saw, from ready hand to hand, 

The clear, though struggling, glory burn. 

And, oh, their joy, as it came near, 
'Twas, in itself, a joy to see ; — 

While Fancy whisper'd in my ear, 
" That torch they pass is Liberty !" 

And, each, as she received the flame, 

Lighted her altar with its ray ; 
Then, smiling, to the next who came, 

Soeeded it on its sparkling way. 

From . ylbion first, whose ancient shrine 
Was fumish'd with the fire already, 

Columbia caught the boon divine, 
And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady. 

The splendid gift then Gallia took, 
And, like a wild Bacchante, raising 

The brand aloft, its sparkles shook, 
As she would set the world a-blazing ! 

Thus kindling wild, so fierce and high 

Her altar blazed into the air, 
That Albion, to that fire too nigh, 

Shrunk back, and shudder'd at its glare ! 

Next, Spain, so new was light to her, 
Leap'd at the torch — but, ere the spark 

That fell upon her shrine could stir, 

'Twas quench' d — and all again was d&;k. 

Yet, no — not quench'd — a treasure, worth 
So much to mortals, rarely dies : 

Again her living light look'd forth, 
And shone, a beacon, in all eyes. 

Who next received the flame ? alas, 
Unworthy Naples — shame of shames, 

That ever through such hands should pass 
That brightest of all earthly flames ! 

Scarce had her fingers touch'd the torch, 
When, frighted by the sparks it shed, 

Nor waiting even to feel the scorch, 
She dropp'd it to the earth — and fled. 

And fall'n it might have long remain'd ; 

But Greece, who saw her moment now, 
Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stain'd, 

And waved it round her beauteous brow. 



488 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And Fancy bade me mark where, o'er 
Her altar, as its flame ascended, 

Fair, laurell'd spirits seem'd to soar, 

Who thus in song their voices blended : — 

11 Shine, shine forever, glorious Flame, 
" Divinest gift of Gods to men ! 

" From Greece thy earliest splendor came, 
" To Greece thy ray returns again. 

" Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round, 
" When dimm'd, revive, when lost, return, 

" Till not a shrine through earth be found, 
" On which thy glories shall not burn !" 



FABLE IV. 



THE FLY AND THE BULLOCK. 



PItOExM. 



Of all that, to the sage's survey, 

This world presents of topsy-turvy, 

There's naught so much disturbs one's patience 

As little minds in lofty stations. 

'Tis like that sort of painful wonder, 

Which slender columns, laboring under 

Enormous arches, give beholders ; 
Or those poor Caryatides, 
Condemned to smile and stand at ease, 

With a whole house upon their shoulders. 

If, as in some few royal cases, 

Some minds are born into such places — 

If they are there, by Right Divine, 

Or any such sufficient reason, 
Why — Heav'n forbid we should repine ! — 

To wish it otherwise were treason ; 
Nay, ev'n to see it in a vision, 
Would be what lawyers call misprision. 

Sir Robert Filmer saith — and he, 

Of course, knew all about the matter — 
" Both men and beasts love Monarchy ;" 

Which proves how rational — the latter. 
Sidney, we know, or wrong or right, 
Entirely differ'd from the Knight! 
Nay, hints a King may lose his head, 

By slipping awkwardly his bridle : — 
But this is treasonous, ill-bred, 
And (now-a-days, when Kings are led 

In patent snaffles) downright idle. 



No, no — it isn't right-line Kings, 
(Those sovereign lords in leading-strings 
Who, from their birth, are Faith-Defenders.) 
That move my wrath — 'tis your pretenders, 
Your mushroom rulers, sons of earth, 
Who — not, like t'others, bores by birth, 
Establish'd gratia Dei blockheads, 
Born with three kingdoms in their pockets — 
Yet, with a brass that nothing stops, 

Push up into the loftiest stations, 
And, though too dull to manage shops, 

Presume, the dolts, to manage nations ! 

This class it is, that moves my gall, 
And slirs up bile, and spleen, and all. 
While oilier senseless things appear 
To know the limits of their sphere — 
While not a cow on earth romances 
So much as to conceit she dances — 
While the most jumping frog we know of, 
Would scarce at Astley's hope to show off— 
Your * * *s, your * * *s dare, 

Untrain'd as are their minds, to set them 
To any business, any where, 

At any time that fools will let them. 

But leave we here these upstart things — 
My business is, just now, with Kings ; 
To whom, and to their right-line glory, 
I dedicate the following story. 



FABLE. 

The wise men of Egypt were secret as dummies ; 

And, ev'n when they most condescended to teach, 
They pack'd up their meaning, as they did their 
mummies, 

In so many wrappers, 'twas out of one's reach. 

They were also, good people, much given to Kings — 
Fond of craft and of crocodiles, monkeys and 
mystery ; 

But blue-bottle flies were their best beloved things — 
As will partly appear in this very short history. 

A Scythian philosopher (nephew, they say, 

To that other great traveller, young Anach arsis) 

Stepp'd into a temple at Memphis one day, 
To have a short peep at their mystical farces. 

He saw 1 a brisk blue-bottle Fly on an altar, 

Made much of, and worshipp'd, as something 
divine ; 

1 According to ^Elian, it was in the island of Leucadia 
they practised this ceremony — Svciv @ovv rats [xviais. — De 
Animal, lib. ii. cap. 8. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



489 



While a large, handsome Bullock, led there in a 
halter, 
Before it lay stabb'd at the foot of the shrine. 

Surprised at such doings, he whisper'd his teacher — 
" If 'tisn't impertinent, may I ask why 

" Should a Bullock, that useful and powerful 
creature, 
" Be thus offer'd up to a blue-bottle Fly ?" 

" No wonder" — said t'other — " you stare at the 
sight, 
" But we as a Symbol of Monarchy view it — 
" That Fly on the shrine is Legitimate Right, 
" And that Bullock, the People, that's sacrificed 
to it." 



FABLE V. 



CHURCH AND STATE. 

PROEM. 

" The moment any religion becomes national, or establish- 
ed, its purity must certainly be lost, because it is then impos- 
sible to keep it unconnected with men's interests ; and, if 
connected, it must inevitably be perverted by them."— Soame 
Jenyns. 

Thus did Soame Jenyns — though a Tory, 
A Lord of Trade and the Plantations, 

Feel how Religion's simple glory 
Is stain'd by State associations. 

When Catherine, ere she crush'd the Poles, 

Appeal'd to the benign Divinity ; 
Then cut them up in protocols, 
Made fractions of their very souls 1 — 

All in the name of the bless'd Trinity ; 
Or when her grandson, Alexander, 
That mighty Northern salamander, 2 
Whose icy touch, felt all about, 
Puts every fire of Freedom out — 
When he, too, winds up his Ukases 
With God and the Panagia's praises — 
When he, of royal Saints the type, 

In holy water dips the sponge, 
With which, at one imperial wipe, 

lie would all human rights expunge ; 
When Louis (whom as King, and eater, 
Some name Dix-huit and some Des^-huitres) 

1 Ames, demi-dmes, &c. 

2 The salamander is supposed to have the power of extin- 
guishing fire by its natural coldness and moisture. 



Calls down " St. Louis' God" to witness 
The right, humanity, and fitness 
Of sending eighty thousand Solons, 

Sages, with muskets and laced coats, 
To cram instruction, nolens volens, 

Down the poor struggling Spaniards' throats — 
I can't help thinking, (though to Kings 

I must, of course, like other men, bow,) 
That when a Christian monarch brings 
Religion's name to gloss these things — 

Such blasphemy out-Benbows Benbow ! 3 



Or — not so far for facts to roam, 
Having a few much nearer home — 
When we see Churchmen, who, if ask'd, 
" Must Ireland's slaves be tithed, and task'd, 
" And driv'n like Negroes or Croats, 

" That yo a may roll in wealth and t iss?" 
Look from beneath their shovel hats 

With all due pomp, and answer " Yes J" 
But then, if question'd, " Shall the brand 
" Intolerance flings throughout that land, — 

" Shall the fierce strife now taught to grow 
" Betwixt her palaces and hovels, 
" Be ever quench'd ?" — from the same shovels 

Look grandly forth, and answer " No." — 
Alas, alas ! have these a claim 
To merciful Religion's name ? 
If more you seek, go see a bevy 
Of bowing parsons at a levee — 
'(Choosing your time, when straw's before 
Some apoplectic bishop's door,) 
Then, if thou canst, with life, escape 
That rush of lawn, that press of crape, 
Just watch their rev'rences and graces, 

As on each smirking suitor frisks, 
And say, if those round shining faces 

To heav'n or earth most turn their disks ? 

This, this it is — Religion, made, 

'Twixt Church and State, a truck, a trade — 

This most ill-match'd, unholy Co., 

From whence the ills we witness flow ; 

The war of many creeds with one — 

Th' extremes of too much faith, and none — 

Till, betwixt ancient trash and new, 

'Twixt Cant and Blasphemy — the two 

Rank ills with which this age is cursed — 

We can no more tell which is worst, 

Than erst could Egypt, when so rich 

In various plagues, determine which 

She thought most pestilent and vile, 

Her frogs, like Benbow arid Carlisle, 

s A well-known publisher of irreligious books. 



490 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Croaking their native mud-notes loud, 

Or her fat locusts, like a cloud 

Of pluralists, obesely Wring, 

At once benighting and devouring ! 

This — this it is — and here I pray 

Those sapient wits of the Reviews, 
Who make us poor, dull authors say, 

Not what we mean, but what they choose ; 
Who to our most abundant shares 
Of nonsense add still more of theirs, 
And are to poets just such evils 

As caterpillars find those flies, 1 
Which, not content to sting like devils, 

Lay eggs upon their backs likewise — 
To guard against such foul deposites 

Of others' meaning in my rhymes, 
(A thing more needful here, because it's 

A subject, ticklish in these times) — 
I, here, to all such wits make known, 

Monthly and Weekly, Whig and Tory, 
'Tis this Religion — this alone 

I aim at in the following story : — 



FABLE. 

When Royalty was young and bold, 

Ere, touch'd by Time, he had become, 
If 'tisn't civil to say old, 

At least, a ci-devant jeune homme; 
| 
One evening, on some wild pursuit 

Driving along, he chanced to see 
Religion, passing by on foot, 

And took him in his vis-a-vis. 

This said Religion was a Friar, 
The humblest and the best of men, 

Who ne'er had notion or desire 
Of riding in a coach till then. 

" I say," — quoth Royalty, who rather 

Enjoy'd a masquerading joke — 
" I say, suppose, my good old father, 

" You lend me, for a while, your cloak." 

The Friar consented — little knew 

What tricks the youth had in his head ; 

Besides, was rather tempted too 
By a laced coat he got in stead. 

Away ran Royalty, slap-dash, 

Scamp'ring like mad about the town ; 

i •' The greatest number of the ichneumon tribe are seen 
settling upon the back of the caterpillar, and darting at 



Broke windows, shiver'd lamps to smash, 

And knock'd whole scores of watchmen down. 

While naught could they, whose heads were broke, 
Learn of the " why" or the " wherefore," 

Except that 'twas Religion's cloak, 

The gentleman, who crack'd them, wore. 

Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was turn'd 

By the laced coat, grew frisky too ; 
Look'd big — his former habits spurn' d — 

And storm'd about, as great men do : 

Dealt much in pompous Laths and curses — 
Said " d — mn you" often, or as bad — 

Laid claim to other people's pn ms — 
In short, grew either knave, or mad. 

As work like this was unbefitting, 
And flesh and blood na longer bore it, 

The Court of Common Sense, then sitting, 
Summon'd the culprits both before it. 

Where, after hours in wrangling spent, 
(As Courts must wrangle to decide well,) 

Religion to St. Luke's was sent, 

And Royalty pack'd off to Bridewell. 

With this proviso — should they be 
Restored, in due time, to their senses, 

They both must give security, 
In future, against such ciFences — 

Religion ne'er to lend his cloak, 

Seeing what dreadful work it leads to ; 

And Royalty to crack his joke, — 

But not to crack poor people's heads too. 



FABLE VI. 

THE LITTLE GRAND LAMA. 
PROEM. 

Novella, a young Bolognese, 

The daughter of a learn'd Law Doctor, 3 

Who had with all the subtleties 

Of old and modern jurists stock'd her, 

Was so exceeding fair, 'tis said, 

And over hearts held such dominion, 

different intervals their stings into its body— at every dart they 
depose an egg." — Goldsmith. 2 Andreas. 



p 

FABLES FOR THE 


HOLY ALLIANCE. 491 


That when her father, sick in bed, 


But short this calm ; — for, just when he 


Or busy, sent her, in his stead, 


Had reach'd th' alarming age of three, 


To lecture on the Code Justinian, 


When Royal natures, and, no doubt, 


She had a curtain drawn before her, 


Those of all noble beasts break out — 


Lest, if her charms were seen, the students 


The Lama, who till then was quiet, 


Should let their young eyes wander o'er her, 


Show'd symptoms of a taste for riot ; 


And quite forget their jurisprudence. 1 


And, ripe for mischief, early, late, 


Just so it is with truth, when seen, 


Without regard for Church or State, 


Too dazzling far, — 'tis from behind 


Made free with whosoe'er came nigh ; 


A light, thin allegoric screen, 


Tweak'd the Lord Chancellor by the nose, 


She thus can safest teach mankind. 


Turn'd all the Judges' wigs awry, 




And trod on the old Generals' toes : 




Pelted the Bishops with hot buns, 


FABLE. 


Rode cockhorse on the City maces, 




And shot from little devilish guns, 


In Thibet once there reign'd, we're told, 


Hard peas into his subjects' faces. 


A little Lama, one year old — ■ 


In short, such wicked pranks he play'd, 


Raised to the throne, that realm to bless, 


And grew so mischievous, God bless him ! 


Just when his little Holiness 


That his Chief Nurse — with ev'n the aid 


Had cut — as near as can be reckon'd — 


Of an Archbishop — was afraid, 


Some say his first tooth, some his second. 


When in these moods, to comb or dress him. 


Chronologers and Nurses vary, 


Nay, ev'n the persons most inclined 


Which proves historians should be wary. 


Through thick and thin, for Kings to stickle, 


We only know th' important truth, 


Thought him (if they'd but speak their mind, 


His Majesty had cut a tooth. 2 


Which they did not) an odious pickle. 


And much his subjects were enchanted, — 




As well all Lamas' subjects may be, 


At length some patriot lords — a breed 


And would have giv'n their heads, if wanted, 


Of animals they've got in Thibet, 


To make tee-totums for the baby. 


Extremely rare, and fit, indeed, 


Throned as he was by Right Divine — 


For folks like Pidcock, to exhibit — 


(What Lawyers call Jure Divino, 


Some patriot lords, who saw the length 


Meaning a right to yours, and mine, 


To which things went, combined their strength, 


And everybody's goods and rhino,) 


And penn'd a manly, plain, and free 


Of course, his faithful subjects' purses 


Remonstrance to the Nursery; 


Were ready with their aids and succors ; 


Protesting warmly that they yielded 


Nothing was seen but pension'd Nurses, 


To none, that ever went before 'em, 


And the land groan'd with bibs and tuckers. 


In loyalty to him who wielded 




Th' hereditary pap-spoon o'er 'em ; 


Oh ! had there been a Hume or Bennet, 


That, as for treason, 'twas a thing 


Then sitting in the Thibet Senate, 


That made them almost sick to think of— 


Ye Gods, what room for long debates 


That they and theirs stood by the King, 


Upon tho Nursery Estimates ! 


Throughout his measles and his chin-cough, 


What cutting down of swaddling-clothes 


When others, thinking him consumptive, 


And pin-a-fores, in nightly battles ! 


Had ratted to the Heir Presumptive ! — 


What calls for papers to expose 


But, still — though much admiring Kings, 


The waste of sugar-plums and rattles ! 


(And chiefly those in leading-strings,) 


But no— if Thibet had M. P.'s, 


They saw, with shame and grief of soul, 


They were far better bred than these ; 


There w.as no longer now the wise 


Nor gave tho slightest opposition, 


And constitutional control 


During the Monarch's whole dentition. 


Of birch before their rulers eyes ; 


* Quand il etoit occupg d'aucune essoine, il envoyoit No- 


2 See Turner's Embassy to Thibet for an account of his 


velle, sa fille, en son lieu lire aux escholes en charge, et, 


interview with the Lama.— " Teshoo Lama (he says) was 


afin que la biaiite d'elle n'empechat la pensce des oyants, 


at this time eighteen months old. Though he was unable 


elle avoit une petite courtine devant elle. — Christ, de Pise, 


to speak a word, he made the most expressive signs, and 


Cite des Dames, p. 11, cap. 36. 


conducted himself with astonishing dignity and decorum." 



492 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


But that, of late, such pranks, and tricks, 




And freaks occurr'd the whole day long, 


FABLE VII. 


As all, but men with bishopricks, 




Allow'd, in ev'n a King, were wrong. 


THE EXTINGUISHERS. 


Wherefore it was they humbly pray'd 


TROEM. 


That Honorable Nursery, 


That such reforms be henceforth made, 


Though soldiers are the true supports, 


As all good men desired to see ; — 


The natural allies of Courts, 


In other words, (lest they might seem 


Wo to the Monarch, who depends 


Too tedious,) as the gentlest scheme 


Too much on his red-coated friends ; 


For putting all such pranks to rest, 


For even soldiers sometimes think — 


And in its bud the mischief nipping — 


Nay, Colonels have been known to reason, — 


They ventured humbly to suggest 


And reasoners, whether clad in pink, 


His Majesty should have a whipping ! 


Or red, or blue, are on the brink 




(Nine cases out of ten) of treason. 


When this was read, no Congreve rocket, 




Discharged into the Gallic trenches, 


Not many soldiers, I believe, are 


E'er equall'd the tremendous shock it 


As fond of liberty as Mina ; 


Produced upon the Nursery benches. 


Else — wo to kings, when Freedom's fever 


The Bishops, who of course had votes, 


Once turns into a Scarlctina ! 


By right of age and petticoats, 


For then — but hold, 'tis best to veil 


Were first and foremost in the fuss — 


My meaning in the following tale : — 


" What, whip a Lama ! suffer birch 




" To touch his sacred infamous ! 




" Deistical ! — assailing thus 


FABLE. 


" The fundamentals of the Church ! — 


A Lord of Persia, rich and great, 


" No — no — such patriot plans as these, 


Just come into a large estate, 


" (So help them Heaven — and their Sees !) 


Was shock'd to find he had, for neighbors, 


" They held to be rank blasphemies." 


Close to his gate, some rascal Ghebers, 


i 


Whose fires, beneath his very nose, 


Th' alarm thus given, by these and other 


In heretic combustion rose. 


Grave ladies of the Nursery side, 


But Lords of Persia can, no doubt, 


Spread through the land, till, such a pother, 


Do what they will — so, one fine morning, 


Such party squabbles, far and wide, 


He turn'd the rascal Ghebers out, 


Never in history's page had been 


First giving a few kicks for warning. 


Recorded, as were then between 


Then, thanking Heaven most piously, 


The Whippers and Non-whippers seen. 


He knock'd their Temple to the ground, 


Till, things arriving at a state, 


Blessing himself for joy to see 


Which gave some fears of revolution, 


Such Pagan ruins strew'd around. 


The patriot lords' advice, though late, 


But much it vex'd my Lord to find, 


Was put at last in execution. 


That, while all else obey'd his will, 


The Parliament of Thibet met— 


The Fire these Ghebers left behind, 


The little Lama, call'd before it, 


Do what he would, kept burning still 


Did, then and there, his whipping get, 


Fiercely he storm'd, as if his frown 


And (as the Nursery Gazette 


Could scare the bright insurgent down ; 


Assures us) like a hero bore it. 


But, no— such fires are headstrong things, 




And care not much for Lords or Kings. 


And though, 'mong Thibet Tories some 


Scarce could his Lordship well contrive 


Lament that Royal Martyrdom, 


The flashes in one place to smother, 


(Please to observe, the letter D 


Before — hey presto I — all alive, 


In this last word's pronounced like B,) 


They sprung up freshly in another. 


Yet to th' example of that Prince 




So much is Thibet's land a debtor, 


At length, when, spite of prayers and damns, 


That her long line of Lamas, since, 

Have all behaved themselves much better 


'Twas found the sturdy flame defied him, 
His stewards came, with low salams, 




OfF'ring, by contract, to provide him 



FABLES FOR THE 


I 

HOLY ALLIANCE. 493 


Somo large Extinguishers, (a plan, 


And, though their Fire had broke its bounds, 


Much used, they said, at Ispahan, 


And all abroad now wildly burn'd, 


Vienna, Petersburgh — in short, 


Yet well could they, who loved the flame, 


Wherever Light's forbid at court,) 


Its wand'ring, its excess reclaim ; 


Machines no Lord should be without, 


And soon another, fairer Dome 


Which would, at once, put promptly out 


Arose to be its sacred home, 


All kinds' of fires, — from staring, stark 


Where, cherish'd, guarded, not confined 


Volcanoes to the tiniest spark ; 


The living glory dwelt inshrined, 


Till all things slept as dull and dark, 


And, shedding lustre strong, but even, 


As, in a great Lord's neighborhood, 


Though born of earth, grew worthy heav'n. 


'Twas right and fitting all things should. 






MORAL. 


Accordingly, some large supplies 


The moral hence my Muse infers 


Of these Extinguishers were furnish'd, 


Is, that such Lords are simple elves. 


(All of the true Imperial size,) 


In trust'ttg to Extinguishers, 


And there, in rows, stood black and burnish'd, 


That are combustible themselves. 


Ready, where'er a gleam but shone 




Of light or fire, to be clapp'd on. 
But, ah, how lordly wisdom errs, 






In trusting to extinguishers ! 




^H.e day, when he had left all sure, 


FABLE VIII. 


(At least, so thought he,) dark, secure — 




The flame, at all its exits, entries, 


louis fourteenth's wigs 


Obstructed to his heart's content, 




And black extinguishers, like sentries, 


The money raised — the army ready — 


Placed over every dangerous vent — 


Drums beating, and the Royal Neddy 


Ye Gods, imagine his amaze, 


Valiantly braying in the van. 


His wrath, his rage, when, on returning. 


To the old tune, « Eh, eh, Sire Ane > m — 


" He found not only the old blaze, 


Naught wanting, but some coup dramatic 


Brisk as before, crackling and burning, 


To make French sentiment explode, 


Not only new, young conflagrations, 


Bring in, at once, the gout fanatic, 


Popping up round in various stations — 


And make the war " la derniere 7node"— 


But, still more awful, strange, and dire, 


Instantly, at the Pav'llon Marsan, 


Th' Extinguishers themselves on fire ! I 1 


Is held an Ultra consultation — 


They, they — those trusty, blind machines 


What's to be done, to help the farce on ? 


His Lordship had so long been praising, 


What stage-effect, what decoration, 


As, under Providence, the means 


To make this beauteous France forget, 


Of keeping down all lawless blazing, 


In one grand, glorious pirouette, 


Were now, themselves — alas, too true 


All she had sworn to but last week, 


The shameful fact — turn'd blazers too, 


And, with a cry of " Magnifique .'" 


And, by a change as odd as cruel, 


Rush forth to this, or any war, 


Instead of dampers, served for fuel ! 


Without inquiring once — " What for ?" 


Thus, of his only hope bereft, 


After some plans proposed by each, 


" What," said the great man, " must be done ?" 


Lord Chateaubriand made a speech, 


All that, in scrapes like this, is left 


(Quoting, to show what men's rights are, 


To great men is — to cut and run. 


Or rather what men's rights should be, 


So run he did ; while to their grounds, 


From Hobbes, Lord Castlereagh, the Czar, 


The banish'd Ghebers bless'd return'd ; 


And other friends to Liberty,) 


1 The idea of this Fable was caught from one of those 


2 They celebrated in the dark ages, at many churches, par- 


brilliant mots which abound in the conversation of my friend, 


ticularly at Rouen, what was called the Feast of the Ass. On 


the author of the "Letters to Julia," — a production which 


this occasion the ass, finely dressed, was brought, before the 


aontains some of the happiest specimens of playful poetry 


altar, and they sung before him this elegant anthem, " Eh, 


that have appeared in this or any age. 


eh, eh, Sire Ane, eh, eh, elo, Sire Ane."— Warton's Essay 




on Pope. 



494 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Wherein he — having first protested 

'Gainst humoring the mob — suggested 

(As the most high-bred plan he saw 

For giving the new War eclat) 

A grand, Baptismal Melo-drame, 

To bo got up at Notre-Dame, 

In which the Duke (who, bless his Highness ! 

Had by his hilt acquired such fame, 
'Twas hoped that he as little shyness 

Would show, when to the point he came) 
Should, for his deeds so lion-hearted, 
Be christen'd Hero, ere he started ; 
With power, by Royal Ordonnance, 
To bear that name — at least in France. 
Himself — the Viscount Chateaubriand — 
(To help th' affair with more esprit on) 
Off 'ring, for this baptismal rite, 

Some of his own famed Jordan water 1 .— 
(Marie Louise not having quite 

Used all that, for young Nap, he brought her,) 
^he baptism, in this case, to bo 
Applied to that extremity, 
Which Bourbon heroes most expose ; 
And which (as well all Europe knows) 
Happens to be, in this Defender 
Of the true Faith, extremely tender. 2 

Or if (the Viscount said) this scheme 
Too rash and premature should seem— 
If thus discounting heroes, on tick — 

This glory, by anticipation, 
Was too much in the genre romantique 

For such a highly classic nation, 
He begg'd to say, the Abyssinians 
A practice had in their dominions, 
Which, if at Paris got up well, 
In full costume, was sure to tell. 
At all great epochs, good or ill, 
They have, says Bruce, (and Bruce ne'er budges 
From the strict truth,) a grand Quadrille 
In public danced by the Twelve Judges 3 — 
And, he assures us, the grimaces, 
The entre-chats, the airs and graces 
Of dancers, so profound and stately, 
Divert the Abyssinians greatly. 



i Brought from the river Jordan by M. Chateaubriand, and 
presented to the French Empress for the christening of young 
Napoleon. 

2 See the Duke's celebrated letter to madame, written 
during his campaign in 1815, in which he says, " J'ai le pos- 
terieur Iegerement endommage." 

3 " On certain great occasions, the twelve Judges (who are 
generally between sixty and seventy years of age) sing the 
song and dance the figure-dance," &c— Book v. 

4 "Louis XIV. fit present a la Vierge de son cordon bleu, 
que Ton conserve soicneusement, et lui envoya ensuite, son 



" Now, (said the Viscount,) there's but few 
" Great Empires, where this plan would do : 
" For instance, England ; — let them take 

" What pains they would — 'twere vain to strive — 
" The twelve stiff Judges there would make 

" The worst Quadrille-set now alive. 
" One must have seen them, ere one could 
" Imagine properly Judge Wood, 
" Performing, in his wig, so gayly, 
" A queue-de-chat with Justice Bailey ! 
" French Judges, though, are, by no means, 
" This sort of stiff, be-wigg'd machines ! 
" And we, who've seen them at Saumur, 
" And Poitiers lately, may be sure 
" They'd dance quadrilles, or any thing, 
" That would be pleasing to the King — 
" Nay, stand upon their heads, and more do, 
" To please the little Duke de Bordeaux :" 

After these several schemes there came 
Some others — needless now to name, 
Since that, which Monsieur plann'd himself, 
Soon doom'd all others to the shelf, 
And was received par acclamation, 
As truly worthy the Grande Nation. 

It seems (as Monsieur told the story) 
That Louis the Fourteenth, — that glory, 
That Coryphee of all crown'd pates, — 
That pink of the Legitimates — 
Had, when, with many a pious pray'r, he 
Bequeath'd unto the Virgin Mary 
His marriage deeds, and cordon bleu, 4 
Bequeath'd to her his State Wig too — 
(An ofFring which, at Court, 'tis thought, 
The Virgin values as she ought) — 
That Wig, the wonder of all eyes, 
The Cynosure of Gallia's skies, 
To watch and tend whose curls adored, 

Rebuild its tow'ring roof, when flat, 
And round its rumpled base, a Board 

Of sixty Barbers daily sat, 5 
With Subs, on State-Days, to assist, 
Well pension'd from the Civil List : — 



Contratde Manage etle Traite des Pyrenees, magnifiquement 
relie."— Memoircs, Jlnccdotes pour servir, &c. 

5 The learned author of Recherches Historiques snr le$ 
Perruques says that the Board consisted but of Forty — the 
same number as the Academy. " Le plus beait terns des 
perruques fut celui ou Louis XIV. commenca a porter, lui- 

meme, perruque ; On ignore 1'epoque ou se fit 

cette revolution; mais on sait qu'elle engagea Louis le 
Grand a y donner ses soins paternels, en creant, en 1653, 
quarante charges de perruquiers, suivant la cour ; et en 1673, 
il forma un corps de deux cents perruquiers pour la Ville de j 
Paris."— P. 111. 

. I 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



495 



That wondrous Wig, array'd in which, 
And form'd alike to awe or witch, 
He beat all other heirs of crowns, 
In taking mistresses and towns, 
Requiring but a shot at one, 
A smile at t'other, and 'twas done ! — 

" That Wig" (said Monsieur, while his brow 
Rose proudly) " is existing now ; — 
" That Grand Perruque, amid the fall 

" Of ev'ry other Royal glory, 
" With curls erect survives them all, 

" And tells in ev'ry hair their story. 
" Think, think, how welcome at this time 
" A relic, so beloved, sublime ! 
" What worthier standard of the Cause 

" Of Kingly Right can France demand ? 
" Or who among our ranks can pause 

" To guard it, while a curl shall stand ? 
" Behold, my friends" — (while thus he cried, 
A curtain, which conceal'd this pride 
Of Princely Wigs was drawn aside) 
" Behold that grand Perruque — how big 

" With recollections for the world — 
" For France — for us — Great Louis' Wig, 

" By Hippolyte 1 new frizz'd and curl'd — 
" New frizz'd ! alas, 'tis but too true, 



" Well may you start at that word new — 

" But such the sacrifice, my friends, 

" Th' Imperial Cossack recommends ; 

" Thinking such small concessions sage, 

" To meet the spirit of the age, 

" And do what best that spirit flatters, 

" In Wigs — if not in weightier matters. 

" Wherefore, to please the Czar, and show 

" That we too, much-wrong'd Bourbons, know 

" What liberalism in Monarchs is, 

" We have conceded the New Friz ! 

" Thus arm'd, ye gallant Ultras, say, 

" Can men, can Frenchmen, fear the fray 

" With this proud relic in our van, 

" And D'Angouleme our worthy leader, 
" Let rebel Spain do all she can, 

" Let recreant England arm and feed her,— 
" Urged by that pupil of Hunt's school, 
" That Radical Lord Liverpool — 
" France can have naught to fear — far from it- 

" When once astounded Europe sees 
u The wig of Louis, like a Comet, 

" Streaming above the Pyrenees, 
" All's o'er with Spain — then on, my sons, 

" On, my incomparable Duke, 
" And. shouting for the Holy Ones, 

" Cry Vive la Guerre — et la Perruque /" 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD 



EXTRACTED FROM THE JOURNAL OF A TRAVELLING MEMBER OF 

THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY, 1819. 



The greater part of the following Rhymes were 
written or composed in an old caliche, for the pur- 
pose of beguiling the ennui of solitary travelling ; 
and as verses, made by a gentleman in his sleep, 
have been lately called " a psychological curiosity," 
it is to be hoped that verses, composed by a gentle- 
man to keep himself awake, may be honored with 
some appellation equally Greek. 



A celebrated Coiffeur of the present day. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



INTRODUCTORY RHYMES. 

Different Attitudes in which Authors compose. — Bayes, Henry 
Stephens, Herodotus, Src. — Writing in Bed — in the Fields 
— Plato and Sir Richard Black-more. — Fiddling- with Gloves 
and Twigs- — Madame de Stall. — Rhyming on the Road, in 
an old Caliche. 

What various attitudes, and ways, 

And tricks, we authors have in writing ! 

While some write sitting, some, like Bayes, 
Usually stand, while they're inditing. 



496 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 




Poets there are, who wear the floor out, 


'Twas in his carriage the sublime 




Measuring a line at every stride ; 


Sir Richard Blackmore used to rhyme ; 




While some, like Henry Stephens, pour out 


And (if the wits don't do him wrong) 




Rhymes by the dozen, while they ride. 1 


'Twixt death 4 and epics pass'd his time, 




Herodotus wrote most in bed ; 


Scribbling and killing all day long — 




And Richerand, a French physician, 


Like Phoebus in his car, at ease, 




Declares the clock-work of the head 


Now warbling forth a lofty song, 




Goes best in that reclined position. 


Now murd'ring the young Niobes. 




If you consult Montaigne 2 and Pliny on 






The subject, 'tis their joint opinion 


There was a hero 'mong the Danes, 




That Thought its richest harvest yields 


Who wrote, we're told, 'mid all the pains 




Abroad, among the woods and fields ; 


And horrors of exenteration, 




That bards, who deal in small retail, 


Nine charming odes, which, if you'll look, 




At home may, at their counters, stop ; 


You'll find preserved, with a translation, 




But that the grove, the hill, the vale, 


By Bartholinus in his book. 5 




Are Poesy's true wholesale shop. 


In short, 'twere endless to recite 




And, verily, I think they're right — 


The various modes in which men write. 




For, many a time, on summer eves, 


Some wits are only in the mind, 




Just at that closing horn of light, 


When beaus and belles are round them prating; 


When, like. an Eastern Prince, who leaves 


Some, when they dress for dinner, find 




For distant war his Haram bow'rs, 


Their muse and valet both in waiting ; 




The Sun bids farewell to the flow'rs, 


And manage, at the self-same time, 




Whose heads are sunk, whose tears are flowing 


T' adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme. 




Mid all the glory of his going ! — 






Even / have felt, beneath those beams, 


Some bards there are who cannot scribble 




When wand'ring through the fields alone, 


Without a glove, to tear or nibble ; 




Thoughts, fancies, intellectual gleams, 


Or a small twig to whisk about — 




Which, far too bright to be my own, 


As if the hidden founts of Fancy, 




• Seem'd lent me by the Sunny Power, 


Like wells of old, were thus found out 




That was abroad at that still hour. 


By mystic tricks of rhabdomancy. 
Such was the little feathery wand, 6 




If thus I've felt, how must they feel, 


That, held forever in the hand 




The few, whom genuine Genius warms ; 


Of her, 7 who won and wore the crown 




Upon whose souls he stamps his seal, 


Of female genius in this age, 




Graven with Beauty's countless forms ; — 


Seem'd the conductor, that drew down 




The few upon this earth, who seem 


Those words of lightning to her page. 




Born to give truth to Plato's dream, 


As for myself — to come, at last, 




Since in their thoughts, as in a glass, 


To the odd way in which / write — 




Shadows of heavenly things appear, 


Having employ'd these few months past 




Reflections of bright shapes that pass 


Chiefly in travelling, day and night, 




Through other worlds, above our sphere ! 


I've got into the easy mode, 

Of rhyming thus along the road — 




But this reminds me I digress ; — 


Making a way-bill of my pages, 




For Plato, too, produced, 'tis said, 


Counting my stanzas by my stages — 




(As one, indeed, might almost guess,) 


'Twixt lays and re-lays no time lost — 




His glorious visions all in bed. 3 


In short, in two words, writing post. 




1 Pleraque sua carmina equitans composuit. — Paravicin. 


4 Sir Richard Blackmore was a physician, as well 


as a 


Singular. 


bad poet. 




2 "Mes pensees dorment, si je les assis."— Montaigne. 


5 Eadem curd nee minores inter cruciatus animam i 


nfeli- 


Animus eorum qui in aperto aere ambulant, attollitur.— 


cem agenti fuit Asbiorno Prudse Danico heroi, cum 


Bruso 


Pliny. 


ipsum, intestina extrahens, immaniter torqueret, tunc 


enim 


3 The only authority I know for imputing this practice to 


novem carmina cecinit, &c— Bartholin, de Causis 


Con- 


Plato and Herodotus, is a Latin Poem by M. de Valois on 


tempt. Mort. 




his Bed, in which he says :— 


6 Made of paper, twisted up like a fan or feather. 




Lucifer Herodotum vidit Vesperque cubantem, 


7 Madame de Stael. 




Desedit totos heic Plato scepe dies. 







RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 497 




Can I the deep-felt awe forget, 


EXTRACT I. 


The dream, the trance that rapt me then ! 


Geneva. 




View of the Lake of Geneva from the JuraA — Anxious to 


'Twas all that consciousness of pow'r 


reach it before the Sun went down. — Obliged to proceed on 


And life, beyond this mortal hour ; — 


Foot — Alps. — Mont Blanc. — Effect of the Scene. 


Those mountings of the soul within 




At thoughts of Heav'n — as birds begin 


'Twas late — the sun had almost shone 


By instinct in the cage to rise, 


His last and best, when I ran on, 


When near their time for change of skies ; — 


Anxious to reach that splendid view, 


That proud assurance of our claim 


Before the day -beams quite withdrew ; 


To rank among the Sons of Light, 


And feeling as all feel, on first 


Mingled with shame— oh bitter shame ! — 


Approaching scenes, where, they are told, 


At having risk'd that splendid right, 


Such glories on their eyes will burst, 


For aught that earth through all its range 


As youthful bards in dreams behold. 


Of glories, offers in exchange ! 




'Twas all this, at that instant brought, 


'Twas distant yet, and, as I ran, 


Like breaking sunshine, o'er my thought — 


Full often was my wistful gaze 


'Twas all this, kindled to a glow 


Turn'd to the sun, who now began 


Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine 


To call in all his outpost rays, 


Thus purely ever, man might grow, 


And form a denser march of light, 


Ev'n upon earth a thing divine, 


Such as beseems a hero's flight. 


And be, once more, the creature made 


Oh, how I wish'd for Joshua's pow'r, 


To walk unstain'd th' Elysian shade ! 


To stay the brightness of that hour ! 




But no — the sun still less became, 


No, never shall I lose the trace 


Diminish'd to a speck, as splendid 


Of what I've felt in this bright place. 


And small as were those tongues of flame, 


And, should my spirit's hope grow weak, 


That on th' Apostles' heads descended ! 


Should I, oh God, e'er doubt thy pow'r, 




This mighty scene again I'll seek, 


'Twas at this instant — while there glow'd 


At the same calm and glowing hour, 


This last, intensest gleam of light — 


And here, at the sublimest shrine 


Suddenly, through the opening road, 


That Nature ever rear'd to Thee, 


The valley burst upon my sight ! 


Rekindle all that hope divine, 


That glorious valley, with its Lake, 


And feel my immortality ! 


And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, 




Mighty, and pure, and fit to make 




The ramparts of a Godhead's dwelling. 
I stood entranced — as Rabbins say 






This whole assembled, gazing world 


EXTRACT II. 


Will stand, upon that awful day, 




When the Ark's Light, aloft unfurl'd, 


Geneva. 


Among the opening clouds shall shine, 


FATE OF GENEVA IN THE YEAR 1782. 


Divinity's own radiant sign ! 


A FRAGMENT. 


Mighty Mont Blanc, thou wert to me, 


Yes — if there yet live some of those, 


That minute, with thy brow in heaven, 


Who, when this small Republic rose, 


As sure a sign of Deity 


Quick as a startled hive of bees, 


aj e'er to mortal gaze was given. 


Against her leaguering enemies — 2 


Nor ever, were I destined yet 


When, as the Royal Satrap shook 


To live my life twice o'er again, 


His well-known fetters at her gates, 


i Between Vattay and Gex. 


vans, either panic-struck or betrayed, to the surprise of 


a In the year 1782, when the forces of Berne, Sardinia, and 


all Europe, opened their gates to the besiegers, and sub- 


France laid siege to Geneva, and when, after a demonstra 


mitted without a struggle to the extinction of their liber- 


tion of heroism and self-devotion, which promised to rival 


ties.— See an account of this Revolution in Coxe's Switzer 


the feats of their ancestors in 1602, against Savoy, the Gene- 


land. 



32 



498 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Ev'n wives and mothers arm'd, and took 

Their stations by their sons and mates ; 
And on these walls there stood — yet, no, 

Shame to the traitors — would have stood 
As firm a band as e'er let flow 

At Freedom's base their sacred blood ; 
If those yet live, who, on that night, 
When all were watching, girt for fight, 
Stole, like the creeping of a pest, 
From rank to rank, from breast to breast, 
Filling the weak, the old with fears, 
Turning the heroine's zeal to tears, — 
Betraying Honor to that brink, 
Where, one step more, and he must sink — 
And quenching hopes, which, though the last, 
Like meteors on a drowning mast, 
Would yet have led to death more bright, 
Than life e'er look'd, in all its light ! 
Till soon, too soon, distrust, alarms 

Throughout th' embattled thousands ran, 
And the high spirit, late in arms, 
The zeal, that might have work'd such charms, 

Fell, like a broken talisman — 
Their gates, that they had sworn should be 

The gates of Death, that very dawn, 
Gave passage widely, bloodlessly, 

To the proud foe — nor sword was drawn, 
Nor ev'n one martyr' d body cast 
To stain their footsteps, as they pass'd ; 
But, of the many sworn at night 
To do or die, some fled the sight, 
Some stood to look, with sullen frown, 

While some, in impotent despair, 
Broke their bright armor and lay down, 

Weeping, upon the fragments there ! — 
1/ those, I say, who brought that shame, 
That blast upon Geneva's name, 
Be living still — though crime so dark 

Shall hang up, fix'd and unforgiv'n, 
In History's page, th' eternal mark 

For Scorn to pierce — so help me, Heav'n, 
I wish the traitorous slaves no worse, 

No deeper, deadlier disaster, 
From all earth's ills no fouler curse 

Than to have *********** their master ! 



nitidique cupidine pomi 



Declinat cursus, aurumque volubile tollit. 

Ovid. 
a T is often very difficult to distinguish between clouds 
and Alps ; and on the evening when I first saw this mag- 



EXTRACT III. 

Geneva. 
Fancy and Truth. — Hippomenes and Atalanta. — Mont Blanc. 
— Clouds. 

Even here, m this region of wonders, I find 
That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth far behind ; 
Or, at least, like Hippomenes, turns her astray 
By the golden illusions he flings in her way. 1 

What a glory it seem'd the first ev'ning I gazed 
Mont Blanc, like a vision, then suddenly raised 
On the wreck of the sunset — and all his array 

Of high-towering Alps, touch'd still with a light 
Far holier, purer than that of the Day, 

As if nearness to Heaven had made them so 
bright ! 
Then the dying, at last, of these splendors away 
From peak after peak, till they left but a ray, 
One roseate ray, that, too precious to fly, 

O'er the Mighty of Mountains still glowingly 
hung, 
Like the last sunny step of AstrjEa, when high 

From the summit of earth to Elysium she sprung ! 
And those infinite Alps, stretching out from the 

sight 
Till they mingled with Heaven, now shorn of their 

light, 
Stood lofty, and lifeless, and pale in the sky, 
Like the ghosts of a Giant Creation gone by ! 

That scene — I have view'd it this evening again, 
By the same brilliant light that hung over it then — 
The valley, the lake in their tenderest charms — 
Mont Blanc in his awfullest pomp — and the 
whole 
A bright picture of Beauty, reclined in the arms 

Of Sublimity, bridegroom elect of her soul ! 
But where are the mountains, that round me at 

first, 
One dazzling horizon of miracles, burst? 
Those Alps beyond Alps, without end swelling on 
Like the waves of eternity — where are they gone ? 
Clouds — clouds — they were nothing but clouds, af- 
ter all ! 2 
That chain of Mont Blancs, which my fancy 
flew o'er, 
With a wonder that naught on this earth can recall, 
Were but clouds of the evening, and now are no 
more. 

nificent scene, the clouds were so disposed along the whole 
horizon as to deceive me into an idea of the stupendous 
extent of these mountains, which my subsequent observa- 
tion was very far, of course, from confirming. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



499 



What a picture of Life's young illusions ! Oh, 

Night, 
Drop thy curtain, at once, and hide all from my 

sight 



EXTRACT IV. 



Milan. 



The Picture Gallery.— Mbano's Rape of Proserpine.— Re- 
flections. — Universal Salvation. — Abraham sending away 
Agar, by Guercino. — Genius. 

Went to the Brera— saw a Dance of Loves 
By smooth Albano ;* him, whose pencil teems 

With Cupids, numerous as in summer groves 
The leaflets are, or motes in summer beams. 

'Tis for the theft of Enna's flow'r 2 from earth, 
These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth 
Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath — 

Those, that are nearest, link'd in order bright, 
Cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a wreath ; 
And those, more distant, showing from beneath 

The others' wings their little eyes of light. 
While see, among the clouds, their eldest brother, 

But just flown up, tells with a smile of bliss 
This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother, 

Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss ! 

Well might the Loves rejoice — and well did they, 

Who wove these fables, picture, in their weaving, 
That blessed truth, (which, in a darker day, 

Origen lost his saintship for believing,) 3 — 
That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless ray 

Nor time, nor death, nor sin can overcast 
Ev'n to the depths of hell will find his way, 

And sooth, and heal, and triumph there at last ! 

Guercino's Agar — where the bondmaid hears 

From Abram's lips that he and she must part ; 
And looks at him with eyes all full of tears, 

That seem the very last drops from her heart. 
Exquisite picture ! — let me not be told 
Of minor faults, of coloring tame and cold — 
If thus to conjure up a face so fair, 4 
So full of sorrow ; with the story there 
Of all that woman suffers, when the stay 
Her trusting heart hath lean'd on falls away — 

i This picture, the Agar of Guercino, and the Apostles of 
Guido, (the two latter of which are now the chief ornaments 
of the Brera,) were formerly in the Palazzo Zampieri, at 
Bologna. 

a that fair field 

Of Enna, where Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis was gather'd. 



If thus to touch the bosom's tend'rest spring, 
By calling into life such eyes, as bring 
Back to our sad remembrance some of those 
We've smiled and wept with, in their joys and woes, 
Thus filling them with tears, like tears we've known, 
Till all the pictured grief becomes our own — 
If this be deem'd the victory of Art — 

If thus, by pen or pencil, to lay bare 
The deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart 

Before all eyes, be Genius — it is there ! 



EXTRACT V. 

Padua 

Fancy and Reality. — Rain-drops and Lakes. — "j;r. 0/ a 
Story. — tVliere to place the Scene of it. — In some unknown 
Region. — Psalmanazars Imposture with respect to the 
Island of Formosa. 

The more I've view'd this world, the more I've 
found, 

That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare, 
Fancy commands, within her own bright round, 

A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. 
Nor is it that her power can call up there 

A single charm, that's not from Nature won, 
No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear 

A single hue unborrow'd from the sun — 
But 'tis the mental medium it shines through, 
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue ; 
As the same light, that o'er the level lake 

One dull monotony of lustre flings, 
Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make 

Colors as gay as those on Peris' wings ! 

And such, I deem, the diff'rence between real, 
Existing Beauty and that form ideal, 
Which she assumes, when seen by poets' eyes, 
Like sunshine in the drop — with all those dyes, 
Which Fancy's variegating prism supplies. 

I have a story of two lovers, fill'd 

With all the pure romance, the blissful sadness, 
And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever thrill'd 

Two young and longing hearts in that sweet 
madness. 
But where to choose the region of my vision 

In this wide, vulgar world — what real spet 

8 The extension of the Divine Love ultimately even to the 
regions of the damned. 

4 It is probable that this fine head is a portrait, as we find 
it repeated in a picture by Guercino, which is in the posses- 
sion of Signor Camucciui, the brother of the celebrated 
painter at Rome. 



500 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Can be found out sufficiently Elysian 

For two such perfect lovers, I know not. 
Oh for some fair Formosa, such as he, 
The young Jew fabled of, in th' Indian Sea, 
By nothing, but its name of Beauty, known, 
And which Queen Fancy might make all her own, 
Her fairy kingdom — take its people, lands, 
And tenements into her own bright hands, 
And make, at least, one earthly comer fit 
For Love to live in, pure and exquisite ! 



EXTRACT VI. 

Venice 
The Fall of Venice not to be lamented.— Former Glory— Ex- 
pedition against Constantinople.— Giustinianis.— Republic 
— Characteristics of the old Government. — Golden Book. — 
Brazen Mouths. — Spies. — Dungeons. — Present Desolation. 

Mourn not for Venice — let her rest 
In ruin, 'mong those States unbless'd, 
Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride, 
Where'er they trampled, Freedom died. 
No — let us keep our tears for them, 

Where'er they pine, whose fall hath been 
Not from a blood-stain'd diadem, 

Like that which deck'd this ocean-queen, 
But from high daring in the cause 

Of human Rights — the only good 
And blessed strife, in which man draws 

His mighty sword on land or flood. 

Mourn not for Venice ; though her fall 

Be awful, as if Ocean's wave 
Swept o'er her, she deserves it all, 

And Justice triuJ aphs o'er her grave. 

* Under the Doge Michael i, in 1171. 

2 "La famine entiere des Justiniani, Tune des plus illustres 
de Venise, voulut marcher toute entiere dans cette ex- 
pedition ; elle fournit cent combattans ; e'etait renouveler 
l'exemple d'une illustre famille de Rome ; lememe malheur 
les attendait." — Histoire de Venise, par Daru. 

s The celebrated Fra Paolo. The collection of Maxims 
which this bold monk drew up at the request of th i Venetian 
Government, for the guidance of the Secret Inquisition of 
State, are so atrocious as to seem rather an over-charged 
satire upon despotism, than a system of policy, seriously 
inculcated, and but too readily and constantly pursued. 

The spirit, in which these maxims of Father Paul are con- 
ceived, may be judged from the instructions which he gives 
for the management of the Venetian colonies and provinces. 
Of the former he says :— " II faut les traiter comme des 
animaux feroces, les rogner les dents, et les griffes, les hu- 
milier souvent, surtout leur 6ter les occasions de s'aguerrir. 
Du pain et le baton, voila ce qu'il leur faut ; gardons l'hu- 
manite pour une meilleure occasion." 

For the treatment of the provinces he advises thus: — 
" Ten ire a depouiller les villes de leurs privileges, faire que 



Thus perish ev'iy King and State, 

That run the guilty race she ran, 
Strong but in ill, and only great 

By outrage against God and man ! 

True, her high spirit is at rest, 

And all those days of glory gone, 
When the world's waters, east and west, 

Beneath her white-wing'd commerce shone ; 
When, with her countless barks she went 

To meet the Orient Empire's might, 1 
And her Giustinianis sent 

Their hundred heroes to tha %ht. 2 

Vanish'd are all her pomps, 'tis t.<ue, 
But mourn them not — for vanish'd, too, 
(Thanks to that Pow'r, who, soon or late, 
Hurls to the dust the guilty Great,) 
Are all the outrage, falsehood, fraud, 

The chains, the rapine, and the blood, 
That fill'd each spot, at home, abroad, 

Where the Republic's standard stood. 
Desolate Venice ! when I track 
Thy haughty course through cent'iies back ; 
Thy ruthless pow'r, obey'd but cursed — 

The stern machinery of thy State, 
Which hatred would, like steam, have burst, 

Had stronger fear not chill'd ev'n hate ; — 
Thy perfidy, still worse than aught 
Thy own unblushing Sarpi 3 taught ; — 
Thy friendship, which, o'er all beneath 
Its shadow, rain'd down dews of death ;* — 
Thy Oligarchy's Book of Gold, 

Closed against humble Virtue's name, 5 
But open'd wide for slaves who sold 

Their native land to thee and shame f — 
Thy all-pervading host of spies, 

Watching o'er ev'ry glance and breath, 

les habitans s'appauvrissent, et que leurs biens soient achetes 
par les Venitiens. Ceux qui, dans les conseils municipaux, 
se montreront ou plus audacieux ou plus ctevoues aux 
interets de la population, il faut les perdre ou les gagner a 
quelque prix que ce soit ; enfin, s y il se tnnive dans les pro- 
vinces quelques chefs de parti, il faut les exterminer sous un 
pretexte quelconque, mais en evitant de recourir a la justice 
ordinaire. Que le poison fassc Voffice de bourreau, cela est 
moins odieux et beaucoup plus profitable." 

4 Conduct of Venice towards her allies and dependencies, 
particularly to unfortunate Padua. — Fate of Francesco Car- 
rara, for which see Darn, vol. ii. p. 141. 

6 " A l'exception des trente citadins admis au grand conseil 
pendant la guerre di Chiozzi, il n'est pas arrive une seule 
fois que les talens ou les services aient paru a cette noblesse 
orgueilleuse des titres suffisans pour s'asseoir avec elle." — 
Daru. 

6 Among those admitted to the honor of being inscribed 
in the Libra d'oro were some families of Brescia, Treviso, 
and other places, whose only claim to that distinction was 
the zeal with which they prostrated themselves and their 
country at the feet of the republic 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



501 



Till men look'd in each others' eyes, 

To read their chance of life or death ; — 

Thy laws, that made a mart of blood, 
And legalized th' assassin's knife f — 

Thy sunless cells beneath the flood, 

And racks, and Leads, 2 that burnt out life ; 

When I review all this, and see 

The doom that now hath fall'n on thee : 

Thy nobles, tow'ring once so proud, 

Themselves beneath the yoke now bow'd, — 

A yoke, by no one grace redeem'd, 

Such as, of old, around thee beam'd, 

But mean and base as e'er yet gall'd 

Earth's tyrants, when, themselves, enthrall'd, 

I feel the moral vengeance sweet, 

And, smiling o'er the wreck, repeat, 

•' Thus perish ev'ry King and State, 

" That tread the steps which Venice trod, 
" Strong but in ill, and only great, 

" By outrage against man and God !" 



EXTRACT VII. 

Venice. 
Lord Byron's Jfemoirs, icritten by himself. — Reflections, 
when, about to read them. 

Let me, a moment, — ere with fear and hope 
Of gloomy, glorious things, these leaves I ope — 

1 By the infamous statutes of the State Inquisition,* not 
only was assassination recognised as a regular mode of pun- 
ishment, but this secret power over life tvas delegated to 
their minions at a distance, with nearly as much facility as 
a license is given under the game laws of England. The only 
restriction seems to have been the necessity of applying for a 
new certificate, after every individual exercl ie of the power 

2 "Les prisons des plomts; e'est-a-dire ces fournaises ar- 
dentes qu'on avait disteribuees en petites cellules sous les ter- 
>-asses qui couvrent le palais." 

3 Psaphon, in crder to attract the attention of the world, 
taught multitudes of birds to speak his r arn-i and then let 
them fly away in vaiious directions; wheice the proverb, 
" Psaphonis aves " 

4 Bruce. 



* M. Daru ha-s g'ven an abstract of t'j« sr r,tatutes, from a 
manuscript in the Bibliotheqne du Rr i, and it is hardly cred- 
ible that such a system of treachery and cruelty should ever 
I have been estcb.bhed by any government, or submitted to, 
! for an instant, by any people. Among various precautions 
! against the ir.trigues of their own Nobles, we find the fol- 
; lowing:— "Pour persuader aux cttangers qu'il etait difficile 
i ct dangereux d'entretenir quelque intrigue secrete avec les 
I nobles Venitiens, on imagina de faire avertir mysierieuse- 
i nientle Nonce du Pape (afin que les autres ministres en fus- 
j sent informes) que l'lnquisition avait autorise les patriciens a 
j poignarder quiconque essaierait de tenter leurfidelite. Mais 
i craignant que les ambassadeurs ne pretassent foi d'fficile- 
j dient a une deliberation, qui en effet n'existait pas, l'lnqui- 



As one, in fairy tale, to whom the key 

Of some enchanter's secret halls is giv'n, 
Doubts, while he enters, slowly, tremblingly, 

If he shall meet with shapes from hell or heav^: — 
Let me, a moment, think what thousands live 
O'er the wide earth this instant, who would give, 
Gladly, whole sleepless nights to bend the brow 
Over these precious leaves, as I do now. 
How all who know — and where is he unknown ? 
To what far region have his songs not flown, 
Like Psaphon's birds, 3 speaking their master's name, 
In ev'ry language, syllabled by Fame ? — 
How all, who've felt the various spells combined 
Within the circ e of that mastermind, — 
Like spells, derived 'rom many z. star, and met 
Together in some wondroas amulet, — 
Would bum to know wb.cn first the Light awoke 
In his young soul, — and if the gleams that broke 
From that Aurora of his genius, raised 
Most pain or bliss in those on whom they blazed ; 
Would love to trace th' unfolding of that pow'r, 
Which hath grown ampler, grander, ev'ry hour ; 
And feel, in watching o'er his first advance, 

As did th' Egyptian traveller, 4 when he stood 
By the young Nile, and fathom'd with his lance 

The fast small fountains of that mighty flood. 

They, too, who, mid the scornful thoughts that 
dwell 
In his rich fancy, tinging all its streams, — 

sition voulait prouver qu'elle en etait capable. Elle ordonna 
des recherches pour deeouvrir s'il n'y avait pas dans Venise 
quelque exile au-dessus du commun, qui eut rompu son 
ban ; ensuite un des patriciens qui etaient aux gages du 
tribunal, recut la mission d'assassiner ce malheureux, et 
l'ordre de s'en vanter, en disant qu'il s'etaitporte a cet acte, 
parce que ce banni etait l'agent d'un ministre etranger, et 
avait cherche a le corrompre." — " Remarquons," adds M. 
Dar_, "que ceci n'est pas une simple anecdote ; e'est une 
mission projetee, deliberee, ecrite d'avance ; une regie de 
conduite tracee par des homines graves a leurs successeurs, 
et consignee dans des statuts." 

The cases, in which assassination is ordered by these 
Statutes, are as follow :— 

" Un ouvrier de l'arsenal, un chef de ce qu'on appelle par- 
mi les marins le menstrance, passait-il au service d£ne 
puissance etrangere: il fallait le faire assassiner, surtout si 
e'etait un homme repute brave et habile dans sa profession." 
{Art. 3, des Statuts.) 

" Avait-il cominis quelque action qu'on ne jugeait pas a 
propos he punir juridiquement, on devait le faire empoison- 
ner." {Art. 14.) 

"Un artisan passait-il a lVtranger en y exportant quelque 
procede de l'industrie nationale : e'etait encore un crime 
capital, que la loi inconnue ordonnait de punir par un assas- 
sinat." {Art. 28.) 

The facility with which they got rid of their Duke of Bed- 
fords, Lord Fitzwilliams, &c, was admirable : it was thus : — 

"Le patricien qui se permettait le moindre propos contre 
le gouvernement, etait admonete deux fois, et a la troisieme 
noye comme incorrigible.'" {Art. 39.) 



502 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



As if the Star of Bitterness, which fell 

On earth of old, 1 had touch'd them with its 
beams, — 
Can track a spirit, which, though driven to hate, 
From Nature's hands came kind, affectionate ; 
And which, ev'n now, struck as it is with blight, 
Comes out, at times, in love's own native light ; — 
How gladly all, who've watch'd these struggling rays 
Of a bright, ruin'd spirit through his lays, 
Would here inquire, as from his own frank lips, 

What desolating grief, what wrongs had driven 
That noble nature into cold eclipse ; 

Like some fair orb that, once a sun in heaven, 
And born, not only to surprise, but cheer 
With warmth and lustre all within its sphere, 
Is now so quench'd, that of its grandeur lasts 
Naught, but the wide, cold shadow which it casts ! 

Eventful volume ! whatsoe'er the change 

Of scene and clime — th' adventures, bold and 

strange — 
The griefs— the frailties, but too frankly told — 
The loves, the feuds thy pages may unfold, 
If Truth with half so prompt a hand unlocks 

His virtues as his failings, we shall find 
The record there of friendships, held like rocks, 

And enmities, like sun-touch'd snow, resign'd ; 
Of fealty, cherish'd without change or chill, 
In those who served him, young, and serve him still ; 
Of gen'rous aid, giv'n with that noiseless art 
Which wakes not pride, to many a wounded heart ; 
Of acts — but, no — not from himself must aught 

Of the bright features of his life be sought. 
While they, who court the world, like Milton's 

cloud, 2 
" Turn forth their silver lining" on the crowd, 
This gifted Being wraps himself in night ; 

And, keeping all that softens, and adorns, 
And gilds his social nature hid from sight, 

Turns but its darkness on a world he scorns. 



i " And the name of the star is called wormwood, and the 
third part of the waters became wormwood."— Rev. viii. 



" Did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night V* 



Comus. 



3 In the Tribune at Florence 
« In the Palazzo Pitti. 



EXTRACT VIII. 

Venice. 

Female Beauty at Venice. — No longer what it was in the 
Time of Titian. — His Mistress- — Various Forms in which 
he has painted her. — Venus. — Divine and profane Love. — 
La Fragilita oVAmore. — Paul Veronese. — His Women. — 
Marriage of Cana. — Character of Italian Beauty. — Ra- 
phael Fornarina. — Modesty. 

Thy brave, thy learn'd, have pass'd away ; 
Thy beautiful ! — ah, where are they ? 
The forms, the faces, that once shone, 

Models of grace, in Titian's eye, 
Where are they now ? while flowers live on 

In ruin'd places, why, oh why 

Must Beauty thus with Glory die ? 
That maid, whose lips would still have moved, 

Could art have breathed a spirit through them ; 
Whose varying charms her artist loved 

More fondly ev'ry time he drew them, 
(So oft beneath his touch they pass'd, 
Each semblance fairer than the last ;) 
Wearing each shape that Fancy's range 

Offers to Love — yet still the one 
Fair idol, seen through every change, 

Like facets of some orient stone, — 

In each the same bright image shown. 
Sometimes a Venus, unarray'd 

But in her beauty 3 — sometimes deck'd 
In costly raiment, as a maid 

That kings might for a throne select. 4 
Now high and proud, like one who thought 
The world should at her feet be brought ; 
Now, with a look reproachful, sad, 5 — 
Unwonted look from brow so glad ; — 
And telling of a pain too deep 
For tongue to speak or eyes to weep. 
Sometimes, through allegory's veil, 

In double semblance seen to shine, 
Telling a strange and mystic tale 

Of Love Profane and Love Divine 6 — 
Akin in features, but in heart 
As far as earth and heav'n apart. 
Or else (by quaint device to prove 
The frailty of all worldly love) 
Holding a globe of glass, as thin 

As air-blown bubbles, in her hand, 
With a young Love confined therein, 

Whose wings seem waiting to expand — 

6 Alludes particularly to the portrait of her in the Sciarra 
collection at Rome, where the look of mournful reproach in 
those full, shadowy eyes, as if she had been unjustly accus- 
ed of something wrong, is exquisite. 

6 The fine picture in the Palazzo Borghese, called (it is not 
easy to say why) " Sacred and Profane Love," in which (he 
two figures, sitting on the edge of the fountain, are evidently 
portraits of the same person. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 503 


And telling, by her anxious eyes, 


And thence, a& from her throne diffuses 


That, if that frail orb breaks, he flies I 1 


O'er thoughts and looks so bland a reign, 




That, not a thought ps feeling loses 


Thou, too, with touch magnificent, 


Its freshness in that gentle chain. 


Paul of Verona ! — where are they, 




The oriental forms, 2 that lent 




Thy canvass such a bright array ? 
Noble and gorgeous dames, whose dress 






Seems part of their own loveliness ; 




Like the sun's drapery, which, at eve, 


EXTRACT IX. 


The floating clouds around him weave 




Of light they from himself receive ! 


Venice. 


Where is there now the living face 


The English to be met with everywhere. — Alps and Thread- 


Like those that, in thy nuptial throng, 3 


needle Street. — The Simplon and the Stocks. — Rage for trav- 
elling. — Blue Stockings among the Wahabces. — Parasols 


By their superb, voluptuous grace, 


and Pyramids. — Mrs. Hopkins and the Wall of China. 


Make us forget the time, the place, 




The holy guests they smile among, — 


And is there then no earthly place, 


Till, in that feast of heaven-sent wine, 


Where we can rest, in dream Elysian, 


We saw no miracles but thine. 


Without some cursed, round English face, 




Popping up near to break the vision? 


If e'er, except in Painting's dream, 


'Mid northern lakes, _rid southern vines, 


There bloom'd such beauty here, 'tis gone,— 


Unholy cits we're doom'd to meet ; 


Gone, like the face that in the stream 


Nor highest Alps nor Apennines 


Of Ocean for an instant shone, 


Are sacred from Threadneedle Street ! 


When Venus at that mirror gave 




A last look, ere she left the wave. 


If up the Simplon's path we wind, 


And though, among the crowded ways, 


Fancying we leave this world behind, 


We oft are startled by the blaze 


Such pleasant sounds salute one's ear 


Of eyes that pass, with fitful light, 


As — " Baddish news from 'Change, my dear — 


Like fire -flies on the wing at night, 4 


" The Funds — (phew, curse this ugly hill) — 


'Tis not that nobler beauty, giv'n 


" Are low'ring fast, — (what, higher still ?) — 


To show how angels look in heav'n. 


"And — (zooks, we're mounting up to heav- 


Ev'n in its shape most pure and fair, 


en!) — 


'Tis Beauty, with but half her zone, — 


" Will soon be down to sixty-seven." 


All that can warm the Sense is there, 




But the Soul's deeper charm is flown : — 


Go where we may — rest where we will, 


'Tis Raphael's Fornarina, — warm, 


Eternal London haunts us still. 


Luxuriant, arch, but unrefined ; 


The trash of Almack's or Fleet Ditch*— 


A flower, round which the noontide swarm 


And scarce a phi's head difference which, — 


Of young Desires may buzz and wind, 


Mixes, though ev'n to Greece we run, 


But where true Love no treasure meets, 


With every rill from Helicon ! 


Worth hoarding in his hive of sweets. 


And, if this rage for travelling lasts, 




If Cockneys, of all sects and castes, 


Ah, no, — for this, and for the hue 


Old maidens, aldermen, and squires, 


Upon the rounded cheek, which tells 


Will leave their puddings and coal fires, 


How fresh, within the heart, this dew 


To gape at things in foreign lands, 


Of Love's unrifled sweetness dwells, 


No soul among them understands ; 


We must go back to our own Isles, 


If Blues desert their coteries, 


Where Modesty, which here but gives 


To show off 'mong the Wahabees ; 


A rare and transient grace to smiles, 


If neither sex nor age controls, 


In the heart's holy centre lives ; 


Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids 


i This fanciful allegory is the subject o" a picture by Ti- 


women may be regarded as pretty close imitations of the 


tian, in the possession of the Marquis Cambian at Turin, 


living models which Venice afforded in his time. 


; whose collection, though small, contains some beautiful 


* The Marriage of Cana. 


specimens of all the great masters. 


4 " Certain it is (as Arthur Young truly and feelingly says) 


a As Paul Veronese gave but little into the beau ideal, his 
J __________ 


one now and then meets with terrible eyes in Italy." 



504 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Young ladies, with pink parasols, 

To glide among the Pyramids 1 — 
Why, then, farewell all hope to find 
A spot, that's free from London-kind ! 
Who knows, if to the West we roam, 
But we may find some Blue " at home" 

Among the Blacks of Carolina — 
Or, flying to the Eastward, see 
Some Mrs. Hopkins, taking tea 
And toast upon the Wall of China ; 



EXTRACT X. 



Verses of Hippolyta to her Husband. 



Mantua. 



They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest 2 

Of every fair and brilliant throng ; 
No wit, like thine, to wake the jest, 

No voice like thine, to breathe the song. 
And none could guess, so gay thou art, 
That thou and I are far apart. 
Alas, alas, how diff'rent flows, 

With thee and me the time away. 
Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows — 

Still, if thou canst, be light and gay ; 
I only know that without thee 
The sun himself is dark for me. 

Do I put on the jewels rare 

Thou'st always loved to see me wear? 

Do I perfume the locks that thou 

So oft hast braided o'er my brow, 

Thus deck'd, through festive crowds to run, 

And all th' assembled world to see, — 
All but the one, the absent one, 

Worth more than present worlds to me ! 
No, nothing cheers this widow'd heart — 
My only joy, from thee apart, 
From thee thyself, is sitting hours 

And days, before thy pictured form — 
That dream of thee, which Raphael's pow'rs 

Have made with all but life-breath warm ! 
And as I smile to it, and say 
The words I speak to thee in play, 



» It was pink spencers, I believe, that the imagination of 
the French traveller conjured up. 
a Utque ferunt Uetus convivia laeta 
Et celebras lentis otia mista jocis ; 
Aut cithara seslivum attenuas cantuque calorem. 

Hei mihi, quam disparnunc mea vita tuae ! 
Nee mihi displiceant qua? sunt tibi grata ; sed ipsa est, 

Te sine, lux oculis pene inimica meis. 
Non auro aut gemma caput exornare nitenti 
Me juvat, aut Arabo spargere odore comas : 



I fancy from their silent frame, 
Those eyes and lips give back the same ; 
And still I gaze, and still they keep 
Smiling thus on me — till 1 tveep ! 
Our little boy, too, knows it well, ' 

For there I lead him every day, 
And teach his lisping lips to tell 

The name of one that's far away. 
Forgive me, love, but thus alone 
My time is cheer'd, while thou art gone. 



EXTRACT XI. 

Florence. 
No — 'tis not the region where Love's to be found — 
They have bosoms that sigh, they have glances 
that rove, 
They have language a Sappho's own lip might 
resound, 
When she warbled her best — but they've nothing 
like Love. 

Nor is't that pure sentiment only they want, 

Which Heav'n for the mild and the tranquil 
hath made — 

Calm, wedded affection, that home-rooted plant, 
Which sweetens seclusion, and smiles in the 



That feeling, which, after long years have gone by, 
Remains, like a portrait we've sat for in youth, 

Where, ev'n though the flush of the colors may fly, 
The features still live, in their first smiling truth ; 

That union, where all that in Woman is kind, 
With all that in Man most ennoblingly tow'rs, 

Grow wreath'd into one — like the column, combined 
Of the strength of the shaft and the capital's 
Jlow'rs. 

Of this — bear ye witness, ye wives, ev'rywhere, 
By the Arno, the Po, by all Italy's streams — 

Of this heart-wedded love, so delicious to share, 
Not a husband hath even one glimpse in his 
dreams. 



Non celebres ludos fastis spectare diebus. 

* * * * 

Sola tuos vultus referens Raphaelis imago 

Picta manu, curas allevat usque meas. 
Huic ego delicias facio, arrideoque jocorque, 

Alloquor et tanquam reddere verba queat. 
Asaensu nutuque mihi saepe ilia videtur 

Dicere velle aliquid et tua verba loqui. 
Agnoscit balboque patrem puer ore salutat 

Hoc solor longas decipioque dies. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



505 



But it is not this, only ; — born full of the light 
Of a sun, from whose fount the luxuriant festoons 

Of these beautiful valleys drink lustre so bright, 
x'hat, beside him, our suns of the north are but 



We might fancy, at least, like their climate they 
burn'd ; 
And that Love, though unused, in this region of 
spring, 
To be thus to a tame Household Deity turn'd, 
Would yet be all soul, when abroad on the wing. 

And there may be, there ore, those explosions of 
heart, 
Which burst, when the senses have first caught 
the flame ; 
Such fits of the blood as those climates impart, 
Where Love is a sun-stroke, that maddens the 
frame 

But that Passion, which springs in the depth of the 
soul ; 

Whose beginnings are virginly pure as the source 
Of some small mountain rivulet, destined to roll 

As a torrent, ere long, losing peace in its course — 

A course, to which Modesty's struggle but lends 
A more headlong descent, without chance of 
recall ; 

But which Modesty er'n to the last edge attends, 
And, then, throws a halo of tears round its fall ! 

This exquisite Passion — ay, exquisite, even 
Mid the ruin its madness too often hath made, 

As it keeps, even then, a bright trace of the heaven, 
That heaven of Virtue from which it has stray'd — 

This entireness of love, which can only be found, 
Where Woman, like something that's holy, 
watch'd over, 

And fenced, from her childhood, with purity round, 
Comes, body and soul, fresh as Spring, to a lover ! 

Where not an eye answers, where not a hand 
presses, 
Till spirit with spirit in sympathy move ; 
And the Seuses, asleep in their sacred recesses, 
Can only be reach'd through the temple of 
Love ! — 

This perfection of Passion — how can it be found, 
Where the mystery nature hath hung round the 
tie 



Bergamo— the birthplace, it is sai< rf Harlequin. 



By which souls are together attracted and bound, 
Is laid open, forever, to heart, ear, and eye ; — 

Where naught of that innocent doubt can exist, 
That ignorance, even than knowledge more 
bright, 
Which circles the young, like the morn's sunny 
mist, 
And curtains them round in their own native 
light ;- 

Where Experience leaves nothing for Love to reveal, 
Or for Fancy, in visions, to gleam o'er the thought ; 

But the truths which, alone, we would die to conceal 
From the maiden's young heart, are the only ones 
taught. 

No, nc Vis not here, howsoever we sigh, 

Whether purely to Hymen's one planet we pray, 

Or adore, like Sabaeans, each light of Love's sky, 
Here is not the region, to fix or to stray. 

For faithless in wedlock, in gallantry gross, 
Without honor to guard, or reserve to restrain, 

What have they, a husband can mourn as a loss? 
What have they, a lover can prize as a gain ? 



EXTRACT XII. 

Florence. 

Music in Italy. — Disappointed by it. — Recollections of other 
Times and Friends. — Dalton. — Sir John Stevenson. — His 
Daughter. — Musical Evenings together. 

***** 
If it he true that Music reigns, 

Supreme, in Italy's soft shades, 
'Tis like that Harmony, so famous, 
Among the spheres, which, He of S.uios 
Declared, had such transcendent merit, 
That not a soul on earth could hear it ; 
For, far as I have come — from Lakes, 
Whose sleep the Tramontana breaks, 
Through Milan, and that land, which gave 

The Hero of the rainbow vest 1 — 
By Mincio's banks, and by that wave, 2 

Which mado Verona's bard so bless'd — 
Places, that (like the Attic shore, 

Which rung back music, when the sea 
Struck on its marge) should be, all o'er, 

Thrilling alive with melody — 
I've heard no music — not a note 
Of such sweet native airs as float, 



Tij6 * Hgo di Garda. 



506 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



In my own land, among the throng, 
And speak our nation's soul for song 

Nay, ev'n in higher walks, where Art 
Performs, as 'twere, the gardener's part, 
And richer, if not sweeter, makes 
The flow'rs she from the wild-hedge takes — 
Ev'n there, no voice hath charm'd my ear, 

No taste hath won my perfect praise, 
Like thine, dear friend 1 — long, truly dear — 

Thine, and thy loved Olivia's lays. 
She, always beautiful, and growing 

Still more so ev'ry note she sings — 
Like an inspired young Sibyl, 2 glowing 

With her own bright imaginings ! 
And thou, most worthy to be tied 

In music to her, as in love, 
Breathing that language by her side, 

All other language far above, 
Eloquent Song — whose tones and words 
In ev'ry heart find answering chords ! 

How happy once the hours we pass'd, 

Singing or list'ning all day long, 
Till Time itself seem'd changed, at last, 

To music, and we lived in song ! 
Turning the leaves of Haydn o'er, 

As quick, beneath her master hand, 
They open'd all their brilliant store, 

Like chambers, touch'd by fairy wand ; 
Or o'er the page of Mozart bending, 

Now by his airy warblings cheer'd, 
Now in his mournful Requiem blending 

Voices, through which the heart was heard. 

And still, to lead our ev'ning choir, 

Was He invoked, thy loved-one's She 3 — 

He, whi, if aught of grace there be 

In tho wild notes I write or sing, 
First smooth'd their links of harmony, 

And lent them charms they did not bring : — ■ 
He, of the gentlest, simplest heart, 
With whom, employ'd in his sweet art, 
(That art, which gives this world of ours 

A notion how they speak in heav'n,) 
I've pass'd more bright and charmed hours 

Than all earth's wisdom could have giv'n. 
Oh happy days, oh early friends, 

How Life, since then, hath lost its flow'rs ! 



i Edward Tuite Dalton, the first husband of Sir John 
Stevenson's daughter, the late Marchioness of Headfort. 

2 Such as those of Donienichino in the Palazzo Borghese 
at the Capitol, &c 

s Sir John Stevenson. 

4 The " Conjuration de Nicolas Gabrini, dit de Rier.zi,"by 
the Jesuit Du Cerceau, is chiefly taken from the much more 



But yet — though Time some foliage rends, 

The stem, the Friendship, still is ours ; 
And long may it endure, as green, 
And fresh as it hath always been ! 

How I have wander'd from my theme ! 

But where is he, that could return 
To such cold subjects from a dream, 

Through which these best of feelings burn ?- 
Not all the works of Science, Art, 

Or Genius in this world are worth 
One genuine sigh, that from the heart 

Friendship or Love draws freshly forth. 



EXTRACT XIII. 



Reflections on reading Du Cerceau 's JJccount of the Con 
spiracy of Rienzi, in 1347. 4 — The Meeting of the Con 
spirators on the Night of the 19th of Mi$'. — Their Pro- 
cession in the Morning to the Capitol. — Rienz t Speech. 

'Twas a proud moment — ev'n to hear the words 

Of Truth and Freedom 'mid these temples 
breathed, 
And see, once more, the Forum shine with swords, 

In the Republic's sacred name unsheath'd— 
That glimpse, that vision of a brighter day, 

For his dear Rome, must to a Roman be, 
Short as it was, worth ages pass'd away 

In the dull lapse of hopeless slavery. 

'Twas on a night of May, beneath that moon, 
Which had, through many an age, seen Time untune 
The strings of this Great Empire, till it fell 
From his rude hands, a broken, silent shell — 
The sound of the church clock, 5 near Adrian's 

Tomb, 
Summon'd the warriors, who had risen for Rome, 
To meet unarm'd, — with none to watch them 

there, 
But God's own eye, — and pass the night in prayer. 
Holy beginning of a holy cause, 
When heroes, girt for Freedom's combat, pause 
Before high Heav'n, and, humble in their might, 
Call down its blessing on that coming fight. 



authentic work of Fortifiocca on the same subject. Rienzi 
was the son of a laundress. 

6 It is not easy to discover what church is meant by Du 
Cerceau here : — " II fit crier dans les rues de Rome, a son de 
trompe, que chacun eut a se trouver, sans armes, la nuit du 
lendemain, dix-neuvieme, dans 1 eglise du chateau de Saint- 
Ange, au son de la cloche, afin de pourvoir au Bon E'tat." 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



507 



At dawn, in arms, went forth the patriot band ; 
And, as the breeze, fresh from the Tiber, fann'd 
Their gilded gonfalons, all eyes could see 

The palm-tree there, the sword, the keys of 
Heav'n 1 — 
Types of the justice, peace, and liberty, 

That were to bless them, when their chains were 
riv'n. 
On to the Capitol the pageant moved, 

While many a Shade of other times, that still 
Around that grave of grandeur sighing roved, 

Hung o'er their footsteps up the Sacred Hill, 
And heard its mournful echoes, as the last 
High-minded heirs of the Republic pass'd. 
'Twas then that thou, their Tribune, 2 (name, 

which brought 
Dreams of lost glory to each patriot's thought,) 
Didst, with a spirit Rome in vain shall seek 
To wake up in her sons again, thus speak : — 
" Romans, look round you — on this sacred place 

" There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike 
men. 
" What see you now ? what solitary trace 

" Is left of all, that made Rome's glory then ? 
" The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount bereft 

" Ev'n of its name — and nothing now remains 
" But the deep mem'ry of that glory, left 

" To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains ! 
" But shall this be ? — our sun and sky the same, — 

" Treading the very soil our fathers trod, — 
" What with'ring curse hath fall'n on soul and frame, 

" What visitation hath there come from God, 
" To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves, 
" Here, on our great forefathers' glorious graves? 
" It cannot be — rise up, ye Mighty Dead, — 

" If we, the living, are too weak to crush 
" These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread, 

" Till all but Romans at Rome's tameness blush ! 

" Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes, 

" Where only date-trees sigh and serpents hiss ; 

" And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes 
" For the stork's brood, superb Persepolis ! 

1 "Les gentilshommes conjures portaient devant lui trois 
etendarts. Nicolas Guallato, surnomme le bon diseur, por- 
tait le premier, qui etait de couleur rouge, et plus grand que 
les autres. On y voyait des caracteres d'or avec une femme 
assise sur deux lions, tenant d'une main le globe du monde, 
et de l'autre une Palme pour representer la ville de Rome. 
C'etait le Gonfalon de la Libcrte. Le second, a fonds blanc, 
avec un St. Paul tenant de la droite une Epee nue et de la 
gauche la couronne de Justice, etait porte par Etienne Mag- 
nacuccia, notaire apostolique. Dans le troisieme, St. Pierre 
avait en main les clefs de la Concorde et de la Paix. Tout 
ccla insinuait le dessein de Rienzi, qui etait de retablir la 
liberte, la justice, et la paix." — Du Cerckau, liv. ii. 

a Rienzi. 

8 The fine Canzone of Petrarch, beginning " Spirto gentil," 



; Thrice happy both, that your extinguish'd race 
: Have left no embers — no half-living trace — 
; No slaves, to crawl around the once proud spot, 
: Till past renown in present shame's forgot. 
! While Rome, the Queen of all, whose very wrecks, 

" If lone and lifeless through a desert hurl'd, 
; Would wear more true magnificence than decks 

" Th' assembled thrones of all th' existing world — 
; Rome, Rome alone, is haunted, stain'd, and cursed, 

" Through ev'ry spot her princely Tiber laves, 
: By living human things — the deadliest, worst, 

" This earth engenders — tyrants and their slaves ! 
; And we — oh shame ! — we, who have ponder'd 
o'er 

" The patriot's lesson and the poet's lay ; 3 
: Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, 

" Tracking our country's glories all the way — 
: Ev'n we have tamely, basely kiss'd the ground 

" Before that Papal Power,— that Ghost of Her, 
: The World's Imperial mistress — sitting, crown'd 

" And ghastly, on her mould'ring sepulchre ! 4 

But this is past . — too long have lordly priests 
" And priestly lords led us, with all our pride 
With'ring about us — like devoted beasts, 
" Dragg'd to the shrine, with faded garlands tied. 
'Tis o'er, — the dawn of our deliv'ranc8 breaks ! 
Up from his sleep of centuries awakes 
The Genius of the Old Republic, free 
As first he stood, in chainless majesty, 
And sends his voice through ages yet to come, 
Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome !" 



is supposed, by Voltaire and others, to have been addressed 
to Rienzi ; but there is much more evidence of its having 
been written, as Ginguene asserts, to the young Stephen 
Colonna, on his being created a Senator of Rome. That 
Petrarch, however, was filled with high and patriotic hopes 
by the first measures of this extraordinary man, appeals 
from one of his letters, quoted by Du Cerceau, where he 
says, — "Pour tout dire, en un mot, j'atteste, non comme 
lecteur, mais comme temoin oculaire, qu'il nous a ramene 
la justice, la paix, la bourne foi, la securitu, ot tous les autres 
vestiges de l'&ge d'or." 

* This image is borrowed from Flobhcs, whose words are, 
as near as I can recollect:—" For what is the Papacy, but 
the Ghost of the old Roman Empire, sitting crowned on the 
grave thereof?" 



508 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



EXTRACT XIV. 



Rome. 



Fragment of a Dream. — The great Painters supposed to be 
Magicians. — The Beginnings of the Art.— Gildings on the 
Glories and Draperies. — Improvements tinder Giotto, fyc. 
— The first Dawn of the true Style in Mas accio.— Studied 
by all the great Artists who followed him. — Leonardo da 
Vinci, with whom commenced the Golden Age of Painting. 
- His Knowledge of Mathematics and of Music. — His 
female Heads all like each other. — Triangular Faces.— 
Portraits of Mona Lisa, be. — Picture of Vanity and 
Modesty. — His chcf-d'ozuvrc, the Last Supper. — Faded and 
almost effaced. 

Fill'd with the wonders I had seen, 

In Rome's stupendous shrines and halls, 
I (elt the veil of sleep, serene, 
Come o'er the mem'ry of each scene, 

As twilight o'er the landscape falls. 
Nor was it slumber, sound and deep, 

But such as suits a poet's rest — 
That sort of thin, transparent sleep, 

Through which his day-dreams shine the best. 
Methought upon a plain I stood, 

Where certain wondrous men, 'twas said, 
With strange, mirae'lous pow'r endued, 

Were coming, each in turn, to shed 
His arts' illusions o'er the sight, 
And call up miracles of light. 
The sky above this lonely place, 

Was of that cold, uncertain hue, 
The canvass wears, ere, warm'd apace, 

Its bright creation dawns to view. 

But soon a glimmer from the east 

Proclaim'd the first enchantments nigh ; l 
And as the feeble light increased, 

Strange figures moved across the sky, 
With golden glories deck'd, and streaks 

Of gold among their garments' dyes ; 2 
- And life's resemblance tinged their cheeks, 

But naught of life was in their eyes ; — 
Like the fresh-painted Dead one meets, 
Borne slow along Rome's mournful streets. 



i The paintings of those artists who were introduced into 
Venice and Florence from Greece. 

2 Margaritone of Orezzo, who was a pnpil and imitator of 
the Greeks, is said to have invented this art of gilding the 
ornaments of pictures, a practice which, though it gave way 
to a purer taste at the beginning of the 16th century, was 
still occasionally used by many of the great masters : as by 
Raphael in the ornaments of the Fornarina, and by Rubens 
not unfrequently in glories and flamgp. 

3 Cimabue, Giotto. &c. 

* The words of Masaccio.— For the character of this 
powerful and original genius, see Sir Joshua Reynolds' 
twelfth discourse. His celebrated frescoes are in the church 
of St. Pietro del Carmine, at Florence. 



But soon these figures pass'd away ; 

And forms succeeded to their place, 
With less of gold in their array, 

But shining with more natural grace, 
And all could see the charming wands 
Had pass'd into more gifted hands. 3 

Among these visions there was one, 4 , 
Surpassing fair, on which the sun, 
That instant ris'n, a beam let fall, 

Which through the dusky twilight trembled, 
And reach'd at length the spot where all 

Those great magicians stood assembled. 
And as they turn'd their heads, to view 

The shining lustre, I could trace 
The bright varieties it threw 

On each uplifted studying face ; B 
While many a voice with loud acclaim, 
Call'd forth, " Masaccio" as the name 
Of him, th' Enchanter, who had raised 
This miracle, on which all gazed. 

'Twas daylight now — the sun had ris'n, 

From out the dungeon of old Night, — 
Like the Apostle, from his prison 

Led by the Angel's hand of light ; 
And — as the fetters, when that ray 
Of glory reach'd them, dropp'd away, 6 
So fled the clouds at touch of day ! 
Just then, a bearded sage 7 came forth, 

Who oft in thoughtful dream would stand, 
To trace upon the dusky earth 

Strange learned figures with his wand ; 8 
And oft he took the silver lute 9 

His little page behind him bore, 
And waked such music as, when mute, 

Left in the soul a thirst for more ! 

Meanwhile, his potent spells went on, 
And forms and faces, that from out 

A depth of shadow mildly shone, 
Were in the soft air seen about. 

Though thick as midnight stars they beam'd, 

Yet all like living sisters seem'd, 



5 All the great artists studied, and many of them borrowed 
from Masaccio. Several figures in the Cartoons of Raphael 
are taken, with but little alteration, from his frescoes. 

6 "And a light shined in the prison . . . and his chains 
fell off from his hands*" — Acts. 

7 Leonardo da Vinci. 

8 His treatise on Mechanics, Optics, &c, preserved in the 
Ambrosian library at Milan. 

9 On dit que Leonard parut pour la premiere fois a la cour 
de Milan, dans un espece de concours ouvert entre les meil- 
leurs jouenrs de lyre d'ltalie. II se presenta avec une lyre 
de sa facon, construit en argent. — Histoire de la Peinture en 
Italic. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



509 



So close, in every point, resembling 

Each other's beauties — from the eyes 
Lucid as if through crystal trembling, 

Yet soft as if suffused with sighs, 
To the long, fawn-like mouth, and chin, 

Lovely tapering, less and less, 

Till, by this very charm's excess, 
Like virtue on the verge of sin, 

It touch'd the bounds of ugliness. 
Here look'd as when they lived the shades ' 
Of some of Arno's dark-eyed maids — 
Such maids as should alone live on, 
In dreams thus, when their charms are gone : 
Some Mona Lisa, on whose eyes 

A painter for whole years might gaze,* 
Nor find in all his palette's dyes, 

One that could even approach their blaze ! 

Here float two spirit shapes, 12 the one, 
With her white fingers to the sun 
Outspread, as if to ask his ray 
Whether it e'er had chanced to play 
On lilies half so fair as they ! 
This self-pleased nymph, was Vanity — 
And by her side another smiled, 

In form as beautiful as she, 
But with that air, subdued and. mild, 

That still reserve of purity, 
Which is to beauty like the haze 

Of ev'ning to some sunny view, 
Soft 'ning such charms as it displays, 

And veiling others in that hue, 

Which fancy only can see through ! 
This phantom nymph, who could she be, 
But the bright Spirit, Modesty ? 

Long did the learn'd enchanter stay 

To weave his spells, and still there pass'd, 
As in the lantern's shifting play, 
Group after group in close array, 

Each fairer, grander, than the last. 
But the great triumph of his pow'r 

Was yet to come : — gradual and slow, 
(As all that is ordain'd to tow'r 

Among the works of man must grow,) 
The sacred vision stole to view, 

In that half light, half shadow shown, 

i He is said to have been four years employed upon the 
portrait of this fair Florentine, without being able, after all, 
to come up to his idea of her beauty. 

2 Vanity and Modesty in the collection of Cardinal Fesch, 
at Rome. The composition of the four hands here is rather 
awkward, but the picture, altogether, is very delightful. 
There is a repetition of the subject in the possession of 
Lucien Bonaparte. 

3 The Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci, which is in the 
Refectory of the Convent delle Grazie at Milan. See L'His- 



Which gives to ev'n the gayest hue, 

A sober'd, melancholy tone. 
It was a vision of that last, 3 
Sorrowful night which Jesus pass'd 
With his disciples, when he said 

Mournfully to them — * I shall be 
" Betray'd by one, who here hath fed 

" This night at the same board with me." 
And though the Saviour, in the dream 
Spoke not these words, we saw them beam 
Legibly in his eyes, (so well 
The great magician work'd his spell,) 
And read in every thoughtful line 
Imprinted on that brow divine, 
The meek, the tender nature, grieved, 
Not anger'd, to be thus deceived — 
Celestial love requited ill 
For all its care, yet loving still — 
Deep, deep regret that there should fall 

From man's deceit so foul a blight 
Upon that parting hour — and all 

His Spirit must have felt that night, 
Who, soon to die for human-kind, 

Thought only, 'mid his mortal pain, 
How many a soul was left behind 

For whom he died that death in vain ! 

Such was the heavenly scene — alas, 
That scene so bright so soon should pass ! 
But pictured on the humid air, 
Its tints, ere long, grew languid there ; 4 
And storms came on, that, cold and rough, 

Scatter'd its gentlest glories all — 
As when the baffling winds blow off 

The hues that hang o'er Terni's fall,— 
Till, one by one, the vision's beams 

Faded away, and soon it fled, 
To join those other vanish'd dreams 

That now flit palely 'mong the dead, — 
The shadows of those shades, that go, 
Around Oblivion's lake, below ! 



toire de la Peinture in Italie, liv. iii. chap. 45. The writer 
of that interesting work (to whom I take this opportunity of 
offering my acknowledgments, for the copy he sent me a 
year since from Rome) will see I have profited by some of 
his observations on this celebrated picture. 

4 Leonardo appears to have used a mixture of oil and 
varnish for this picture, which alone, without the various 
other causes of its ruin, would have prevented any long 
duration of its beauties. It is now almost entirely effaced. 



510 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



EXTRACT XV. 

Rome. 

Mary Magdalen. — Her Story. — Numerous Pictures of her. 
— Correggio. — Guido. — Raphael, 8rc. — Canova's two ex- 
quisite Statues. — The Somariva Magdalen. — Chantrey's 
Admiration of Canova's Works. 

No wonder, Mary, that thy story 
Touches all hearts — for there we see 

The soul's corruption, and its glory, 
Its death and life combined in thee. 

From the first moment, when we find 

Thy spirit haunted by a swarm 
Of dark desires, — like demons shrined 

Unholily in that fair form, — 
Till when, by touch of Heav'n set free, 

Thou cam'st, with those bright locks of gold 
(So oft the gaze of Bethany,) 

And, cov'ring in their precious fold 
Thy Saviour's feet, didst shed such tears 
As paid, each drop, the sins of years ! 
Thence on, through all thy course of love 

To Him, thy Heavenly Master, — Him, 
Whose bitter death-cup from aLove 

Had yet this cordial round the brim, 
That woman's faith and love stood fast 
And fearless by Him to the last : — 
Till, oh, bless'd boon for truth like thine ! 

Thou wert, of all, the chosen one, 
Before whose eyes that Face Divine, 

When risen from the dead, first shone ; 
That thou might'st see how, like a cloud, 
Had pass'd away its mortal shroud, 
And make that bright revealment known 
To hearts, less trusting than thy own. 
All is affecting, cheering, grand ; 

The kindliest record ever giv'n, 
Ev'n under God's own kindly hand, 

Of what Repentance wins from Heav'n ! 

No wonder, Mary, that thy face, 

In all its touching light of tears, 
Should meet us in each holy place, 

Where Man before his God appears, 
Hopeless— were he not taught to see 
All hope in Him, who pardon'd thee ! 
No wonder that the painter's skill 

Should oft have triumph'd in the pow'r 
Of keeping thee all lovely still 

Ev'n in thy sorrow's bitt'rest hour ; 



i This statue is one of the last works of Canova, and was 
not yet in marble when I left Rome. The other, which seems 
to prove, in contradiction to very high authority, that expres- 
sion, of the intensest kind, is fully within the sphere of 



That soft Correggio should diffuse 

His melting shadows round thy form ; 
That Guido's pale, unearthly hues 

Should, in portraying thee, grow warm ; 
That all — from the ideal, grand, 
Inimitable Roman hand, 
Down to the small, enamelling touch 

Of smooth Carlino — should delight 
In pict'ring her, who " loved so much," 

And was, in spite of sin, so bright ! 

But, Mary, 'mong these bold essays 

Of Genius and of Art to raise 

A semblance of those weeping eyes — 

A vision, worthy of the sphere 
Thy faith has eam'd thee in the skies, 

And in the hearts of all men here, — 
Npne e'er hath match'd, in grief or grace, 
Canova's day-dream of thy face, 
In those bright sculptured forme more brigh 
With true expression's breathing light, 
Than ever yet, beneath the stroke 
Of chisel, into life awoke. 
The one, 1 portraying what thou wert 

In thy first grief, — while yet the flow'r 
Of those young beauties was unhurt 

By sorrow's slow, consuming pow'r ; 
And mingling earth's seductive grace 

With heav'n's subliming thoughts so well, 
We doubt, while gazing, in which place 

Such beauty was most form'd to dwell ! 
The other, as thou look'dst *j?«n years 
Of fasting, penitence, and tears 
Had worn thy frame ; — and ne'er did Art 

With half such speaking pow'r express 
The ruin which a breaking heart 

Spreads, by degrees, o'er loveliness. 
Those wasting arms, that keep the trace, 
Ev'n still, of all their youthful grace, 
That Ioosen'd hair, of which thy brow 
Was once so proud, — neglected now ! — 
Those features, ev'n in fading worth 

The freshest bloom to others giv'n, 
And those sunk eyes, now lost to earth, 

But, to the last, still full of heav'n ! 

Wonderfu^ artist! praise, like mine — 
Though springing from a soul, that feels 

Deep worship of those works divine, 
Where Genius all his light reveals — 

How weak 'tis to the words that came 

From him, thy peer in art and fame, 8 

sculpture, was executed many years y go, and is in the posses 
sion of the Count Somariva, at Paris. 
2 Chantrey. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



511 



Whom I have known, by day, by night, 
Hang o'er thy marble with delight ; 
And, while his ling'ring hand would steal 
i O'er every grace the taper's rays, 1 
Give thee, with all the gen'rous zeal 
Such master-spirits only feel, 

That best of fame, a rival's praise ! 



EXTRACT XVI. 

Les Charmettes. 
A Visit to the House where Rousseau lived with Madame de 
Warrens. — Their Menage. — Its Orossness- — Claude Anet. 
— Reverence with which the Spot is noio visited. — Absurd- 
ity of this blind Devotion to Fame. — Feelings excited by the 
Beauty and Seclusioii of the Scene. — Disturbed by its As- 
sociations with Rousseau's History. — Impostures of Men 
of Genius. — Their power of mimicking all the best Feel- 
ings, Love, Independence, ifc. 

Strange power of Genius, that can throw 

Round all that's vicious, weak, and low, 

Such magic lights, such rainbow dyes 

As dazzle ev'n the steadiest eyes ! 
****** 
****** 

'Tis worse than weak — 'tis wrong, 'tis shame, 

This mean prostration before Fame ; 

This casting down, beneath the car 

Of Idols, whatsoe'er they are, 

Life's purest, holiest decencies, 

To be career'd o'er, as they please. 

No — give triumphant Genius all 

For which his loftiest wish can call : 

If he be worshipp'd, let it be 
For attributes, his noblest, first ; 

Not with that base idolatry, 

Which sanctifies his last and worst. 

I may be cold ; — may want that glow 

Of high romance, which bards should know ; 

That holy homage, which is felt 

In treading where the great have dwelt ; 

This rev'rence, whatsoe'er it be, 

I fear, I feel, I have it not : — 
For here, at this still hour, to me 

The charms of this delightful spot ; 
Its calm seclusion from the throng, 

From all the heart would fain forget ; 
This narrow valley, and the song 

Of its small murm'r _ig rivulet ; 
The flitting, to and fro,* of birds, 

Tranquil and tame as they were once 



1 Canova always shows his fine statue, the Venere Vin- 
citrice, by the light of a small candle. 



In Eden, ere the startling words 
Of Man disturb'd their orisons ; 
Those little, shadowy paths, that wind 
Up the hill-side, with fruit-trees lined, 
And lighted only by the breaks 
The gay wind in the foliage makes, 
Or vistas, here and there, that ope 

Through weeping willows, like the snatches 
Of far-off scenes of light, which Hope 

Ev'n through the shade of sadness catche3 ! — 
All this, which — could I once but lose 

The memory of those vulgar ties, 
Whose grossness all the heavenliest hues 

Of Genius can no more disguise, 
Than the sun's beams can do away 
The filth of fens o'er which they play — 
This scene, which would have fill'd my heart 

With thoughts of all that happiest is ; — 
Of Love, where self hath only part, 

As echoing back another's Miss ; 
Of solitude, secure and sweet, 
Beneath whose shade the Virtues meet j 
Which, while it shelters, never chills 

Our sympathies with human wo, 
But keeps them, like sequester' d rills, 

Purer and fresher in their flow ; 
Of happy days, that share their beams 

'Twixt quiet mirth and wise employ ; 
Of tranquil nights, that give, in dreams, 

The moonlight of the morning's joy ! — 
All this my heart could dwell on here, 
But for those gross mementoes near ; 
Those sullying truths, that cross the track 
Of each sweet thought, and drive them back 
Full into all the mire, and strife, 
And vanities of that man's life, 
Who, more than all that e'er have glow'd 

With Fancy's flame, (and it was his, 
In fullest warmth and radiance,) show'd 

What an impostor Genius is ; 
How, with that strong, mimetic art, 

Which forms its life and soul, it takes 
All shapes of thought, all hues of heart, 

Nor feels, itself, one throb it wakes ; 
How like a gem its light may smile 

O'er the dark path, by mortals trod, 
Itself as mean a worm, the while, 

As crawls at midnight o'er the sod ; 
What gentle words and thoughts may fall 

From its false lip, what zeal to bless, 
While home, friends, kindred, country, all, 

Lie waste beneath its selfishness ; 
How, with the pencil hardly dry 

From coloring up such scenes of love 
And beauty, as make young hearts sigh, 

And dream, and think through heav'n they rovo, 



512 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



They, who can thus describe and move, 
The very workers of these charms, 

Nor seek, nor know a joy, above 
Some Maman's or Theresa's arms ! 



How all, in short, that makes the boast 
Of their false tongues, they want the most : 
And, while with freedom on their lips, 

Sounding their timbrels, to set free 
This bright world, laboring in th' eclipse 

Of priestcraft, and of slavery, — 



They may, themselves, be slaves as low 

As ever Lord or Patron made 
To blossom in his smile, or grow, 

Like stunted brushwood, in his shade 
Out on the craft ! — I'd rather be 

One.of those hinds, that round me tread, 
With just enough of sense Jo see 

The noonday sun that's o'er his head, 
Than thus, with high-built genius cursed, 

That hath no heart for its foundation, 
Be all, at once, that's brightest, worst, 

Sublimest, meanest in creation ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEIS. 



OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE. 

SPOKEN BY MR. CORRY, IN THE CHARACTER OF VAPID, 
AFTER THE PLAY OF THE DRAMATIST, AT THE KIL- 
KENNY THEATRE. 

{Entering as if to announce the Play.) 

Ladies and Gentlemen, on Monday night, 
For the ninth time — oh accents of delight 
To the poor author's ear, when three times three 
With a full bumper crowns his Comedy ! 
When, long by money, and the muse, forsak'n, 
He finds, at length, his jokes and boxes tak'n, 
And sees his play -bill circulate — alas, 
The only bill on which his name will pass ! 
Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls of fame 
Through box and gall'ry waft your well-known 

name, 
While critic eyes the happy cast shall con, 
And learned ladies spell your Dram. Person. 

'Tis said our worthy Manager 1 intends 
To help my night, and he, you know, has friends. 
Friends, did I say? for fixing friends, ov parts, 
Engaging actors, or engaging hearts, 



i The late Mr. Richard Power. 

2 The brief appellation by which those persons were dis- 
tinguished who, at the opening of the new theatre of Co- 
vent Garden, clamored for the continuance of the oid prices 
of admission. 



There's nothing like him ! wits, at his request, 
Are turn'd to fools, and dull dogs learn to jest ; 
Soldiers, for him, good " trembling cowards" make, 
And beaus, turn'd clowns, look ugly for his sake ; 
For him ev'n lawyers talk without a fee, 
For him (oh friendship !) / act tragedy! 
In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive tricks 
Make boars amusing, and put life in sticJcs. 

With such a manager we can't but please, 
Though London sent us all her loud O. P.'s, 3 
Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and rattle, 
Arm'd with a thousand fans, we'd give them battle ; 
You, on our side, R. P. 3 upon our banners, 
Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.'s manners : 
And show that, here — howe'er John Bull may 

doubt — 
In all our plays, the Riot-Act's cut out ; 
And, while we skim the cream of many a jest, 
Your well-timed thunder never sours its zest. 

Oh gently thus, when three short weeks are past, 
At Shakspeare's altar, 4 shall we breathe our last ; 
And, ere this long-loved dome to ruin nods, 
Die all, die nobly, die like demigods ! 



3 The initials of our manager's name. 

4 This alludes to a scenic representation then preparing 
for the last night of the performances. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



513 



EXTRACT 

FROM A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE 
AUTHOR, AT THE OPENING OF THE KILKENNY 
THEATRE, OCTOBER, 1809. 

******** 

Yet, even here, though Fiction rules the hour, 
There shine some genuine smiles, beyond her 

power ; 
And there are tears, too — tears that Memory sheds 
Ev'n o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads, 
When her heart misses one lamented guest, 1 
Whose eye so long threw light o'er all the rest ! 
There, there, indeed, the Muse forgets her task, 
And drooping weeps behind Thalia's mask. 

Forgive this gloom — forgive this joyless strain, 
Too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling train. 
But, meeting thus, our hearts will part the lighter, 
As mist at dawn but makes the setting brighter ; 
Gay Epilogue will shine where Prologue fails — 
As glow-worms keep their splendor for their tails. 

I know not why — but time, methinks, hath pass'd 

More fleet than usual since we parted last. 

It seems but like a dream of yester-night, 

Whose charm still hangs, with fond, delaying light ; 

And, ere the memory lose one glowing hue 

Of former joy, we come to kindle new. 

Thus ever may the flying moments haste 

With trackless foot along life's vulgar waste, 

But deeply print and lingeringly move, 

When thus they reach the sunny spots we love. 

Oh yes, whatever be our gay career, 

Let this be still the solstice of the year, 

Where Pleasure's sun shall at its height remain, 

And slowly sink to level life again. 



THE SYLPH'S BALL 

A Sylph, as bright as ever sported 
Her figure through the fields of air, 

By an old swarthy Gnome was courted, 
And, strange to say, he won the fair. 

The annals of the oldest witch 
A pair so sorted could not show, 

3ut how refuse ? — the Gnome was rich, 
The Rothschild of the world below ; 

1 The late Mr. John Lyster, one of the oldest members 
and best actors of the Kilkenny Theatrical Society. 



33 



And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures, 
Are told, betimes, they must consider 

Love as an auctioneer of features, 

Who knocks them down to the best bidder. 

Home she was taken to his Mine — 
A Palace, paved with diamonds all — 

And, proud as Lady Gnome to shine, 
Sent out her tickets for a Ball. 

The lower world, of course, was there, 
And all the best ; but of the upper 

The sprinkling was but shy and rare, 
A few old Sylphids, who loved supper. 

As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp 

Of Davy, that renown'd Aladdin, 
And the Gnome's Halls exhaled a damp, 

Which accidents from fire were bad in ; 

The chambers were supplied with light 
By many strange but safe devices ; 

Large fire -flies, such as shine at night 

Among the Orient's flowers and spices ; — 

Musical flint-mills — swiftly play'd 
By elfin hands — that, flashing round, 

Like certain fire-eyed minstrel maids, 
Gave out, at once, both light and sound. 

Bologna stones, that drink the sun ; 

And water from that Indian sea, 
Whose waves at night like wild-fire run — 

Cork'd up in crystal carefully. 

Glow-worms, that round the tiny dishes, 
Like little light-houses, were set up ; 

And pretty phosphorescent fishes, 

That by their own gay light were eat up, 

'Mong the few guests from Ether, came 
That wicked Sylph, whom Love we call ; 

My Lady knew him but by name, 
My Lord, her husband, not at all. 

Some prudent Gnomes, 'tis said, apprized 
That he was coming, and, no doubt, 

Alarm'd about his touch, advised 

He should, by all means, be kept out. 

But others disapproved this plan, 

And, by his flame though somewhat frighted, 
Thought Love too much a gentleman, 

In such a dangerous place to light it 



514 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



However, there he was — and dancing 
With the fair Sylph, light as a feather ; 

They look'd like two fresh sunheams, glancing, 
At daybreak, down to earth together. 

And all had gone off safe and well, 
But for that plaguy torch, whose light, 

Though not yet kindled — who could tell 
How soon, how devilishly, it might ? 

And so it chanced — which, in those dark 
And fireless halls, was quite amazing ; 

Did we not know how small a spark 
Can set the torch of Love a-blazing. 

Whether it came (when close entangled 
In the gay waltz) from her bright eyes, 

Or from the lucciole, that spangled 
Her locks of jet — is all surmise ; 

But certain 'tis th' ethereal girl 

Did drop a spark, at some odd turning, 

Which, by the waltz's windy whirl, 
Was fann'd up into actual burning. 

Oh for that Lamp's metallic gauze, 

That curtain of protecting wire, 
Which Davy delicately draws 

Around illicit, dangerous fire ! — 

The wall he sets 'twixt Flame and Air, 

(Like that, which barr'd young Thisbe's bliss,) 

Through whose small holes this dangerous pair 
May see each other, but not kiss. 1 

At first the torch look'd rather bluely, 
A sign, they say, that no good boded— 

Then quick the gas became unruly, 

And, crack ! the ball-room all exploded. 

Sylphs, gnomes, and fiddlers mix'd together, 
With all their aunts, sons, cousins, nieces, 

Like butterflies in stormy weather, 

Were blown — legs, wings, and tails — to 
pieces ! 

While, 'mid these victims of the torch, 
The Sylph, alas, too, bore her part — 

Found lying, with a livid scorch, 
As if from lightning, o'er her heart ! 



— Partique dedfire 

Oscula qnisque suae, non. pervenientia contra. 

Ovid 



" Well done" — a laughing Goblin said — 
Escaping from this gaseous strife — 

" 'Tis not the first time Love has made 
" A blow-up in connubial life !" 



REMONSTRANCE. 

Jifter a Conversation with Lord John Russell, in which he had 
intimated some Idea of giving up all political Pursuits. 

What ! thou, ritr thy genius, thy youth, and thy 
name — 

Thou, born of a Russell — whose instinct to run 
The accustom'd career of thy sires, is the same 

As the eaglet's, to soar with his eyes on the sun ! 

Whose nobility comes to thee, stamp'd with a seal, 
Far, far more ennobling than monarch e'er set ; 

With the blood of thy race, ofTer'd up for the weal 
Of a nation, that swears by that martyrdom yet ! 

Shalt thou be faint-hearted, and turn from the strife, 
From the mighty arena, where all that is grand, 

And devoted, and pure, and adorning in life, 

Is for high-thoughted spirits like thine to com- 
mand? 

Oh no, never dream i,t — while good men despair 
Between tyrants and traitors, and timid men bow, 

Never think, for an instant, thy country can spare 
Such a light from her darkening horizon as 
thou. 

With a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of those 
Who in life's sunny valley lie shelter'd and 
warm ; 
Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose 

To the top cliffs of Fortune, and breasted her 
storm ; 

With an ardor for liberty, fresh as, in youth, 

It first kindles the bard and gives life to his 
lyre; 

Yet mellow'd, ev'n now, by that mildness of truth, 
Which tempers, but chills not, the patriot fire ; 

With an eloquence — not like those rills from a 
height, 
Which sparkle, and foam, and in vapor are o'er ; 
But a current, that works out its way into light 
Through the filtering recesses of thought and of 
lore. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 515 


Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade ; 


Those friendships, in my boyhood twined, 


If the stirrings of Genius, the music of fame, 


And kept till now unchangingly ; 


And the charms of thy cause have not power to 


And that dear home, that saving ark, 


persuade, 


Where Love's true light at last I've found, 


Yet think how to Freedom thou'rt pledged by thy 


Cheering within, when all grows dark, 


Name. 


And comfortless, and stormy round ! 


Like the boughs of that laurel, by Delphi's decree 
Set apart for the Fane and its service divine, 






So the branches, that spring from the old Russell 




tree, 


FANCY. 


Are by Liberty claim 'd for the use of her Shrine. 






The more I've view'd this world, the more I've 




found, 
That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare, 






Fancy commands, within her own bright round, 


MY BIRTH-DAY. 


A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. 




Nor is it that her power can call up there 


" My birth-day" — what a diff 'rent sound 


A single charm, that's not from nature won, — 


That word had in my youthful ears ! 


No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear 


And how, each time the day comes round, 


A single tint utiborrovv'd from the sun ; 


Less and less white its mark appears ! 


But 'tis the mental medium it shines through, 


1 


That lends to Beauty all its charms and hue ; 


When first our scanty years are told, 


As the same light, that o'er the level lake 


It seems like pastime to grow old ; 


One dull monotony of lustre flings, 


And, as Youth counts the shining links, 


Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make 


That Time around him binds so fast, 


Colors as gay as those on angels' wings ! 


4 Pleased with the task, he little thinks 




How hard that chain will press at last 
Vain was the man, and false as vain, 


' 




Who said 1 — " were he ordain'd to run 




" His long career of life again, 


SONG. 


" He would do all that he had done." — 




Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells 


FANNY, DEAREST! 


In sober birth-days, speaks to me ; 




Far otherwise — of time it tells, 


Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 


Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly ; 


Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh ; 


Of counsel mock'd ; of talents, made 


And every smile on my cheek should turn 


Haply for high and pure designs, 


To tears when thou art nigh. 


But oft, like Israel's incense, laid 


But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 


Upon unholy, earthly shrines ; 


So busy a life I live, 


Of nursing many a wrong desire ; 


That even the time it would take to weep 


Of wandering after Love too far, 


Is more than my heart can give. 


And taking every meteor fire, 


Then wish me not to despair and pine, 


That cross'd my pathway, for his star. — 


Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 


All this it tells, and, could I trace 


The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine, 


Th' imperfect picture o'er again, 


Would be sure to take cold in tears. 


With pow'r to add, retouch, efface 




The lights and shades, the joy and pain, 


Reflected bright in this heart of mine, 


How little of the past would stay ! 


Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 


How quickly all should melt away — 


But, ah ! the mirror would cease to shine, 


All— but that Freedom of the Mind, 


If dimm'd too often with sighs. 


Which hath been more than wealth to me ; 


They lose the half of beauty's light, 




Who view it through sorrow's tear ; 


i Fontenelle.— " Si je recommencais ma carriere, je fe- 


And 'tis but to see thee truly bright 


rai tout ce que j'ai fait." 


That I keep my eye-beams clear. 



516 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Then wait no longer till tears shall flow — 
Fanny, dearest ! the hope is vain ; 

If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, 
I shall never attempt it with rain 



TRANSLATIONS FROM CATULLUS. 



Carm. 70. 



Diccbas quondam, fyc 



TO LESBIA. 



Thou told'st me, in our days of love, 
That I had all that heart of thine ; 

That, ev'n to share the couch of Jove, 
Thou wouldst not, Lesbia, part from mine. 

How purely wert thou worshipp'd then ! 

Not with the vague and vulgar fires 
Which Beauty wakes iu soulless men, — 

But loved, as children by their sires. 

That flatt'ring dream, alas, is o'er ; — 

I know thee now — and though these eyes 

Doat on thee wildly as before, 
Yet, even in doating, I 



Yes, sorceress — mad as it may seem — 
With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee, 

That passion even outlives esteem, 
And I, at once, adore — and scorn thee. 



Carm. 11. 
Pauca nunciate mece puellcc 

****** 
Comrades and friends ! with whom, where'er 

The fates have will'd through life I've roved, 
Now speed ye home, and with you bear 

These bitter words to her I've loved. 

Tell her from fool to fool to run, 

Where'er her vain caprice may call ; 

Of all her dupes not loving one, 
But ruining and madd'ning all. 

Bid her forget— what now is past — 
Our once dear love, whose ruin lies 



i O quid polutis est beatius curis, 
Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 



Like a fair flow'r, the meadow's last, 

Which feels the ploughshare's edge, and dies ! 

Carm. 29. 

Peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque 
Ocelle. 

Sweet Sirmio ! thou, the very eye 

Of all peninsulas and isles, 
That in our lakes of silver lie, 

Or sleep, enwreath'd by Neptune's smiles — 

How gladly back to thee I fly ! 

Still doubting, asking — can it be 
That I have left Bithynia's sky, 

And gaze in safety upon thee ? 

Oh ! what is happier than to find 
Our hearts at ease, our perils past ; 

When, anxious long, the Jghten'd mind 
Lays down its load of care at last : 

When, tired with toil o'er land and deep, 
Again we tread the welcome floor 

Of our own home, and sink to sleep 
On the long-wish'd-for bed once more. 1 

This, this it is, that pays alone • 

The ills of all life's former track. — 

Shine out, my beautiful, my own 

Sweet Sirmio ! greet thy master back. 

And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs 
The light of heav'n, like Lydia's sea, 

Rejoice, rejoice — let all that laughs 
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me ! 



TIBULLUS TO SULPICIA. 

Nulla tuum nobis subducet femina lectum, &c. &c. 

Lib. iv. Carm. 13. 

" Never shall woman's smile have pow'r 
" To win me from those gentle charms !" — 

Thus swore I, in that happy hour, 

When Love first gave thee to my arms. 

And still alone thou charm'st my sight — 
Still, though our city proudly shine 

With forms and faces, fair and bright, 
I see none fair or bright but thine. 



Labore fessi venimus larem ad nostrum, 
Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 517 


Would thou wert fair for only me, 


First course — a Phoenix, at the head, 


And couldst no heart but mine allure !-— 


Done in its own celestial ashes ; 


To all men else unpleasing be, 


At foot, a cygnet, which kept singing 


So shall I feel my prize secure. 1 


All the time its nock was wringing. 




Side dishes, thus — Minerva's owl, 


Oh, love like mine ne'er wants the zest 


Or any such like learned fowl : 


Of others' envy, others' praise ; 


Doves, such as heaven's poulterer gets, 


But, in its silence safely bless'd, 


When Cupid shoots his mother's pets. 


Broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays. 


Larks, stew'd in Morning's roseate breath, 




Or roasted by a sunbeam's splendor ; 


Charm of my life ! by whose sweet pow'r 


And nightingales, berhymed to death — 


All cares are hush'd, all ills subdued — 


Like young pigs whipp'd to make them tender. 


My light, in ev'n the darkest hour, 




My crowd, in deepest solitude ! 2 


Such fare may suit those bards, who're able 




To banquet at Duke Humphrey's table ; 


~No, not though heav'n itself sent down 


But as for me, who've long been taught 


Some maid, of more than heav'nly charms, 


To eat and drink like other people ; 


With bliss undreamt thy bard to crown, 


And can put xp with mutton, bought 


Would he for her forsake those arms ! 


Where Bromham 3 rears its ancient steeple — 




If Lansdowne will consent to share 




My humble feast, though rude the fare, 
Yet, season'd by that salt he brings 






From Attica's salinest springs, 


IMITATION. 


'Twill turn to dainties ; — while the cup 




Beneath his influence bright'ning up, 


FROM THE FRENCH. 


Like that of Baucis, touch'd by Jove, 




Will sparkle fit for gods above ! 


With women and apples both Paris and Adam 




Made mischief enough in their day : — 
God be praised that the fate of mankind, my dear 






Madam, 




Depends not on us, the same way. 
For, weak as I am with temptation to grapple, 
The w T orld would have doubly to rue thee ; 


VERSES TO THE POET CRABBE'S 
INKSTAND. 4 


Like Adam, I'd gladly take from thee the apple, 




Like Paris, at once give it to thee. 


written may, 1832. 




All, as he left it ! — ev'n the pen, 
So lately at that mind's command, 






Carelessly lying, as if then 


INVITATION TO DINNER. 


Just fallen from his gifted hand. 


ADDRESSED TO LORD LANSDOWNE. 


Have we then lost him ? scarce an hour, 




A little hour, seems to have pass'd, 


September, 1818. 


Since Life and Inspiration's power 


Some think wo bards have nothing real ; 


Around that relic breathed their last. 


That poets live among the stars so, 




Their very dinners are ideal, — 


Ah, powerless now — like talisman, 


(And, heaven knows, too oft they are so,) — 


Found in some vanish'd wizard's halls, 


For instance, that we have, instead 


Whose mighty charm with him began, 


Of vulgar chops, and stews, and hashes, 


Whose charm with him extinguish'd falls. 


1 Displiceas aliis, sic ego tutus ero. 


4 Soon after Mr. Crabbe's death, the sons of that gentle- 


2 Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atra 


man did me the honor of presenting to me the inkstand, 


Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis. 


pencil, &c, which their distinguished father had long been 


A picturesque village in sight of my cottage, and from 


in the habit of using. 


which it is separated but by a small verdant valley. 





518 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Yet though, alas ! the gifts that shone 


Seems still to sound — immortal dwells 


Around that pen's exploring track, 


Old Albion's Spirit of the Sea. 


Be now, with its great master, gone, 




Nor living hand can call them hack ; 


Such was our host ; and though, since then, 




Slight clouds have ris'n twixt him and me, 


Who does not feel, while thus his eyes 


Who would not grasp such hand again, 


Rest on the enchanter's broken wand, 


Stretch'd forth again in amity ? 


Each earth-born spell it work'd arise 




Before him in succession grand ? — 


Who can, in this short life, afford 




To let such mists a moment stay, 


Grand, from the Truth that reigns o'er all ; 


When thus one frank, atoning word, 


The unshrinking Truth, that lets her light 


Like sunshine, melts them all away ? 


Through Life's low, dark interior fall, 




Opening the whole, severely bright : 


Bright was our board that day — though one 




Unworthy brother there had place ; 


Yet softening, as she frowns along, 


As 'mong the horses of the Sun, 


O'er scenes which angels weep to see — 


One was, they say, of earthly race. 


Where Truth herself half veils the Wrong, 




In pit)- of the Misery. 


Yet, next to Genius is the power 




Of feeling where true Genius lies ; 


True bard : — and simple, as the race 


And there was light around that hour 


Of true-born poets ever are, 


Such as, in memory, never dies ; 


When, stooping from their starry place, 




They're children, near, though gods, afar. 


Light which comes o'er me, as I gaze, 




Thou Relic of the Dead, on thee, 


How freshly doth my mind recall, 


Like all such dreams of vanish'd days, 


'Mong the few days I've known with thee, 


Brightly, indeed — but mournfully ! 


One that, most buoyantly of all, 




Floats in the wake of memory ;* 
When he, the poet, doubly graced, 






In life, as in his perfect strain, 




With that pure, mellowing power of Taste, 


TO 


Without which Fancy shines in vain ; 


CAROLINE, VISCOUNTESS VALLETORT 


Who in his page will leave behind, 


WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 1832. 


i Pregnant with genius though it be, 




But half the treasures of a mind, 


When I would sing thy beauty's light, 


Where Sense o'er all holds mastery : — 


Such various forms, and all so bright, 




I've seen thee, from thy childhood, wear, 


Friend of long years ! of friendship tried 


I know not which to call most fair, 


Through many a bright and dark event ; 


Nor 'mong the countless charms that spring 


In doubts, my judge — in taste, my guide — 


Forever round thee, which to sing. 


In all, my stay and ornament ! 






When I would paint thee, as thou art, 


He, too, was of our feast that day, 


Then all thou wert comes o'er my heart— 


And all were guests of one, whose hand 


The graceful child, in beauty's dawn, 


Hath shed a new and deathless ray 


Within the nursery's shade withdrawn, 


Around the lyre of this great land ; 


Or peeping out — like a young moon 




Upon a world 'twill brighten soon. 


In whose sea-odes — as in those shells 


Then next, in girlhood's blushing hour, 


Where Ocean's voice of majesty 


As from thy own loved Abbey -tow'r 


1 The lines that follow allude to a day passed in company 


verses, had the pleasure of dining with Mr. Thomas Camp- 


with Mr. Crabbe, many years since, when a party, consist- 


bell, at his house at Sydenham. 


ing only of Mr Rogers, Mr. Crabbe, and the author of these 

— — . 





■ 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 519 


I've seen thee look, all radiant, down, 


Far better loves to bend its arms 


With smiles that to the hoary frown 


Downward again to that dear earth, 


Of centuries round thee lent a ray, 


From which the life, that fills and warms 


Chasing even Age's gloom away ; — 


Its grateful being, first had birth. 


Or, in the world's resplendent throng, 




As I have mark'd thee glide along, 


'Tis thus, though woo'd by flattering friends, 


Among the crowds of fair and great 


And fed with fame {if fame it be) 


A spirit, pure and separate, 


This heart, my own dear mother, bends, 


To which even Admiration's eye 


With love's true instinct, back to thee ! 


Was fearful to approach too nigh ; — 




A creature, circled by a spell 




Within which nothing wrong could dweL ; 




And fresh and clear as from the source, 




Holding through life her limpid course, 
Like Arethusa through the sea, 


LOVE AND HYMEN. 


Stealing in fountain purity. 


Love had a fever — ne'er could close 




His little eyes till day was breaking ; 


Now, too, another change of light ! 


And wild and strange enough, Heav'n knows, 


As noble bride, still meekly bright, 


The things he raved about while waking. 


Thou bring'st thy Lord a dower above 




All earthly price, pure woman's love ; 


To let him pine so were a sin ; — 


And show'st what lustre Rank receives.. 


One, to whom all the world's a debtor — 


When with his proud Corinthian leaves 


So Doctor Hymen was call'd in, 


Her rose thus high-bred Beauty weaves. 


And Love that night slept rather better. 


Wonder not if, where all's so fair 


Next day the case gave further hope yet, 


To choose were more than bard can dare ; 


Though still some ugly fever latent ; — 


Wonder not if, while every scene 


" Dose, as before" — a gentle opiate, 


I've watch'd thee through so bright hath been, 


For which old Hymen has a patent. 


Th' enamor'd Muse should, in her quest 




Of beauty, know not where to rest, 


After a month of daily call, 


But, dazzled, at thy feet thus fall,. 


So fast the dose went on restoring, 


Hailing thee beautiful in all ! 


That Love, who first ne'er slept at all, 




Now took, the rogue ! to downright snoring. 


A SPECULATION. 






LINES 


Of all speculations the market holds forth, 


ON THE 


The best that I know for a lover of pelf, 




Is to buy Marcus up, at the price he is worth, 


ENTRY OF THE AUSTMANS INTO NAPLES, 1821. 


And then sell him at that which he sets on 


Carbonc notati. 


himself. 


Ay — down to the dust with them, slaves as they 




are, 
From this hour, let the blood in their dastardly 


• 




veins, 
That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war 


TO MY MOTHER. 


Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains. 


WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822. 






On, on like a cloud, through their beautiful vales, . 


They tell us of an Indian tree, 


Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er — 


Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky 


Fill, fill up their wide sunny waters, ye sails 


May tempt its boughs to wander free, 


From each slave-mart of Europe, and shadow 1 


And shoot, and blossom, wide and high, 


their shore ! 

! 



520 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Let their fate be a mock-word — let men of all lands 
Laugh out, with a scorn that shall ring to the 
poles, 
When each sword, that the cowards let fall from 
their hands, 
Shall be forged into fetters to enter their souls. 

And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driv'n, 
Base slaves ! let the whet of their agony be, 

To think — as the Doom'd often think of that heav'n 
They had once within reach — that they might 
have been free. 

Oh shame ! when there was not a bosom, whose 
heat 

Ever rose 'bove the zero of C h's heart, 

That did not, like echo, your war-hymn repeat, 
And send all its prayers with your Liberty's 
start ; 

When the world stood in hope — when a spirit, 
that breathed 

The fresh air of the olden time, whisper'd about ; 
And the swords of all Italy, half-way unsheath'd, 

But waited one conquering cry, to flash out ! 

When around you the shades of your Mighty in 
fame, 
Filicajas and Petrarchs, seem'd bursting to 
view, 



And their words, and their warnings, like tongues 
of bright flame 
Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling on you ! 

Oh shame ! that, m such a proud moment of life, 
Worth the hist'ry of ages, when, had you but 
hurl'd 
One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife 

Between freemen and tyrants had spread through 
the world — 

That then — oh ! disgrace upon manhood — ev'n 
then, 
You should falter, should cling to your pitiful 
breath ; 
Cow'r down into be&tls, when you might h jive stood 
men, 
And prefer the slave's life of prostration to death. 

It is strange, it is dreadful : — shout, Tyranny, shout 
Through your dungeons and palaces, " Freedom 
is o'er ;" — 
If there lingers one spark of her light, tread it out, 
And return to your empire of darkness once 
more. 

For, if such are the braggarts that claim to be free, 
Come, Despot of Russia, thy feet let me kiss ; 

Far nobler to live the brute bondman of thee, 
Than to sully ev'n chains by a struggle like this ! 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



PREFACE. 

The Eastern story of the angels Harut and Ma- 
rut, 1 and the Rabbinical fictions of the loves of 
Uzziel and Shamchazai, 2 are the only sources to 
which I need refer, for the origin of the notion on 
which this Romance is founded. In addition to the 

i See note on page 524. 

2 Hyde, de Relig. Vet. Persarum, p. 272. 

3 The account which Macrobius gives" of the downward 
journey of the Soul, through that gate of the zodiac which 
opens into the lower spheres, is a curious specimen of the 
wild fancies passed for philosophy in ancient times. 

a In Somn. Scipionis, cap. 12. 



fitness of the subject for poetry, it struck me also 
as capable of affording an allegorical medium, 
through which might be shadowed out (as I have 
endeavored to do in the following stories) the 
fall of the Soul from its original purity 3 — the loss 
of light and happiness which it suffers in the pur- 
suit of this world's perishable pleasures — and the 

In the system of Manes, the luminous or spiritual principle 
owes its corruption not to any evil tendency of its own, but to 
a violent inroad of the spirits of darkness, who, finding them- 
selves in the neighborhood of this pure light, and becoming 
passionately enamored of its beauty, break the boundaries 
between them, and take forcible possession of it. b 

b See a Treatise " De la Religion des Perses," by the Abbe Foucher, 
Memoires de l'Academie, torn. xxxi. p. 456. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



521 



punishmonts, both from conscience and Divine 
justice, with which impurity, pride, and presump- 
tuous inquiry into the awful secrets of Heaven are 
sure to be visited. The beautiful story of Cupid 
and Psyche owes its chief charm to this sort of 
" veiled meaning," and it has been my wish (how- 
ever I may have failed in the attempt) to com- 
municate to the following pages the same moral 
interest. 

Among the doctrines, or notions, derived by 
Plato from the East, one of the most natural and 
sublime is that which inculcates the pre-existence 
of the soul, and its gradual descent into this dark 
material world, from that region of spirit and light 
which it is supposed to have once inhabited, and 
to which, after a long lapse of purification and 
trial, it will return. This belief, under various 
symbolical forms, may be traced through almost 
all the Oriental theologies. The Chaldeans repre- 
sent the Soul as originally endowed with wings, 
which fall away when it sinks from its native 
element, and must be reproduced before it can 
hope to return. Some disciples of Zoroaster once 
inquired of him, " How the wings of the Soul 
might be made to grow again ?" — " By sprinkling 
them," he replied, "with the Waters of Life." — 
" But where are those Waters to be found ?" they 
asked. — " In the Garden of God," replied Zoro- 
aster. 

The mythology of the Persians has allegorized 
the same doctrine, in the history of those genii of 
light who strayed from their dwellings in the stars, 
and obscured their original nature by mixture 
with this material sphere ; while the Egyptians, 
connecting it with the descent and ascent of the 
sun in the zodiac, considered Autumn as emblem- 
atic of the Soul's decline towards darkness, and 
the re-appearance of Spring as its return to life and 
light. 

Besides the chief spirits of the Mahometan 
heaven, such as Gabriel, the angel of Revelation, 
Israfil, by whom the last trumpet is to be sounded, 
and Azrael, the angel of death, there were also a 
number of subaltern intelligences, of which tra- 
dition has preserved the names, appointed to pre- 
side over the different stages, or ascents, into 
which the celestial world was supposed to be 
divided. 1 Thus Kelail governs the fifth heaven ; 
while Sadiel, the presiding spirit of the third, is 
also employed in steadying the motions of the 
earth, which would be in a constant state of 
agitation, if this angel did not keep his foot planted 
upon its orb. 2 » 



i " We adorned the lower heaven with lights, and placed 
therein a guard of angels." — Koran, chap. xli. 



Among other miraculous interpositions in favor 
of Mahomet, we find commemorated in the pages 
of the Koran the appearance of five thousand 
angels on his side at the battle of Bedr. 

The ancient Persians supposed that Ormuzd 
appointed thirty angels to preside successively 
over the days of the month, and twelve greater 
ones to assume the government of the months 
themselves ; among whom Bahman (to whom 
Ormuzd committed the custody of all animals, 
except man) was the greatest. Mihr, the angel 
of the 7th month, was also the spirit that watched 
over the affairs of friendship and love ; — Chur 
had the care of the disk of the sun ; — Mah was 
agent for the concerns of the moon ; — Isphan- 
darmaz (whom Cazvin calls the Spirit of the 
Earth) was the tutelar genius of good and virtuous 
women, &c. &c. &c. For all this the reader may 
consult the 19th and 20th chapters of Hyde de 
Relig. Vet. Persarum, where the names and attri- 
butes of these daily and monthly angels are with 
much minuteness and erudition explained. It ap- 
pears, from the Zend-avesta, that the Persians had 
a certain office or prayer for every day of the 
month, (addressed to the particular angel who pre- 
sided over it,) which they called the Sirouze. 

The Celestial Hierarchy of the Syrians, as 
described by Kircher, appears to be the most reg- 
ularly graduated of any of these systems. In the 
sphere of the Moon they placed the angels, in that 
of Mercury the archangels, Venus and the Sun 
contained the Principalities and the Powers ; — and 
so on to the summit of the planetary system, 
where, in the sphere of Saturn, the Thrones had 
their station. Above this was the habitation of 
the Cherubim in the sphere of the fixed stars ; and 
still higher, in the region of those stars which are 
so distant as to be imperceptible, the Seraphim, 
we are told, the most perfect of all celestial crea- 
tures, dwelt. 

The Sabeans also (as D'Herbelot tells us) had 
their classes of angels, to whom they prayed as 
mediators, or intercessors ; and the Arabians wor- 
shipped female angels, whom they called Benad 
Hasche, or, Daughters of God. 



2 See D'Herbelot, passim. 



522 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



THE LOYES OF THE ANGELS. 



'Twas when the world was in its prime, 

When the fresh stars had just begun 
Their race of glory, and young Time 

Told his first birth-days by the sun ; 
When, in the light of Nature's dawn 

Rejoicing, men and angels met 1 
On the high hill and sunny lawn, — 
Ere sorrow came, or Sin had drawn 

'Twixt man and heav'n her curtain yet ! 
When earth lay nearer to the skies 

Than in these days of crime and wo, 
"And mortals saw, without surprise, 
In the mid-air, angelic eyes 

Gazing upon this world below. 

Alas, that Passion should profane, 
Ev'n then, the morning of the earth ! 

That, sadder still, the fatal stain 

Should fall on hearts of heav'nly birth — 

And that from Woman's love should fall 

So dark a stain, most sad of all ! 

One ev'ning, in that primal hour, 

On a hill's side, where hung the ray 
Of sunset, bright'ning rill and bow'r, 

Three noble youths conversing lay ; 
And, as they look'd, from time to time, 

To the far sky, where Daylight furl'd 
His radiant wing, their brows sublime 

Bespoke them of that distant world — 
Spirits, who once, in brotherhood 
Of faith and bliss, near Alla stood, 
And o'e'r whose cheeks full oft had blown 
The wjnd that breathes from Alla's throne, 2 
Creatures of light, such as still play, 

Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord, 
And through their infinite array 
Transmit each moment, night and day. 

The echo of His luminous word ! 

Of Heaven they spoke, and, still more oft, 
Of the bright eyes that charm'd them thence ; 

i The Mahometans believe, says D'Herbelot, that in that 
early period of the world, " les hommes n'eurent qu'une 
seule religion, et furent souvent visites des Anges, qui leur 
donnoient la main." 

2 " To which will be joined the sound of the bells hanging 
on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind pro- 
ceeding from the Throne, so often as the Blessed wish for 
music." See Sale's Koran, Prelim. Dissert. 

8 The ancient Persians supposed that this Throne was 
placed in the Sun, and that through the stars were distributed 
the various classes of Angels that encircled it. 



Till, yielding gradual to the soft 
And balmy evening's influence — 

The silent breathing of the flow'rs, 
The melting light that beam'd above, 

As on their first, fond, erring hours, 
Each told the story of his love, 

The history of that hour unbless'd, 

When, like a bird, from its high nest 

Won down by fascinating eyes, 

For Woman's smile he lost the skies. 

The First who spoke was one, with look 

The least celestial of the three — 
A Spirit of light mould, that took 

The prints of earth most yieldingly ; 
Who, ev'n in heav'n, was not of those 

Nearest the Throne, 3 but held a place 
Far off, among those shining rows 

That circle out through endless space, 
And o'er whose wings the light from Hirr 
In Heaven's centre falls most dim. 

Still fair and glorious, he but shone 
Among those youths th' unheavenliest one — 
A creature, to whom light remain'd 
From Eden still, but alter'd, stain'd, 
And o'er whose brow not Love alone 

A blight had, in his transit, cast, 
But other, earthlier joys had gone, 

And left their foot-prints as they pass'd. 
Sighing, as back through ages flown, 

Like a tomb-searcher, Mem'ry ran, 
Lifting each shroud that Time had thrown 

O'er buried hopes, he thus began : — 



FIRST ANGEL'S STORY. 

" 'Twas in a land, that far away 

Into the golden orient lies, 
Where Nature knows not night's delay, 
But springs to meet her bridegroom, Day, 

Upon the threshold of the skies. 
One morn, on earthly mission sent, 4 

And midway choosing where to light, 

The Basilidians supposed that there were three hundred 
and sixty-five orders of angels, " dont la perfection alloit en 
decroissant, a mesure qu'ils s'eloignoient de la premiere 
classe d'esprits places dans le premier ciel." See Dupuis, 
Orig. des Cultes, torn. ii. p. 112. 

4 It appears that, in most languages, the term employed 
for an angel means also a messenger. Firischteh, the Per- 
sian word for angel, is derived (says D'Herbelot) from the 
verb Firischtin, to send. The Hebrew term, too, Meiak, 
has the same signification 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



523 



I saw, from the blue element — 

Oh beautiful, but fatal sight ! 
One of earth's fairest womankind, 
Half veil'd from view, or rather shrined 
In the clear crystal of a brook ; 

Which, while it hid no single gleam 
Of her young beauties, made them look 

More spirit-like, as they might seem 

Through the dim* shadowing of a dream. 
Pausing in wonder I look'd on, 

While, playfully around her breaking 
The waters, that like diamonds shone, 

She moved in light of her own making. 
At length, as from that airy height 
I gently lower'd my breathless flight, 
The tremble of my wing all o'er 

(For through each plume I felt the thrill) 
Startled her, as she reach'd the shore 

Of that small lake — her mirror still — 
Above whose brink she stood, like snow 
When rosy with a sunset glow. 
Never shall I forget those eyes ! — 
The shame, the innocent surprise 
Of that bright face, when in the air 
Uplooking, she beheld me there. 
It seem'd as if each thought, and look, 

And motion, were that minute chain'd 
Fast to the spot, such root she took, 
And — like a sunflower by a brook, 

With face upturn'd — so still remain'd ! ' 

In pity to the wond'ring maid, 

Though loath from such a vision turning, 
Downward I bent, beneath the shade 

Of my spread wings to hide the burning 
Of glances, which — I well could feel — 

For me, for her, too warmly shone ; 
But, ere I could again unseal 
My restless eyes, or even steal 

One sidelong look, the maid was gone — 
Hid from me in the forest leaves, 

Sudden as when, in all her charms 
Of full-blown light, some cloud receives 

The Moon into his dusky arms. 

'Tis not in words to tell the power, 
The despotism that, from that hour, 
Passion held o'er me. Day and night 
I sought around each neighboring spot ; 

i The name given by the Mahometans to the infernal re- 
gions, over which, they say, the angel Tabhek presides. 

By the seven gates of hell, mentioned in the Koran, the 
commentators understand seven different departments or 
wards, in which seven different sorts of sinners are to be 
punished. The first, called Gehennem, is for sinful Mus- 
sulmans ; the second, Ladha, for Christian offenders ; the 



And, in the chase of this sweet light, 

My task, and heaven, and all forgot ; — 
All, but the one, sole, haunting dream 
Of her I saw in that bright stream. 

Nor was it long, ere by her side 

I found myself, whole happy days, 
List'ning to words, whose music vied 

With our own Eden's seraph lays, 
When seraph lays are warm'd by love, 
But, wanting that, far, far above ! — 
And looking into eyes where, blue 
And beautiful, like skies seen through 
The sleeping wave, for me there shone 
A heaven, more worshipp'd than my own. 
Oh what, while I could hear and see 
Such words and looks, was heav'n to me ? 
Though gross the air on earth I drew, 
'Twas blessed, while she breathed it too ; 
Though dark the flow'rs, though dim the sky, 
Love lent them light, while she was nigh. 
Throughout creation I but knew 
Two separate worlds — the one, that small, 

Beloved, and consecrated spot 
Where Lea was — the other, all 

The dull, wide waste, where she was not ! 

But vain my suit, my madness vain ; 
Though gladly, from her eyes to gain 

One earthly look, one stray desire, 
I would have torn the wings, that hung 

Furl'd at my back, and o'er the Fire 
In Gehim's 1 pit their fragments flung ; — 
'Twas hopeless all — pure and unmoved 

She stood, as lilies in the light 

Of the hot noon but look more white ; 
And though she loved me, deeply loved, 
'Twas not as man, as mortal — no, 
Nothing of earth was in that glow — 
She loved me but as one, of race 
Angelic, from that radiant place 
She saw so oft in dreams — that Heaven, 

To which her prayers at morn were sent, 
And on whose light she gazed at even, 
Wishing for wings, that she might go 
Out of this shadowy world below, 

To that free, glorious element ! 

Well I remember by her side 
Sitting at rosy even-tide, 

third, Hothama, is appointed for Jews; and the fourth and 
fifth, called Sair and Sacar, are destined to receive the Sa- 
bteans and the worshippers of fire: in the sixth, named 
Gehim, those pagans and idolaters who admit a plurality of 
gods are placed ; while into the abyss of the seventh, called 
Derk Asfal, or the Deepest, the hypocritical canters of all 
religions are thrown. 



524 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



When, — turning to the star, whose head 
Look'd out, as from a bridal bed, 
At that mute, blushing hour, — she said, 
' Oh ! that it were my doom to be 

1 The Spirit of yon beauteous star, 
' Dwelling up there in purity, 

' Alone, as all such bright things are ; — 
1 My sole employ to pray and shine, 

* To light my censer at the sun, 
' And cast its fire towards the shrine 

( Of Him in heav'n, th' Eternal one !' 

So innocent the maid, so free 

From mortal taint in soul and frame, 
Whom 'twas my crime — my destiny — 
To love, ay, burn for, with a flame, 
To which earth's wildest fires are tame. 
Had you but seen her look, when first 
From my mad lips th' avowal burst ; 
Not anger'd — no — the feeling came 
From depths beyond mere anger's flame — 
It was a sorrow, calm as deep, 
A mournfulness that could not weep, 
So fill'd her heart was to the brink, 
So fix'd and froz'n with grief, to think 
That angel natures — that ev'n I, 
Whose love she clung to, as the tie 
Between her spirit and the sky — 
Should fall thus headlong from the height 
Of all that heav'n hath pure and bright ! 

That very night — my heart had grown 

Impatient of its inward burning ; 
The term, too, of my stay was flown, 
And the bright Watchers near the throne, 
Already, if a meteor shone 
Between them and this nether zone, 

Thought 'twas their herald's wing returning. 
Oft did the potent spell-word, giv'n 

To Envoys hither from the skies, - 
To be pronounced, when back to heav'n 

It is their time or wish to rise, 
Come to my lips that fatal day ; 

And once, too, was so nearly spoken, 
That my spread plumage in the ray 
And breeze of heav'n began to play ; — 

When my heart fail'd — the spell was broken- 
The word unfinish'd died away, 
And my check 'd plumes, ready to soar, 
Fell slack and lifeless as before. 



1 1 have already mentioned that some of the circumstances 
of this story were suggested to me by the eastern legend of 
the two angels, Harut and Marut, as given by Mariti, who 
says that the author of the Taalim founds upon it the Ma- 
hometan prohibition of wine. a I have since found that 



How could I leave a world which she, 

Or lost or won, made all to me? 

No matter where my wand'rings were, 

So there she look'd, breathed, moved about- 
Wo, ruin, death, more sweet with her, 

Than Paradise itself, without ! 

But, to return — that very day 

A feast was held, where, full of mirth, 
Came — crowding thick as flow'rs that play 
In summer winds — the young and gay 

And beautiful of this bright earth. 
And she was there, and 'mid the young 

And beautiful stood first, alone ; 
Though on her gentle brow still hung 

The shadow I that morn had thrown- 
The first, that ever shame or wo 
Had cast upon its vernal snow. 
My heart was madden'd ; — in the flush 

Of the wild revel I gave way 
To all that frantic mirth — that rush 

Of desp'rate gayety, which they, 
Who never felt how pain's excess 
Can break out thus, think happiness ! 
Sad mimicry of mirth and life, 
Whose flashes come but from the strife 
Of inward passions — like the light 
Struck out by clashing swords in fight 

Then, too, that juice of earth, the bane 
And blessing of man's heart and brain — 
That draught of sorcery, which brings 
Phantoms of fair, forbidden things — 
Whose drops, like those of rainbows, smile 

Upon the mists that circle man, 
Bright'ning not only Earth, the while, 

But grasping Heav'n, too, in their span !— - 
Then first the fatal wine-cup rain'd 

Its dews of darkness through my lips, 3 
Casting what^'er of light remain'd 

To my lost soul into eclipse ; 
And filling it with such wild dreams, 

Such fantasies and wrong desires, 
As, in the absence of heav'n's beams, 

Haunt us forever — like wild-fires 

That walk this earth, when day retires. 

Now hear the rest ; — our banquet done, 
I sought her in th' accustom'd bow'r, 



Mariti's version of the tale (which differs also from that of 
Dr. Prideaux, in his Life of Mahomet) is taken from the 
French Encyclopedie, in which work, under the head " Arot 
et Marot," the reader will find it. 

a The Bahardanush tells the fable differently. 



THE LOVES OF 


THE ANGELS. 525 


Where late we oft, when day was gone, 


' Already, see, my plumes have stirr'd, 


And the world hush'd, had met alone, 


' And tremble for their home on high. 


At the same silent, moonlight hour. 


' Thus be our parting — cheek to cheek — 


Her eyes, as usual, were upturn'd 


' One minute's lapse will be forgiv'n, 


To her loved star, whose lustre burn'd 


■' And thou, the next, shalt hear me speak 


Purer than ever on that night ; 


•' The spell that plumes my wing for Heav'n V 


"While she, in looking, grew more bright, 




As though she borrow 5 d of its light. 


While thus I spoke, the fearful maid, 




Of me, and of herself afraid, 


There was a virtue in that scene, 


Had shrinking stood, like flow'rs beneath 


A spell of holiness around, 


The scorching of the south-wind's breath : 


Which, had my burning brain not been 


But when I named — alas, too well, 


Thus madden'd, would have held me bound, 


I now recall, though wilder'd then,— 


As though I trod celestial ground. 


Instantly, when I named the spell, 


Ev'n as it was, with soul all flame, 


Her brow, her eyes uprose again, 


And lips that burn'd in their own sighs, 


And, with an eagerness, that spoke 


I stood to gaze, with awe and shame — 


The sudden light that o'er her broke, 


The memory of Eden came 


' The spell, the spell ! — oh, speak it now, 


Full o 5 er me when I saw those eyes : 


' And I will bless thee !' she exclaim' d — 


•_nd though too well each glance of mine 


Unknowing what I did, inflamed, 


To the pale, shrinking maiden proved 


And lost already, on her brow 


How far, alas, from aught divine, 


I stamp'd one burning kiss, and named 


Aught worthy of so pure a shrine, 


The mystic word, till then ne'er told 


Was the wild love with which I loved, 


To living creature of earth's mould ! 


Yet must she, too, have seen — oh yes, 


Scarce was it said, when, quick as thought, 


5 Tis soothing but to think she saw 


Her lips from mine, like echo, caught 


The deep, true, soul-felt tenderness. 


The holy sound — her hands and eyes 


The homage of an Angel's awe 


Were instant lifted to the skies, 


To her, a mortal, whom pure love 


And thrice to heav'n she spoke it out 


Then placed above him — far above — 


With that triumphant look Faith wears, 


And all that struggle to repress 


When not a cloud of fear or doubt, 


\ sinful spirit's mad excess, 


A vapor from this vale of tears, 


Which work'd within me at that hour, 


Between her and her God appears ! 


When, with a voice, where Passion shed 




Ait" the deep sadness of her power, 


That very moment her whole frame 


Her melancholy power — I said. 


All bright and glorified became, 


4 Then be it so ; if back to heaven 


And at her back I saw unclose 


' I must unloved, unpitied fly, 


Two wings, magnificent as those 


' Without one blest memorial giv'n 


That sparkle around Alla's Throne. 


1 To sooth me in that lonely sky : 


Whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose, 


' One look, like those the young and fond 


Above me, in the moonbeam shone 


6 Give when they're parting — which would be, 


With a pure light, which — from its hue. 


■ Ev'n in remembrance, far beyond 


Unknown upon this earth — I knew 


' All heav'n hath left of bliss for me ! 


Was light from Eden, glist'ning through ! 




Most holy vision ! ne'er before 


i Oh, but to see that head recline 


Did aught so radiant — since the day 


. ' A minute on this trembling arm, 


When Eblis, in his downfall, bore 


' And those mild eyes look up to mine. 


The third of the bright stars away — 


4 Without a dread, a thought of harm ! 


Rise, in earth's beauty, to repair 


' To meet, but once, the thrilling touch 


That loss of light and glory there! 


' Of lips too purely fond to fear me — 




• Or, if that boon be all too much, 


But did I tamely view her flight ' 


' Ev'n thus to bring their fragrance near me ! 


Did not I, too, proclaim out thrice 


* Nay, shrink not so — a look — a word — 


The pow'rful words that were, that night, — 


1 Give them but kindly and I fly ; 


Oh, ev'n for heaven too much delight ! — 



526 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Again to bring us, eyes to eyes, 


That holy Shame, which ne'er forgets 


And soul to soul, in Paradise ? 


Th' unblench'd renown it used to wear ; 


I did — I spoke it o'er and o'er — 


Whose blush remains, when Virtue sets, 


I pray'd, I wept, but all in vain ; 


To show her sunshine has been there. 


For me the spell had pow'r no more. 




There seem'd around me some dark chain 


Once only, while the tale he told, 


Which still, as I essay'd to soar, 


Were his eyes lifted to behold 


Baffled, alas, each wild endeavor : 


That happy, stainless star, where she 


Dead lay my wings, as they have lain 


Dwelt in her bower of purity ! 


Since that sad hour, and will remain — 


One minute did he look, and then — 


So wills th' offended God — for ever ! 


As though he felt some deadly pain 




From its sweet light through heart and brain — > 


It was to yonder star I» traced 


Shrunk back, and never look'd again. 


Her journey up th' illumined waste- 




That isle in the blue firmament, 
To which so oft her fancy went 






In wishes and in dreams before, 




And which was now — such, Purity, 


Who was the Second Spin ? he 


Thy bless'd reward — ordain'd to be 


With the proud front and piercing glance-- 


Her home of light for evermore ! 


Who seem'd, when viewing heaven's expanse, 


Once — or did I but fancy so? — 


As though his far-sent eye could see 


Ev'n in her flight to that fair sphere, 


On, on into th' Immensity 


'Mid all her spirit's new-felt glow, 


Behind the veils of that blue sky, 


A pitying look she turn'd below 


Where Alla's grandest secrets lie ? — 


On him who stood in darkness here ; 


His wings, the while, though day was gone, 


Him whom, perhaps, if vain regret 


Flashing with many a various hue 


Can dwell in heaven, she pities yet ; 


Of light they from themselves alone, 


And oft, when looking to this dim 


Instinct with Eden's brightness, drew. 


And distant world, remembers him. 


'Twas Pvubi — once among the prime 




And flow'r of those bright creatures, named 


But soon that passing dream was gone ; 


Spirits of Knowledge, 1 who o'er Time 


Farther and farther off she shone, 


And Space and Thought an empire daim'd, 


Till lessen'd to a point, as small 


Second alone to Him, whose light 


As are those specks that yonder burn, — 


Was, ev'n to theirs, as day to night ; 


Those vivid drops of light, that fall 


'Twixt whom and them was distance far 


The last from Day's exhausted urn. 


And wide as would the journey be 


And when at length she merged, afar, 


To reach from any island star 


Into her own immortal star, 


The vague shores rf Infinity ! 


And when at length my straining sight 




Had caught her wing's last fading ray, 


'Twas Rubi, in whose mournful eye 


That minute from my soul the light 


Slept the dim light of days gone by ; 


Of heav'n and love both pass'd away ; 


Whose voice, though sweet, fell on the ear 


And I forgot my home, my birth, 


Like echoes, in some silent place, 


Profaned my spirit, sunk my brow, 


When first awaked for many a year ; 


And revell'd in gross joys of earth, 


And when he smiled, if o'er his face 


Till I became — what I am now !" 


Smile ever shone, 'twas like the grace 




Of moonlight rainbows, fair, but wan, 


The Spirit bow'd his head in shame ; 


The sunny life, the glory gone. 


A shame, that of itself would tell — 


Ev'n o'er his pride, though still the same, 


Were there not ev'n those breaks of flame, 


A soft'ning shade from sorrow came ; 


Celestial, through his clouded frame — 


And though at times his spirit knew 


How grand the height from which he fell ! 


The kindlings of disdain and ire, 


1 The Kerulmm, as the Mussulmans wall them, are often 


der one common name of Azazil, by which all spirits who 


joined indiscriminately with the Asrafil or Seraphim, un- 


approach near the throne of Alia are designated. 






THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



527 



Short was the fitful glare they threw — 
Like the last flashes, fierce but few, 
Seen through some noble pile on fire ! 

Such was the Angel, who now broke 

The silence that had come o'er all, 
When he, the Spirit that last spoke, 

Closed the sad hist'ry of his fall ; 
And, while a sacred lustre, flown 

For many a day, relumed his cheek — 
Beautiful, as in days of old ; 
And not those eloquent lips alone 

But every feature seem'd to speak — 
Thus his eventful story told : — 



SECOND ANGEL'S STORY. 

" You both remember well the day, 

When unto Eden's new-made bow'rs, 
Alla convoked the bright array 

Of his supreme angelic pow'rs, 
To witness the one wonder yet, 

Beyond man, angel, star, or sun, 
He must achieve, ere he could set 

His seal upon the world, as done — 
To see that last perfection rise, 

That crowning of creation's birth, 
When, mid the worship and surprise 
Of circling angels, Woman's eyes 

First open'd upon heav'n and earth ; 
And from their lids a thrill was sent, 
That through each living spirit went, 
Like first light through the firmament ! 

Can you forget how gradual stole 
The fresh-awaken'd breath of soul 
Throughout her perfect form — which seem'd 
To grow transparent, as there beam'd 
That dawn of Mind within, and caught 
New loveliness from each new thought ? 
Slow as o'er summer seas we trace # 

The progress of the noontide air, 
Dimpling its bright and silent face 
Each minute into some new grace, 

x\nd varying heav'n's reflections there — 
Or, like the light of evening, stealing 

O'er some fair temple, which all day 
Hath slept in shadow, slow revealing 

Its several beauties, ray by ray, 
Till it shines out, a thing to bless, 
All full of light and loveliness. 

14, C'est mi fait indubitable que la plupart des anciens 
philosophes, soit Chaldeens, soit Grecs, nous ont donne les 
astres comme animes, et ont soutenu que les astres, qui nous 
6tlairent, n'etoient que ou les chars, ou meme les navires, des 



Can you forget her blush, when round 
Through Eden's lone, enchanted ground 
She look'd, and saw, the sea — the skies — 

And heard the rush of many a wing, 

On high behests then vanishing ; 
And saw the last few angel eyes, 
Still ling'ring — mine among the rest, — 
Reluctant leaving scenes so blest ? 
From that miraculous hour, the fate 

Of this new, glorious Being dwelt 
Forever, with a spel • .ike weight, 
Upon my spirit — early, late, 

Whate'er I did, or dream'd, or felt, 
The thought of what might yet befall 
That matchless creature mix'd witli all. — 
Nor she alone, but her whole race 

Through ages yet to come — whate'er 

Of feminine, and fond, and fair, 
Should spring from that pure mind and face, 

All waked my soul's intensest care ; 
Their forms, souls, feelings, still to me 
Creation's strangest mystery ! 

It was my doom — ev'n from the first, 
When witnessing the primal burst 
Of Nature's wonders, I saw rise 
Those bright creations in the skies, — 
Those worlds instinct with life and light, 
Which man, remote, but sees by night, — 
It was my doom still to be haunted 
By some new wonder, some sublime 
And matchless work, that, for the time 
Held all my soul, enchain'd, enchanted, 
And left me not a thought, a dream, 
A word, but on that only theme ! 

The wish to know — that endless thirst, 

Which ev'n by quenching is awaked, 
And which becomes or bless'd or cursed, 

As is the fount whereat 'tis slaked — 
Still urged me onward, with desire 
Insatiate, to explore, inquire — 
Whate'er the wondrous things might be 
That waked each new idolatry — 

Their cause, aim, source, whence-ever sprung — 
Their inmost pow'rs, as though for me 

Existence on that knowledge hung. 

Oh what a vision were the stars, 

When first I saw them burn on high, 

Rolling along, like living cars 

Of light, for gods to journey by I 1 

Intelligences qui les conduisoient. Pour les Chars, cela se 
lit partout; on n'a qu'ouvrir Pl'me, St. Clement," &c. &c.— 
Memoirc Historiquc, sur Ic Sabiismr, par M. Fourmont. 
A belief that the stars are either spirits or the vehicles of 



528 MOORE'S WORKS. 


They were my heart's first passion — days 


Now bless'd the humblest, meanest sod 


And nights, unwearied, in their rays 


Of the dark earth where Woman trod ! 


Have I hung floating, till each, sense 


In vain my former idols glisten'd 


Seem'd full of their bright influence. 


From their far thrones ; in vain these ears 


Innocent joy ! alas, how much 


To the once -thrilling music listen'd, 


Of misery had I shunn'd below, 


That hymn'd around my favorite spheres— 


Could I have still lived bless'd with such ; 


To earth, to earth each thought was giv'n, 


Nor, proud and restless, burn'd to know 


That in this half-lost soul had birth ; 


The knowledge that brings guilt and wo. 


Like some high mount, whose head's in heav'n, 


Often — so much I loved to trace 


While its whole shadow rests on earth ! 


The secrets of this starry race — 




Have I at morn and evening run 


Nor was it Love, ev'n yet, that thralPd 


Along the lines of radiance spun 
Like webs, between them and the sun, 


My spirit in his burning ties ; 


And less, still less could it be call'd 


Untwisting all the tangled ties 


That grosser flame, rotnd which Love flies 


Of light into their different dyes — 


Nearer and nearer, till he dies — 


Then fleetly wing'd I off, in quest 


No, it was wonder, such as thrill'd 


Of those, the farthest, loneliest, 


At all God's works my dazzled sense ; 


That watch, like winking sentinels, 1 


The same rapt wonder, only fill'd 


The void, beyond which Chaos dwells ; 


With passion, more profound, intense, — 


And there, with noiseless plume, pursued 


A vehement, but wand'ring fire, 


Their track through that grand solitude, 


Which, though nor love, nor yet desire, — 


Asking intently all and each 


Though through all womankind it took 


What soul within their radiance dwelt, 


Its range, as lawless lightnings run, 


And wishing their sweet light were speech, 


Yet wanted but a touch, a look, 


That they might tell me all they felt. 


To fix it burning upon One. 


Nay, oft, so passionate my chase 


Then, too, the ever-restless zeal, 


Of these resplendent heirs of space, 


Th' insatiate curiosity 


Oft did I follow— lest a ray 


To know how shapes, so fair, must feel — 


Should 'scape me in the farthest night- 


To look, but once, beneath the seal 


Some pilgrim Comet, on his way 


Of so much loveliness, and see 


To visit distant shrines of light, 


What souls belong'd to such bright eyes — 


And well remember how I sung 


Whether, as sunbeams find their way 


Exultingly, when on my sight 


Into the gem that hidden lies, 


New worlds of stars, all fresh and young; 


Those looks could inward turn their ray, 


As if just born of darkness, sprung! 


And make the soul as bright as they : 




All this impell'd my anxious chase, 


Such was my pure ambition then, 


And still the more I saw and knew 


My sinless transport, night and morn ; 


Of Woman's fond, weak, conqu'ring race, 


Ere yet this newer world of men, 


Th' intenser still my wonder grew. 


And that most fair of stars was born 




Which I, in fatal hour, saw rise 


I had beheld their First, their Eve, 


Among the flow'rs of Paradise ! 


Born in that splendid Paradise, 


Thenceforth my nature all was changed, 


Which sprung there solely to receive 


My heart, soul, senses turn'd below ; 


The first light of her waking eyes. 


And he, who but so lately ranged 


I had seen purest angels lean 


Yon wonderful expanse, where glow 


In worship o'er her from above ; 


Worlds upon worlds, — yet found his mind 


And man — oh yes, had envying seer'ji ' 
Proud man possess'd of all her lore. 


Ev'n in that luminous range confined, — 


spirits, was common to all the religions and heresies of the 


the heavens, to watch over the other fixed stars, and super- 


East. Kircher has given the names and stations of the seven 


intend the planets in their course. The names of these four 


archangels, who were by the Cabala of the Jews distributed 


sentinel stars are, according to the Boundesh, Taschter, for 


through the planets. 


the east ; Satevis, for the west ; Venand, for the south ; and 


1 According to the cosmogony of the ancient Persians, 


Haftorang, for the north. 


there were four stars set as sentinels in the four quarters of 





THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



529 



I saw their happinuss, so brief, 

So exquisite, — her error, too, 
That easy trust, that prompt belief 

In what the warm heart wishes true ; 
That faith in words, when kindly said, 
By which the whole fond sex is led — 
Mingled with — what I durst not blame, 

For 'tis my own — that zeal to know. 
Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of wo ; 
Which, though from heav'n all pure it came, 
Yet stain'd, misused, brought sin and shame 

On her, on me, on all below ! 

I had seen this ; had seen Man, arm'd, 

As his soul is, with strength and sense, 
By her first words to ruin charm'd ; 

His vaunted reason's cold defence, 
Like an ice-barrier in the ray 
Of melting summer, smiled away 
Nay, stranger yet, spite of all this — 

Though by her counsels taught to err, 

Though driv'n from Paradise for her, 
(And with her — that, at least, was bliss,) 
Had I not heard him, ere he cross'd 

The threshold of that earthly heav'n, 
Which by her wildering smile he lost — 

So quickly was the wrong forgiv'n ! — 
Had I not heard him, as he press'd 
The frail, fond trembler to a breast 
Which she had doom'd to sin and strife, 
Call her — ev'n then — his Life ! his Life i 1 
Yes, such the love-taught name, the first, 

That ruin'd Man to Woman gave, 
Ev'n in his outcast hour, when cursed 
By her fond witchery, with that worst 

And earliest boon of love, the grave ! 
She, who brought death into the world, 

There stood before him, with the light 

Of their lost Paradise still bright 
Upon those sunny locks, that curl'd 
Down her white shoulders to her feet — 
So beautiful in form, so sweet 
In heart and voice, as to redeem 

The loss, the death of all things dear, 
Except herself — and make it seem 

Life, endless Life, while she was near I 
Could I help wond'ring at a creature, 

Thus circled round with spells so strong — 
One, to whose ev'ry thought, word, feature, 

In joy and wo, through right and wrong, 
Such sweet omnipotence heaven gave, 
To bless or ruin, curse or save ? 



1 Chavah, or, us it is in Arabic, Havah, (the name by 
which Adam called the woman after their transgression,) 
means " Life." 



Nor did the marvel cease with her — 

New Eves in all her daughters came, 
As strong to charm, as weak to err, 

As sure of man through praise and blame, 

Whate'er they brought him, pride or shame, 
He still th' unreasoning worshipper, 

And they, throughout all time, the same, 

Enchantresses of soul and frame, 
Into whose hands, from first to last, 

This world with all its destinies, 
Devotedly by heav'n seems cast, 

To save or ruin, as they please ! 
Oh, 'tis not to be told how long, 

How restlessly I sigh'd to find 
Some one, from out that witching throng, 

Some abstract of the form and mind 
Of the whole matchless sex, from which 

In my own arms beheld, possess'd, 
I might learn all the powers to witch, 

To warm, and (if my fate unbless'd 

Would have it) ruin, of the rest ! 
Into whose inward soul and sense 

I might descend, as doth the bee 
Into the flower's deep heart, and thence 

Rifle, in all its purity, 
The prime, the quintessence, the whole 
Of wondrous Woman's frame and soul ! 



At length, my burning wish, my prayer — 
(For such — oh what will tongues not dare, 
When hearts go wrong ? — this lip preferr'd)- 
At length my ominous prayer was heard— 
But whether heard in heaven or hell, 
Listen — and thou wilt know too well. 



There was a maid, of all who move 

Like visions o'er this orb, most fit 
To be a bright young angel's love, 

Herself so bright, so exquisite ! 
The pride, too, of her step, as light 

Along th' unconscious earth she went, 
Seem'd that of one, born with a right 

To walk some heavenlier element, 
And tread in places where her feet 
A star at ev'ry step should meet. 
'Twas not alone that loveliness 

By which the wilder'd sense is caught — 
Of lips, whose very breath could bless ; 

Of playful blushes, that seem'd naught 

But luminous escapes of thought ; 
Of eyes that, when by anger stirr'd, 
Were fire itself, but, at a word 

Of tenderness, all soft became 
As though they could, like the sun's bird, 

Dissolve away in their own flame — 



34 



530 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Of form, as pliant as the shoots 


Vague wishes, fond imaginings, 


Of a young tree, in vernal flower ; 


Love-dreams, as yet no object knowing — 


Yet round and glowing as the fruits, 


Light, winged hopes, that come when bid, 


That drop from it in summer's hour ;— > 


And rainbow joys that end in weeping ; 


'Twas not alone this loveliness 


And passions, among pure thoughts hid, 


That falls to loveliest women's share, 


Like serpents under flowerets sleeping : — 


Though, even here, her form could spare 


'Mong all these feelings — felt where'er 


From its own beauty's rich excess 


Young hearts are beating — I saw there 


Enough to make ev'n them more fair — 


Proud thoughts, aspirings high — beyond 


But 'twas the Mind, outshining clear 


Whate'er yet dwelt in soul so fond — 


Through her whole frame — the soul, still near, 


Glimpses of glory, far away 


To light each charm, yet independent 


Into the bright, vague future given ; 


Of what it lighted, as the sun 


And fancies, free and grand, whose play, 


That shines on flowers, would be resplendent 


Like that of eaglets, is near heaven ! 


Were there no flowers to shine upon — 


With this, too — what a soul and heart 


'Twas this, all this, in one combined — 


To fall beneath the tempter's art ! — 


Th' unnumber'd looks and arts that form 


A zeal for knowledge, such as ne'er 


The glory of young woman-kind, 


Enshrined itself in form so fair, 


Taken, in their perfection, warm, 


Since that first, fatal hour, when Eva 


Ere time had chill'd a single charm, 


With every fruit of Eden bless'd, 


And stamp'd with such a seal of Mind, 


Save one alone — rather than leave 


As gave to beauties, that might be 


That one unreaclvd, lost all the rest. 


Too sensual else, too unrefined, 


. 


The impress of Divinity ! 


It was in dreams that first I stole 


y 


With gentle mastery o'er her mind — 


'Twas this — a union, which the hand 


In that rich twilight of the soul, 


Of Nature kept for her alone, 


When reason's beam, half hid behind 


Of every thing most playful, bland, 


The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds 


Voluptuous, spiritual, grand, 


Each shadowy shape the Fancy builds — 


In angel -natures and her own — 


'Twas then, by that soft light, I brought 


Oh this it was that drew me nigh 


Vague, glimmering visions to her view ; — 


One, who seem'd kin to heaven as I, 


Catches of radiance, lost when caught, 


A bright twin-sister from on high — 


Bright labyrinths, that led to naught, 


One, in whose love, I felt, were given 


And vistas, with no pathway through ; — 


The mix'd delights of either sphere, 


Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone, 


All that the spirit seeks in heaven, 


Then closed, dissolved, and left no trace — ■ 


And all the senses burn or here. 


All that, in short, could tempt Hope on, 




But give her wing no resting-place ; 


Had we — but hold — hear eve*y part 


Myself the while, with brow, as yet, 


Of our sad tale — spite of the pain 


Pure as the young moon's coronet, 


Remembrance gives, when the fix'd dart 


Through every dream still in her sight, 


Is stirr'd thus in the wound again — 


Th' enchanter of each mocking scene, 


Rear every step, so full of bliss, 


Who gave the hope, then brought the blight, 


And yet so ruinous, that led 


Who said, ' Behold yon world of light,' 


Down to the last, dark precipice, 


Then sudden dropp'd a veil between ! 


Where perish'd both — the fallen, the dead ! 






At length, when I perceived each thought, 


From the first hour she caught my sight, 


Waking or sleeping, fix'd on naught 


I never left her — day and night 


But these illusive scenes, and me — 


Hovering unseen around her way, 


The phantom, who thus came and went, 


And 'mid her loneliest musings near, 


In half revealments only meant 


I soon could track each thought that lay, 


To madden curiosity — 


Gleaming within her heart, as clear 


When by such various arts I found 


As pebbles within brooks appear ; 


Her fancy to its utmost wound, 


And there, among the countless things 


One night — 'twas in a holy spot, 


That keep young hearts $ newer glowing, 


Which she for prayer had chosen — a grot 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 531 


Of purest marble, built below 


' By those ethereal wings, whose way 


Her garden beds, through which a glow 


' Lies through an element, so fraught 


From lamps invisible then stole, 


' With living Mind, that, as they play, 


Brightly pervading all the place — 


' Their every movement is a thought ! 


Like that mysterious light the soul, 




Itself unseen, sheds through the face 


' By that bright, wreathed hair, between 


There, at her altar, while she knelt, 


' Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind 


And all that woman ever felt, 


' Of Paradise so late hath been, 


When God and man both claim'd her sighs — 


1 And left its fragrant soul behind ! 


Every warm thought, that ever dwelt, 




Like summer clouds, 'twixt earth and skies. 


'By those impassion'd eyes, that melt 


Too pure to fall, too gross to rise, 


' Their light into the inmost heart ; 


Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyes- 


' Like sunset in the waters, felt 


Then, as the mystic light's soft ray 


' As molten fire through every part — 


Grew softer still, as though its ray 




Was breathed from her, I heard her say : — 


'I do implore thee, oh most bright 




' And worshipp'd Spirit, shine but o'er 


' Oh idol of my dreams ! whate'er 


1 My waking, wondering eyes this night, 


' Thy nature be — human, divine, 


' This one blest night — I ask no more !' 


1 Or but half heav'nly — still too fair, 




1 Too heavenly to be ever mine ! 


Exhausted, breathless, as she said 




These burning words, her languid head 


1 Wonderful Spirit, who dost make 
1 Slumber so lovely that it seems 


Upon the altar's steps she cast, 


As if that brain-throb were its last — 


' No longer life to live awake, 




' Since heaven itself descends in dreams, 


Till, startled by the breathing, nigh, 




Of lips, that echoed back her sigh, 


' Why do I ever lose thee ? why 

' When on thy realms and thee I gaze 


Sudden her brow again she raised ; 

And there, just lighted on the shrine, 
Beheld me — not as I had blazed 


' Still drops that veil, which I could die, 


Around her, full of light divine, 
In her late dreams, but softeu'd down 


' Oh gladly, but one hour to raise ? 




Into more mortal grace ; — my crown 


' Long ere such miracles as thou 


Of flowers, too radiant for this world, 


' And thine came o'er my thoughts, a thirst 


Left hanging on yon starry steep ; 


For light was in this soul, which now 


My wings shut up, like banners furl'd, 


' Thy looks have into passion nursed. 


When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep ; 




Or like autumnal clouds, that keep 


' There's nothing bright above, below, 


Their lightnings sheath'd, rather than mar 


' In sky — earth — ocean, that this breast 


The dawning hour of some young star ; 


' Doth not intensely burn to know, 


And nothing left, but what beseem'd 


' And thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest I 


Th' accessible, though glorious mate 




Of mortal woman — whose eyes beam'd 


1 Then come, oh Spirit, from behind 


Back upon hers, as passionate ; 


' The curtains of thy radiant home, 


Whose ready heart brought flame for flame, 


' If thou wouldst be as angel shrined, 


Whose sin, whose madness was the same ; 


* Or loved and clasp'd as mortal, come ! 


And whose soul lost, in that one hour, 




For her and for her love — oh more 


' Bring all thy dazzling wonders here, 


Of heaven's light than ev'n the power 


' That I may, waking, know and see ; 


Of heav'n itself could now restore ! 


1 Or waft me hence to thy own sphere, 




* Thy heaven, or — ay, even that with thee ! 


And yet, that hour !" 


1 Demon or God, who hold'st the book 


The Spirit here 


1 Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye, 


Stopp'd in his utterance, as if words 


1 Give me, with thee, but one bright look 


Gave way beneath the wild career 


1 Into its leaves, and let me die ! 


Of his then rushing thoughts — like chords, 



532 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Midway in some enthusiast's song, 
Breaking beneath a touch too strong ; 
While the clench'd hand upon the brow 
Told how remembrance throbb'd there now ! 
But soon 'twas o'er — that casual blaze 
From the sunk foe of other days — 
That relic of a flame, whose burning 

Had been too fierce to be relumed 
Soon pass'd away, and the youth, turning 

To his bright listeners, thus resumed : — 

" Days, months elapsed, and, though what most 

On earth I sigh'd for was mine, all — 
Yet — was I happy ? God, thou know'st, 
Howe'er they smile, and feign, and boast, 

What happiness is theirs, who fall ! 
'Twas bitterest anguish — made more keen 
Ev'n by the love, the bliss, between 
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell 

In agonizing cross-light given 
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell 

In purgatory 1 catch of heaven ! 
The only feeling that to me 

Seem'd joy — or rather my sole lest 
From aching misery — was to see 

My young, proud, blooming Lilis blest. 
She, the fair fountain of all ill 

To my lost soul — whom yet its thirst 
Fervidly panted after still, 

And found the charm fresh as at first — 
To see her happy — to reflect 

Whatever beams still round me play'd 
Of former pride, of glory wreck'd, 

On her, my Moon, whose light I made, 

And whose soul worshipp'd even my shade — 
This was, I own, enjoyment — this 
My sole, last lingering glimpse of bliss. 
And proud she was, fair creature ! — proud, 

Beyond what ev'n most queenly stirs 
In woman's heart, nor would have bow'd 

That beautiful young brow of hers 
To aught beneath the First above, 
So high she deem'd her Cherub's love ! 

Then, too, that passion, hourly growing 
Stronger and stronger — to which even 

i Called by the Mussulmans Al Araf— a sort of wall or 
partition which, according to the 7th chapter of the Koran, 
separates hell from paradise, and where they, who have 
not merits sufficient to gain them immediate admittance in- 
to heaven are supposed to stand for a certain period, alter- 
nately tantalized and tormented by the sights that are on 
either side presented to them. 

Manes, who borrowed in many instances from the Plato- 
nists, placed his purgatories, or places of purification, in the 
Sun and Moon.— Beausobre, liv. iii., chap. 8. 

a " Quelques gnomes desireux de devenir immortels, av- 
oient voulu gagner les bonnes graces de nos filles, et leur 



Her love, at times, gave way — of knowing 

Every thing strange in earth and heaven ; 
Not only all that, full reveal'd, 

Th' eternal Alla loves to show, 
But all that He hath wisely seal'd 

In darkness, for man not to know — 
Ev'n this desire, alas, ill-starr'd 

And fatal as it was, I sought 
To feed each minute, and unbarr'd 

Such realms of wonder on her thought, 
As ne'er, till then, had let their light 
Escape on any mortal's sight ! 
In the deep earth — beneath the sea — 

Through caves of fire — through wilds of air- 
Wherever sleeping Mystery 

Had spread her curtain, we were there — 
Love still beside us, as we went, 
At home in each new element, 

And sure of worship everywhere ! 

Then first was Nature taught to lay 

The wealth of all her kingdoms down 
At woman's worshipp'd feet, and say, 

' Bright creature, this is all thine own !' 
Then first were diamonds, from the night 2 
Of earth's deep centre brought to light, 
And made to grace the conquering way 
Of proud young beauty with their ray. 

Then, too, the pearl from out its shell 

Unsightly, in the sunless sea, 
(As 'twere a spirit, forced to dwell 

In form unlovely,) was set free, 
And round the neck of woman threw 
A light it> lent and borrow'd too. 
For never did this maid — whate'er 

Th' ambition of the hour — forget 
Her sex's pride in being fair ; 
Nor that adornment, tasteful, rare, 
Which makes the mighty magnet, set 
In Woman's form, more mighty yet. 
Nor was there aught within the range 

Of my swift wing in sea or air, 
Of beautiful, or grand, or strange, 
That, quickly as her wish could change, 

I did not seek, with such fond care, 

avoient apporte des pierreries dont ils sont gardiens natureis 
et ces auteurs ont cru, s'appuyant sur le livre d'Enoch mal 
entendu, que c'etoient des pieges que les anges amoureux," 
&c. &c. — Comte de Gabalis. 

As the fiction of the loves of angels with women gave 
birth to the fanciful world of sylphs and gnomes, so we 
owe to it also the invention of those beautiful Genii and 
Peris, which embellish so much the mythology of the East ; 
for in the fabulous histories of Caioumarath, of Thamu- 
rath, &c, these spiritual creatures are always represented 
as the descendants of Seth, and called the Bani Alginn, or 
children of Giann. 



THE LOVES OF THE AXGELS. 



533 



Thai when I've seen her look above 

At some bright star admiringly, 
I've said, •' Nay, look not there, my love, 

1 Alas, I cannot give it thee I' 

But ntf: alone the wonders found 

Through Nature's realm — th' unveil'd, material, 
Visible glories, that abound. 
Through all her vast, enchanted ground — 

But whatsoe'er unseen, ethereal, 
Dwells far away from human sense, 
Wrapp'd in its own intelligence — 
The mystery of that Fountain-head, 

From which all vital spirit runs, 
All breath of Life, where'er 'tis spread 

Through men or angels, flowers or suns — 
The workings of th' Almighty Mind, 
When first o'er Chaos he design'd 
The outlines of this world ; and through 

That depth of darkness, — like the bow, 
Call'd out of rain-clouds, hue by hue 2 — 

Saw th^rand, gradual picture grow ; — 
The covenant with human kind 

By Alla made 3 — the chains of Fate 
He round himself and them hath twined, 

Till his high task he consummate : — 

Till good from evil, love from hate, 
Shall be work'd out through sin and pain, 
And Fate shall loose her iron chain, 
And all be free, be bright again ! 

Such were the deep-drawn mysteries, 

And some, ev'n more obscure, profound. 
And wildering to the mind than these, 

Which — far as woman's thought could sound, 
Or a fall'n, outlaw* d spirit reach — 
She dared to learn, and I to teach. 
Till — fill'd with such unearthly lore, 

And mingling the pure light it brings 
With much that fancy had, before, 

Shed in false, tinted glimmerings — 
Th' enthusiast girl spoke out, as one 

Inspired, among her own dark race, 
Who from their ancient shrines would run. 
Leaving their holy rites undone, 

To gaze upon her holier face. 
And, though but wild the things she spoke, 
Yet, 'mid that play of error's smoke 

Into fair shapes by fancy curl'd, 

1 I am aware that this happy saying of Lord Albemarle's 
loses much of its grace and playfulness, by being put into 
the mouth of any but a human lover. 

2 According to Whitehurst's theory, the mention of rain- 
bows by an antediluvian angel is an anachronism ; as he 
says, '■ There was no rain before the flood, and consequently 
no rainbow, which accounts for the novelty of this sight 
after the Deluge " 



Some gleam- of pure religion broke — 
Glimpses, that have not yet awoke, 

But startled the still dreaming world ! 
Oh, many a truth, remote, sublime, 

Which Heav'n would from the minds of men 
Have kept conceal'd, till its own time, 

Stole out in these revealments then — 
Reveahnents dim, that have forerun, 
By ages, the great, Sealing One ! 4 
Like that imperfect dawn, or light 5 

Escaping from the Zodiac's signs, 
Which makes the doubtful east half brigij ., 

Before the real morning shines' 

Thus die. some moons Gf bliss go by — 

Of bliss, to her, who saw but love 
And knowledge throughout earth and sky ; 
To whose enamor'd soul and eye, 
I seem'd — as is the sun on high — 

The light of all below, above, 
The spirit of sea, and land, and air, 
Whose influence, felt everywhere, 
Spread from its centre, her own heart, 
Ev'n to the world's extremest part " 
While through that world her r^adess mind 

Had now career'd so fast and far, 
That earth itself seem'd left behind, 
And her proud fancy, unconfined, 

Already saw Heaven's gates ajar I 

Happy enthusiast ! still, oh, still 
Spite of my own heart's mortal chill, 
Spite of that double-fronted sorrow, 

WTiich looks at once before and back, 
Beholds the yesterday, the morrow, 

And sees both comfortless, both black — 
Spite of all this, I could have still 
In her delight forgot all ill ; 
Or, if pain icould not be forgot, 
At least have borne and murmur'd not 
When thqpghts of an offended heaven, 

Of sinfulness, which I — ev'n I, 
While down its steep most headloDg driven — 
Well knew could never be forgiven, 

Came o'er me with an agony 
Beyond all reach of mortal wo — 
A torture kept for those who know, 
Know every thing, and — worst of all — 
Know and love Virtue while they fall ! 

3 For the terms of this compact, of which the angels were 
supposed to be witnesses, see the chapter of the Koran, en- 
titled Al Araf, and the article " Adam" in D'Herbelot. 

* In acknowledging the authority of the great Trophets 
who had preceded him, Mahomet represented his own 
mission as the final " Sea!," or consummation of them all. 

5 The Zodiacal Light. 



534 



MOORE'S WORKS. 






Even then, her presence had the power 

To sooth, to warm — nay, even to bless — 
If ever bliss could graft its flower 

On stem so full of bitterness — 
Even then her glorious smile to me 

Brought warmth and radiance, if not balm ; 
Like moonlight o'er a troubled sea, 

Brightening the storm it cannot calm. 

Oft, too, when that disheartening fear, 

Which all who love, beneath yon sky, 
Feel, when they gaze on what is dear — 

The dreadful thought that it must die i 
That desolating thought, which comes 
Into men's happiest hours and homes ; 
Whose melancholy boding flings 
Death's shadow o'er the brightest things, 
Sicklies the infant's bloom, and spreads 
The grave beneath young lovers' heads ! 
This fear, so sad to all — to me 

Most full of sadness, from the thought 
That I must still live on, 1 when she 
Would, like the snow that on the sea 

Fell yesterday, in vain be sought ; 
That heaven to me this final seal 

Of all earth's sorrow would deny, 
And I eternally must feel 

The death-pang, without power to die ! 
Ev'n this, her fond endearments — fond 
As ever cherish'd the sweet bond 
'Twixt heart and heart — could charm away ; 
Before her look no clouds would stay, 
Or, if they did, their gloom was gone, 
Their darkness put a glory on ! 
But 'tis not, 'tis not for the wrong, 
The guilty, to be happy long ; 
And she, too, now, had sunk within 
The shadow of her tempter's sin, 
Too deep for ev'n Omnipotence 
To snatch the fated victim thence ! 

Listen, and, if a tear there be 
Left in your hearts, weep it for me. 

'Twas on the evening of a day, 
Which we in love had dreamt away ; 
In that same garden, where — the pride 
Of seraph splendor laid aside, 
And those wings furl'd, whose open light 
For mortal gaze were else too bright — 
I first had stood before her sight, 
And found myself — oh, ecstasy, 

Which even in pain I ne'er forget — 



1 Pococke, however, gives it as the opinion of the Maho- 
metan doctors, that all souls, not only of men and of anisnais, 



Worshipp'd as only God should be, 
And loved as never man was yet ! 

In that same garden were we now, 
Thoughtfully side by side reclining, 

Her eyes turn'd upward, and her brow 
With its own silent fancies shining. 

It was an evening bright and still 

As ever blush'd on wave or bower, 
Smiling from heaven, as if naught ill 

Could happen in so sweet an hour. 
Yet, I remember, both grew sad 

In looking at that light — even she, 
Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad, 

Felt the still hour's solemnity, 
And thought she saw, in that repose, 

The death -hour not alone of light, 
But of this whole fair world — the close 

Of all things beautiful and bright — 
The last, grand sunset, in whose ray 
Nature herself died calm away ! 

At length, as though some livelier thought 
Had suddenly her fancy caught, 
She turn'd upon me her dark eyes, 

Dilated into that full shape 
They took in joy, reproach, surprise, 

As 'twere to let more soul escape, 
And, playfully as on my head 
Her white hand rested, smiled and said : — 

' I had, last night, a dream of thee, 
' Resembling those divine ones, given, 

' Like preludes to sweet minstrelsy, 

' Before thou cam'st, thyself from heaven. 

' The same rich wreath was on thy brow, 
' Dazzling as if of starlight made ; 

' And these wings, lying darkly now, 

' Like meteors round thee flash'd and play'd. 

' Thou stood'st all bright, as in those dreams, 

' As if just wafted from above ; 
' Mingling earth's warmth with heaven's beams, 

' A creature to adore and love. 

' Sudden I felt thee draw me near 

' To thy pure heart, where, fondly placed, 

' I seem'd within the atmosphere 
' Of that exhaling light embraced ; 

' And felt, methought, th' ethereal flame 
' Pass from thy purer soul to mine ; 



living either on land or in the sea, but of the angels also 
must necessarily taste of death. 



THE hpYES OF THE ANGELS. 



535 



Till — oh, too blissful — I became, 
' Like thee, all spirit, all divine ! 

Say, why did dream so bless'd come o'er me, 
' If, now I wake, 'tis faded, gone ? 

When will my Cherub shine before me 
' Thus radiant, as in heaven he shone ? 



' When shall I, waking, be allow'd 
' To gaze upon those perfect charms, 

* And clasp thee once, without a cloud, 

' A chill of earth, within these arms ? 

'Oh what a pride to say, this, this 

' Is my own Angel — all divine, 
' And pure, and dazzling as he is, . 

' And fresh from heaven — he's mine, he's mine 

' Think'st thou, were Lilis in thy place, 

' A creature of yon lofty skies, 
' She would have hid one single grace, 

1 One glory from her lover's eyes ? 

1 No, no — then, if thou lov'st like me, 
' Shine out, young Spirit, in the blaze 

* Of thy most proud divinity, 

' Nor think thou'lt wound this mortal gaze. 

' Too long and oft I've look'd upon 

' Those ardent eyes, intense ev'n thus — 

' Too near the stars themselves have gone, 
* To fear aught grand or luminous. 

* Then doubt me not — oh, who can say 

' But that this dream may yet come true, 
' And my bless'd spirit drink thy ray, 
' Till it becomes all heavenly too ? 

' Let me this once but feel the flame 
' Of those spread wings, the veiy pride 

'Will change my nature, and this frame 
' By the mere touch be deified !' 

Thus spoke the maid, as one, not used 
To be by earth or heaven refused — 
As one, who knew her influence o'er 

All creatures, whatsoe'er they were, 
And, though to heaven she could not soar, 

At least would bring down heaven to her. 



i The Dove, or pigeon which attended Mahomet as his 
Familiar, an 4 was frequently seen to whisper in his ear, was, 
if I recollec right, one of that select number of animals (in- 
cluding also the ant of Solomon, the dog of the Seven 
Sleepers, &c.) which were thought by the Prophet worthy 
of admission into Paradise. 

"The Moslems have a tradition that Mahomet was saved 



Little did she, alas, or I — 

Ev'n I, whose soul, but half-way yet 
Immerged in sin's obscurity 
Was as the earth whereon we lie, 

O'er half whose disk the sun is set — 
Little did we foresee the fate, 

The dreadful — how can it be told ? 
Such pain, such anguish to relate 

Is o'er again to feel, behold ! 
But, charged as 'tis, my heart must speak 
Its sorrow out, or it will break ! 
Some dark misgivings had, I own, 

Pass'd for a moment through my breast- 
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown, 

To one, or both — something unbless'd 

To happen from this proud request. 
But soon these boding fancies fled ; 

Nor saw I aught that could forbid 
My full revealment, save the dread 

Of that first dazzle, when, unhid, 

Such light should burst upon a lid 
Ne'er tried in heaven ; — and even this glare 
She might, by love's own nursing care, 
Be, like young eagles, taught tc bear. 
For well I knew, the lustre shec 
From Cherub wings, when proudlier* spread, 
Was, in its nature, lambent, pure, 

And innocent as is the light 
The glow-worm hangs out to allure 

Her mate to her green bower at night 
Oft had I, in the mid-air, swept 
Through clouds in which the lightning slept, 
As in its lair, ready to spring, 
Yet waked it not — though from my wing 
A thousand sparks fell glittering ! 
Oft too when round me from above 

The feather'd snow, in all its whiteness, 
Fell, like the moultings of heaven's Dove, 1 — 

So harmless, though so full of brightness, 
Was my brow's wreath, that it would shake 
From off its flowers each downy flake 
As delicate, unmelted, fair, 
And cool as they had lighted there. 

Nay ev'n with Lilis — had I not 

Around her sleep all radiant beam'd, 

Hung o'er her slumbers, nor forgot 
To kiss her eyelids, as she dream'd? 



(when he hid himself in a cave in Mount Shur) by his pur- 
suers finding the mouth of the cave covered by a spider's web, 
and a nest built by two pigeons at the entrance, with two 
eggs unbroken in it, which made them think no one could 
have entered it. In consequence of this, they say, Mahomet 
enjoined his followers to look upon pigeons as sacred, and 
never to kill a spider." — Modern Universal History, vol 1. 



536 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And yet, at morn, from that repose, 

Had she not waked, unscathed and bright, 

As doth the pure, unconscious rose, 
Though by the fire -fly kiss'd all night ? 

Thus having — as, alas, deceived 

By my sin's blindness, I believed — 

No cause for dread, and those dark eyes 

Now fix'd upon me, eagerly 
As though th' unlocking of the skies 

Then waited but a sign from me — 
How could I pause ? how ev'n let fall 

A word, a whisper that could stir 
In her proud heart a doubt, that all 

I brought from heaven belong'd to her. 
Slow from her side I rose, while she 
Arose, too, mutely, tremblingly, 
But not with fear — all hope, and pride, 

She waited for the awful boon, 
Like priestesses, at eventide, 

Watching the rise of the full moon, 
Whose light, when once its orb hath shone, 
'Twill madden them to look upon ! 

Of all my glories, the bright crown, 

Which, when I last from heaven came down, 

Was left behind me, in yon star 

That shines from out those clouds afar, — 

Where, relic sad, 'tis treasured yet, 

The downfallen angel's coronet !— 

Of all my glories, this alone 

Was wanting : — but th' illumined brow, 

The sun-bright locks, the eyes that now 
Had love's spell added to their own, 
And pour'd a light till then unknown ; — 

Th' unfolded wings, that, in their play, 
Shed sparkles bright as Alla's throne ; 

All I could bring of heaven's array, 

Of that rich panoply of charms 
A Cherub moves in, on the day 
Of his best pomp, I now put on ; 
And, proud that in her eyes I shone 

Thus glorious, glided to her arms ; 
Which still (though, at a sight so splendid, 

Her dazzled brow had, instantly, 
Sunk on her breast) were wide extended 

* To clasp the form she durst not see I 1 
Great Heaven ! how could thy vengeance light 
So bitterly on one so bright 1 

How could the hand, that gave such charms, 
Blast them again, in love's own arms ? 
Scarce had I touch'd her shrinking frame 
When — oh most horrible ! — I felt 

* '» Mohammed, (says Sale,) though a prophe* jyas not 
able to bear the sight of Gabriel, when he appeared in his 
proper form, much ess would others be able to support it." 



That every spaik of that pure flame — 

Pure, while among the stars I dwelt — 
Was now, by my transgression, turn'd 
Into gross, earthly fire, which burn'd, 
Burn'd all it touch'd, as fast as eye 

Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes ; 
Till there — oh God, I still ask why 
Such doom was hers ? — I saw heiglie 

Blackening within my arms to ashes ! 
That brow, a glory but to see — 

Those lips, whose touch was what the first 
Fresh cup of immortality 

Is to a new-made angel's thirst ! 
Those clasping arms, within whose round — 
My heart's horizon — the whe^ bound 
Of its hope, prospect, header was found! 
Which, even in this dread moment, fond 

As when they first were round me cast, 
Loosed not in death the fatal bond, 

But, burning, held me to the last ! 
All, all, that, but that morn, had seem'd 
As if Love's self there breathed and beam'c 
Now, parch'd and black, before me lay, 
Withering in agony away ; 
And mine, oh misery ! mine the flame, 
From which this desolation came ; — 
I, the cursed spirit, whose caress 
Had blasted all that loveliness ! 

'Twas maddening ! — but now hear even wc 
Had death, death only, been the curse 
I brought upon her — had the doom 
But ended here, when her young bloom 
Lay in the dust — and did the spirit 
No part of that fell curse inherit, 
'Twere not so dreadful — but, come near — 
Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear — 
Just when her eyes, in fading, took 

Their last, keen, agonized farewell, 
And look'd in mine with — oh, that look ! 

Great vengeful Power, whate'er the hell 
Thou mayst to human souls assign, 
The memory of that look is mine ! — 

In her last struggle, on my brow 

Her ashy lips a kiss impress'd, 
So withering ! — I feel it now — 

'Twas fire — but fire, ev'n more unbless'd 
Than was my own, and like that flame, 
The angels shudder but to name, 
Hell's everlasting element ! 

Deep, deep it pierced into my brain, 
Madd'ning and torturing as it went ; 

And here — mark here, the brand, the stain 
It left upon my front — burnt in 
By that last kiss of love and sin — 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



537 



A brand, which all the pomp and pride 
Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide ! 

But is it thus, dread Providence — 

Can it, indeed, be thus, that she, 
Who, (but for one proud, fond offence,) 

Had honor'd heaven itself, should be 
Now doom'd— I cannot speak it — no, 
Merciful Alla ! 'tis not so — 
Never could lips divine have said 
The fiat of a fate so dread. 
And yet, that look — so deeply fraught 

With more than anguish, with despair — 
That new, fierce fire, resembling naught 

In heaven or earth — this scorch I bear ! — 
Oh — for the first time that these knees 

Have bent before thee since my fall, 
Great Power, if ever thy decrees 

Thou couldst for prayer like mine recall, 
Pardon that spirit,' and on me, 

On me, who taught her pride to err, 
Shed out each drop of agony 

Thy burning vial keeps for her ! 
See, too, where low beside me kneel 

Two other outcasts, who, though gone 
And lost themselves, yet dare to feel 

And pray for that poor mortal one. 
Alas, too well, too well they know 
The pain, the penitence, the wo 
That Passion brings upon the best, 
The wisest, and the loveliest. — 
Oh, who is to be saved, if such 

Bright, erring souls are not forgiven ; 
So loath they wander, and so much 

Their very wand'rings lean towards heaven ! 
Again, I cry, Jus* Power, transfer 

That creature's sufferings all to me — 

Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be, 
To save one minute's pain to her, 

Let mine last all eternity !" 

He paused, and to the earth bent down 

His throbbing head ; while they, who felt 
That agony as 'twere their own, 

Those angel youths, beside him knelt, 
And, in the night's still silence there, 
While mournfully each wand'ring air 
Play'd in those plumes, that never more 
To their lost home in heaven must soar, 
Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer, 
Unheard by all but Mercy's ear — 
And which if Mercy did not hear, 
Oh, God would not be what this bright 

And glorious universe of His, 
This world of beauty, goodness, light, 

And endless love, proclaims He is ! 



Not long they knelt, when, from a wood 
That crown'd that airy solitude, 
They heard a low, uncertain sound, 
As from a lute, that just had found 
Some happy theme, and murmur'd round 
The new-born fancy, with fond tone, 
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own ! 
Till soon a voice, that match'd as well 

That gentle instrument, as suits 
The sea-air to an ocean-shell, 

(So kin its spirit to the lute's,) 
Tremblingly folio vv'd the soft strain, 
Interpreting its joy, its pain, 

And lending the light wings of words 
To many a thought, that else had lain 

Unfledged and mute among the chords. 

All started at the sound — but chief 

The third young Angel, in whose face, 
Though faded like the others, grief 

Had left a gentler, holier trace ; 
As if, even yet, through pain and ill, 
Hope had not fled him — as if still 
Her precious pearl, in sorrow's cup, 

Unmelted at the bottom lay, 
To shine again, when, all drunk up, 

The bitterness should pass away. 
Chiefly did he, though in his eyes 
There shone more pleasure than surprise, 
Turn to the wood, from whence that sound 

Of solitary sweetness broke ; 
Then, listening, look delighted round 

To his bright peers, while thus it spoke : — 
" Come, pray with me, my seraph love, 

" My angel -lord, come pray with me ; 
" In vain to-night my lip hath strove 
" To send one holy prayer above — 
" The knee may bend, the lip may move, 

" But pray I cannot, without thee ! 
" I've fed the altar in my bower 

" With droppings from the incense tree ; 
" I've shelter'd it from wind and shower, 
'•' But dim it burns the livelong hour, 
" As if, like me, it had no power 

" Of life or lustre, without thee ! 

" A boat at midnight sent alone 
" To drift upon the moonless s?a, 

" A lute, whose leading chord is gone, 

" A wounded bird, that hath but one 

" Imperfect wing to soar upon, 

" Are like what I am, without thee ! 

" Then ne'er, my spirit-love, divide, 
" In life or death, thyself from me ; 



538 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" But when again, in sunny pride, 
" Thou walk'st through Eden, let me glide, 
" A prostrate shadow, by thy side — 
" Oh happier thus than without thee !" 

The song had ceased, when, from the wood 

Which, sweeping down that airy height, 
Reach'd the lone spot whereon they stood — 

There suddenly shone out a light 
From a clear lamp, which, as it blazed, 
Across the brow of one, who raised 
Its flame aloft, (as if to throw 
The light upon that group below,) 
Display'd two eyes, sparkling between 
The dusky leaves, such as are seen 
By fancy only, in those faces, 

That haunt a poet's walk at even, 
Looking from out their leafy places 

Upon his dreams of love and heaven. 
'Twas but a moment — the blush, brought 
O'er all her features at the thought 

Of being seen thus, late, alone, 
By any but the eyes she sought, 

Had scarcely for an instant shone 

Through the dark leaves, when she was gone — 
Gone, like a meteor that o'erhead 
Suddenly shines, and, ere we've said, 
" Behold, how beautiful !"— 'tis fled. 

Yet, ere she went, the words, " I come, 

" I come, my Nama," reach'd her ear, 

In that kind voice, familiar, dear, 
Which tells of confidence, of home, — 

Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near, 
Till they grow one, — of faith sincere, 
And all that Love most loves to hear ; 
A music, breathing of the past, 

The present, and the time to be, 
Where Hope and Memory, to the last, 

Lengthen out life's true harmony ! 

1 Seth is a favorite personage among the Orientals, and 
acts a conspicuous part in many of their most extravagant 
romances. The Syrians pretended to have a Testament of 
this Patriarch in their possession, in which was explained 
the whole theology of angels, their different orders, &c. &c 
The Curds, too, (as Hyde mentions in his Appendix,) have a 
book, which contains all the rites of their religion, and which 
they call Sohuph Sheit, or the Book of Seth. 

In the same manner that Seth and Cham are supposed to 
have preserved these memorials of antediluvian knowledge, 
Xixuthrus is said in Chaldaian fable to have deposited in 
Siparis, the city of the Sun, those monuments of science 
which he had saved out of the waters of a deluge.— See 
Jablonski's learned remarks upon these columns or tablets 
of Seth, which he supposes to be the same with the pillars 
of Mercury, or the Egyptian Thoth. — Pantheon. Egypt, lib. 
v., cap. 5. 

2 The Mussulmans, says DTJerbelot, apply the general 
name, Mocarreboun, to all those Spirits " qui approchent le 
plus pris le Tr6ne." Of this number are Mikail and Gebrail. 



Nor long did he, whom call so kind 
Summon'd away, remain behind ; 
Nor did there need much time to tell 

What they — alas, more fall'n than he 
From happiness and heaven — knew well, 

His gentler love's short history ! 

Thus did it run — not as he told 

The tale himself, but as 'tis graved 
Upon the tablets that, of old, 

By Seth 1 were from the deluge saved, 
All written over with sublime 

And sadd'ning legends of th' unbless'd, 
But glorious Siirits of thi.' time, 

And this young Angel's 'mong the rest. 



THIRD ANGEL'S STORY. 

Among the Spirits, of pure flame, 

That in th' eternal heavens abide — 
Circles of light, that from the same 

Unclouded centre sweeping wide, ' 

Carry its beams on every side — 
Like spheres of air that waft around 
The undulations of rich sound, 
Till the far-circling radiance be 
Diffused into infinity ! 
First and immediate near the Throne 
Of Alla, 2 as if most his own, 
The Seraphs stand 3 — this burning sign 
Traced on their banner, " Love divine !" 
Their rank, their honors, far above 

Ev'n those to high-brow'd Cherubs given, 
Though knowing all ; — so much doth love 

Transcend all Knowledge, ev'n in heaven .' 

3 The Seraphim, or Spirits of Divine Love. 

There appears to be, among writers on the East, as well as 
among the Orientals themselves, considerable indecision with 
regard to the respective claims of Seraphim and Cherubim 
to the highest rank in the celestial hierarchy. The deriva- 
tion which Hyde assigns to the word Cherub seems to deter- 
mine the precedence in favor of that order of spirits : — 
"Cherubim, i. e. Propinqui Angeli, qui sc. Deo proprius 
quam alii accedunt ; nam Charab est i. q. Karab, appropin- 
quare." (P. 2G3.) Al Beidawi, too, one of the commentators 
of the Koran, on that passage, " the angels, who bear the 
throne, and those who stand about it," (chap, xl.) says, 
"These are the Cherubim, the highest order of angels." 
On the other hand, we have seen, in a preceding note, that 
the Syrians place the sphere in which the Seraphs dwell at 
the very summit of all the celestial systems; and even, among 
Mahometans, the words Azazil and Mocarreboun (which 
mean the spirits that stand nearest to the throne of Alia 
are indiscriminately applied to both Seraphim and Cheru 
bim. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



539 



'Mong these was Zaraph once — and none 

E'er felt affection's holy fire, 
Or yearn' d towards th' Eternal One, 

With half such longing, deep desire. 
Love was to his impassion'd soul 

Not, as with others, a mere part 
Of its existence, but the whole — 

The very life-breath of his heart ! 
Oft, when from Alla's lifted brow 

A lustre came, too bright to bear, 
And all the seraph ranks would bow, 

To shade their dazzled sight, nor dare 
" To look upon th' effulgence there — 
This Spirit's eyes would court the blaze, 

(Such pride he in adoring took.) 
And rather lose, in that one gaze, 

The power of looking, than not look ! 
Then, too, when angel voices sung 
The mercy of their God, and strung 
Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet, 

That moment, watch'd for by all eyes, 
When some repentant sinner's feet 

First touch'd the threshold of the skies, 
Oh then how clearly did the voice 
Of Zaraph above all rejoice ! 
Love was in ev'ry buoyant tone — 

Such love, as only could belong 
To the blest angels, and alone 

Could, ev'n from angels, bring such song .' 

AI35, that it should e'er have been 

In heav'n as 'tis too often here, 
Where nothing fond or bright is seen, 

But it hath pain and peril near ; — 
Where right and wrong so close resemble, 

That what we take for virtue's thrill 
Is often the first downward tremble 

Of the heart's balance unto ill ; 
Where Love hath not a shrine so pure, 

So holy, but the serpent, Sin, 
In moments, ev'n the most secure, 

Beneath his altar may glide in ! 

So was it with that Angel — such 

The charm, that sloped his fall along, 
From good to ill, from loving much, 

Too easy lapse, to loving wrong. — 
Ev'n so that amorous Spirit, bound 
By beauty's spell, where'er 'twas found, 
From the bright things above the moon 

Down to earth's beaming eyes descended, 
Till love for the Creator soon 

In passion for the creature ended. 

'T was first at twilight, on the shore 
Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute 



And voice of her he loved steal o'er 

The silver waters, that lay mute, 
As loath, by even a breath, to stay 
The pilgrimage of that «weet lay, 
Whose echoes still went on and on, 
Till lost among the light that shone 
Far off, beyond the ocean's brim — 

There, where the rich cascade of day 
Had o'er th' horizon's golden rim, 

Into Elysium roll'd away ! 
Of God she sung, and of the mild 

Attendant Mercy, that beside 
His awful throne forever smiled, 

Ready, with her white hand, to guide 
His bolts of vengeance to their prey — 
That she might quench them on the way ! 
Of Peace — of that Atoning Love, 
Upon whose star, shining above 
This twilight world of hope and fear, 

The weeping eyes of Faith are fix'd 
So fond, that with her every tear 

The light of that love-star is mix'd ! — 
All this she sung, and such a soul 

Of piety was in that song, 
That the charm'd Angel, as it stole 

Tenderly to his ear, along 
Those lulling waters where he lay, 
Watching the daylight's dying ray, 
Thought 'twas a voice from out the wave, 
An echo, that some sea-nymph gave 
To Eden's distant harmony, 
Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea ! 

Quickly, however, to its source, 
Tracing that music's melting course, 
He saw, upon the golden sand 
Of the sea-shore, a maiden stand, 
Before whose feet th' expiring waves 

Flung their last offering with a sigh — 
As, in the East, exhausted slaves 

Lay down the far -brought gift, and die — 
And, while her lute hung by her, hush'd, 

As if unequal to the tide 
Of song, that from her lips still gush'd, 

She raised, like one beatified, 
Those eyes, whose light seem'd rather given 

To be adored than to adore — 
Such eyes, as may have look'd from heaven, 

Bat ne'er were raised to it before ! 

Oh Love, Religion, Music 1 — all 
That's left of Eden upon earth— 



1 "Les Egyptiens disent que la Musique est Scrurdela 
Religions—Voyages de Pythagorc, torn, i., p. 432. 



540 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The only blessings, since the fall 
Of our weak souls, that still recall 

A trace of their high, glorious birth — 
How kindred are the dreams you bring ! 

How Love, though unto earth so prone, 
Delights to take religion's wing, 

When time or grief hath stain'd his own ! 
How near to Love's beguiling brink, 

Too oft, entranced Religion lies ! 
While Music, Music is the link 

They both still hold by to the skies, 
The language of their native sphere, 
Which they had else forgotten here. 

How then could Zauaph fail to feel 

That moment's witcheries ? — one, so fair, 

Breathing out music, that might steal 
Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer 
That seraphs might be proud to share ! 

Oh, he did feel it, all too well — 

With warmth, that far too dearly cost — 

Nor knew he, when at last he fell, 

To which attraction, to which spell, 

Love, Music, or Devotion, most 

His soul in that sweet hour was lost. 

Sweet was the hour, though dearly won, 

And pure, as aught of earth could be. 
For then first did the glorious sun 

Before religion's altar see 
Two hearts in wedlock's golden tie 
Self-pledged, in love to live and die. 
Blest union ! by that Angel wove, 

And worthy from such hands to come ; 
Safe, sole asylum, in which Love, 
When fali'n or exiled from above, 

In this dark world can find a home. 

And, though the Spirit had transgress'd, 
Had, from his station 'mong the bless'd 
Won down by woman's smile, allow'd 

Terrestrial passion to breathe o'er 
The mirror of his heart, and cloud 

God's image, there so bright before — 
Yet never did that Power look down 

On error with a brow so mild ; 
Never did Justice wear a frown, 

Through which so gently Mercy smiled. 
For humble was their love — with awe 

And trembling like some treasure kept, 



1 Sara. 

2 An allusion to the Sephiroths or Splendors of the Jew- 
ish Cabbala, represented as a tree, of which God is the 
crown or summit. 

The Sephiroths are the higher orders of emanative beings 
in the strange and incomprehensible system of the Jewish 



That was not theirs by holy law — 
Whose beauty with remorse they saw, 

And o'er whose preciousness they wept 
Humility, that low, sweet root, 
From which all heavenly virtues shoot, 
Was in the hearts of both — but most 

In Nama's heart, by whom alone 
Those charms for which a heaven was lost 

Seem'd all unvalued and unknown ; 
And when her seraph's eyes she caught, 

And hid hers glowing on his breast, 
Even bliss was humbled by the thought — 

" What claim have I to be so bless'd ?" 
Still less could maid, >-o meek, have nursed 
Desire of knowledge — that vain thirst, 
With which the sex hath all been cursed, 
From luckless Eve to her, who near 
The Tabernacle stole to hear 
The secrets of the angels : J ik) — 

To love as her own Seraph loved, 
With Faith, the same through bliss and 

Faith, that, were even its light removed, 
Could, like the dial, fix'd remain, 
And wait till it shone out again ; 
With Patience that, though often bow'd 

By the rude storm, can rise anew ; 
And Hope that, even from Evil's cloud, 

Sees sunny Good half breaking through ! 
This deep, relying Love, worth more 
In heaven than all a Cherub's lore — 
This Faith, more sure than aught beside, 
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride 
Of her fond heart — th' unreasoning scope 

Of all its views, above, below — 
So true she felt it that to hope, 

To trust, is happier than to know. 
And thus in humbleness they trod, 
Abash'd, but pure before their God ;. 
Nor e'er did earth behold a sight 

So meekly beautiful as they, 
When, with the altar's holy light 

Full on their brows, they knelt to pray, 
Hand within hand, and side by side, 
Two links of love, awhile untied 
From the great chain above, but fast 
Holding together to the last ! — 
Two fallen Splendors, 2 from that tree, 
Which buds with such eternally, 3 
Shaken to earth, yet keeping all 
Their light and fi eshness in the fall. 



Cabbala. They are called by various names, Pity, Beauty, 
&c. &c. ; and their influences are supposed to act through 
certain canals, which communicate with each other. 

3 The reader may judge of the rationality of this Jewish 
system by the following explanation of part of the machinery : 
— " Les canaux qui sortent de la Misericorde et de la Force, 



THE LOYES OF THE ANGELS. 



541 



Their only punishment, (as wrong, 

However sweet, must bear its brand,) 
Their only doom was this — that, long 

As the green earth and ocean stand, 
They both shall wander here — the same, 
Throughout all time, in heart and frame — 
Still looking to that goal sublime, 

Whose light remote, but sure, they see : 
Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time, 

Whose home is in Eternity I 
Subject, the while, to all the strife, 
True Love encounters in this life — 
The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain ; 

The chill, that turns his warmest sighs 

To earthly vapor, ere they rise ; 
The doubt he feeds on, and the pain 

That in his very sweetness lies : — 
Still worse, th' illusions that betray 

His footsteps to their shining brink ; 
That tempt him, on his desert way 

Through the bleak world, to bend and drink, 
Where nothing meets his lips, alas, — 
But he again must sighing pass 
On to that far-off home of peace, 
In which alone his thirst will cease. 

All this they bear, but, not the less, 
Have inoojC-Cjfs rich in happiness — 
Bless'd meetings, after many a day 
Of widowhood pass'd far away, 
When the loved face again is seen 
Close, close, with not a tear between — 
Confidings frank, without control, 
Pour'd mutually from soul to soul ; 
As free from any fear or doubt 

As is that light from chill or stain, 
The sun into the stars sheds out, 

To be by them shed back again ! — 
That happy minglement of hearts, 

Where, changed as chymic compounds are, 
Each with its own existence parts, 

To find a new one, happier far ! 

et qui vont aboutir a la Beaute, sont charges d'nn gTand 
noinbre d'Anges. II y en a trente-cinq sur le canal de la 
Misericorde, qui recompensent et qui couronnent la vertu 
des Saints," &c, &c. — For a concise account of the Caba- 
listic Philosophy, see Enfield's very useful compendium of 



Such are their joys — and, crowning all, 

That blessed hope of the bright hour, 
When, happy and no more to fall, 

Their spirits shall, with freshen'd power, 
Rise up rewarded for their trust 

In Him, from whom all goodness springs, 
And, shaking off earth's soiling dust 

From their emancipated wings, 
Wander forever through those skies 
Of radiance, where Love never dies .' 

In what lone region of the earth 

These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell, 
God and the Angels, who look forth 

To watch their steps, alone can tell. 
But should we, in our wanderings, 

Meet a young pair, whose beauty wants 
But the adornment of bright wings, 

To look like heaven's inhabitants — 
Who shine where'er they tread, and yet 

Are humble in their earthly lot, 
As is the wayside violet, 

That shines unseen, and were it not 

For its sweet breath would be forgot — 
Whose hearts, in every thought, are one, 

Whose voices utter the same wills — 
Answering, as Echo doth some tone 

Of fairy music 'mong the hills, 
So like itself, we seek in vain 
Which is the echo, which the strain — 
Whose piety is love, whose love, 

Though close as 'twere their souls' embrace, 
Is not of earth, but from above — 

Like two fair mirrors, face to face, 
Whose light, from one to th' other thrown, 
Is heaven's reflection, not their own — 
Should we e'er meet with aught so pure, 
So perfect here, we may be sure 

'Tis Zarapii and his bride we see ; 
And call young lovers round, to view 
The pilgrim pair, as they pursue 

Their pathway towards eternity. 

" On les represente quelquefois sous la figure d'un arbrc 
. . . . l'Ensoph qu'on met au-dessusde l'arbre Sephirotique 
ou des Splendeurs divins, est l'lnfini."— L'Histoire des 
Juifs, liv. ix. 11. 



■ ' » ' — 

542 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


SKEPTICISM. 


A JOKE VERSIFIED. 


Ere Psyche drank the cup, that shed 


" Come, come," said Tcm's father, " at your time of 


Immortal Life into her soul, 


life, 


Some evil spirit pour'd, 'tis said, 


" There's no longer excuse for thus playing the 


One drop of Doubt into the bowl — 


rake — 




" It is time you should think, boy, of taking ;. ^rife" — 


Which, mingling darkly with the stream, 


" Why, so it is, father — whose vife shall I take ?" 


To Psyche's lips — she knew not why — 




Made even that blessed nectar seem 
As though its sweetness soon would die. 






Oft, in the very arms of Love, 


ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 


A chill came o'er her heart — a fear 




That Death might, even yet, remove 


Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood 


Her spirit from that happy sphere. 


By Jordan's stream, descended from the sky, 




Is that remembrance, which the wise and good 


" Those sunny ringlets," she exclaim'd, 


Leave in the hearts that love them, when they 


" Twining them round her snowy fingers ; 


die. 


" That forehead, where a light, unnamed, 


So pure, so precious shall the memory be, 


" Unknown on earth, forever lingers ; J 


Bequeath'd, in dying, to our souls by thee — 




So shall the love we bore thee, cherish'd warm 


" Those lips, through which I feel the breath 


Within our souls through grief, and pain, and 


" Of Heaven itself, whene'er they sever — 


strife, 


" Say, are they mine, beyond all death, 


Be, like Elisha's cruise, a holy charm, 


" My own, hereafter, and forever ? 


Wherewith to " heal the waters" of this life ! 


" Smile not — I know that starry brow, 




" Those ringlets, and bright lips of thine, 
" Will always shine, as they do now — 






" But shall I live to see them shine ?" 






TO JAMES CORRY, ESQ., 


In vain did Love say, " Turn thine eyes 




" On all that sparkles round thee here — 


ON niS MAKING ME A PRESENT OF A WINE STRAINER. 


" Thou'rt now in heaven, where nothing dies, 


Brighton, June, 1825. 


" And in these arms — what canst thou fear ?" 


This life, dear Cony, who can doubt ? — 




Resembles much friend Ewart's 1 wine, 


In vain — the fatal drop, that stole 


When first the rosy drops come out, 


Into that cup's immortal treasure, 


How beautiful, how clear they shine ! 


Had lodged its bitter near her soul, 




And gave a tinge to every pleasure. 


And thus awhile they keep their tint, 




So free from even a shade with some, 


And, though there ne'er was transport given 


That they would smile, did you but hint, 


Like Psyche's with that radiant boy, 


That darker drops would ever come. 


Hers is the only face in heaven, 




That wears a cloud amid its joy. 


1 A wine-merchant 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 543 


But soon the ruby tide runs short, 


He sent such hints through Viscount Tins, 


Each minute makes the sad truth plainer, 


To Marquis That, as clench'd the thing. 


Till life, like old and crusty port, 




When near its close, requires a strainer. 


The same it was in se'eiice, arts, 




The Drama, Books, MS. and printed — 


This friendship can alone confer, 


Kean learn'd from Ned his cleverest parts, 


Alone can teach the drops to pass, 


And Scott's last work by him was hinted 


If not as bright as once they were, 




At least unclouded, through the glass. 


Childe Harold in the proofs he read, 




And, here and there, infused some soul in't— 


Nor. Corn-, could a boon be mine, 


Nay, Davy's Lamp, till seen ..y Ned, 


Of which this heart were fonder, vainer, 


Had — odd enough — an awkward hole in't. 


Than thus, if life grow like old wine, 
To have thy friendship for its strainer. 


4 


'Twas thus, all-doing and all-knowing, 




Wit, statesman, boxer, chymist, singer, 




Whatever was the best pie going, 




In that Ned — trust him — had his finger. 






****** * 


FRAGMENT OF A CHARACTER. 
Here lies Factotum Ned at last ; 






Long as he breathed the vital air, 




Nothing %roughout all Europe pass'd, 


WHAT SHALL I SING THEE? 


In which Ned hadn't some small share. 




Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was out, 


TO 


Whatever statesmen did or said, 


What shall I sing thee ? Shall I tell 


If not exactly brought about, 


Of that bright hour, remember d well 


''Twas all, at least, contrived by NecL 


As though it shone but yesterday, 




When, loitering idly in the ray 


With Nap, if Russia went to war, 


Of a spring-sun, I heard, o'erhead, 


'Twas owing, under Providence, 


My name as by some spirit said, 


To certain hints Ned gave the Czar — ■ 


And, looking up, saw two bright eyes 


(Vide his pamphlet — price, sixpence.) 


Above me from a casement shine, 




Dazzling my mind with such surprise 
As they, who sail beyond the Line, 


T f France was beat at Waterloo — 


As ali but Frenchmen think she was— 




Feel when new stars above them rise ; — 


To Ned, as Wellington well knew, 


And it was thine, the voice that spoke, 
Like Ariel's, in the mid-air then ; 


Was owing half that day's applause. 


Then for his news — no envoy's bag 


And thine the eye, whose lustre broke— 


Never to be forgot again ! 


E'er pass'd so many secrets through it ; 


t 


Scarcely a telegraph could wag 

Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it. 




What shall I sing thee? Shall I weave 




A song of that sweet summer-eve, 


Such tal^s he had of foreign plots, 


(Summer, of which the sunniest part 


With foreign names, one's ear to buzz in ! 


Was that we, each, had in the heart.) 


From Russia, chefs and ofs in lots, 


When thou and I, and one like thee, 


From Poland, owskis by the dozen. 


In life and beauty, to the sound 




Of our own breathless minstrelsy, 


When George, alarm'd for England's creed, 


Danced till the sunlight faded round, 


Turn'd out the last Whig ministry, 


Ourselves the whole ideal Ball, 


And men ask'd — who advised the deed? 


Lights, music, company, and all ! 


Ned modestly confess'd 'twas he. 


Oh, 'tis not in the languid strain 




Of lute like mine, whose day is past, 


For though, by some unlucky miss, 


To call up even a dream again 


He had not downright seen the King, 


Of the fresh light those moments cast 



544 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



COUNTRY DANCE AND QUADRILLE. 

One night the nymph call'd Country Dance — 
(Whom folks, of late, have used so ill, 

Preferring a coquette from France, 

That mincing thing, Mamselle Quadrille) — 

Having been chased from London down 

To that most humble haunt of all 
She used to grace — a Country Town — 

Went smiling to the New-Year's Ball. 

" Here, here, at least," she cried, " though driven 
" From London's gay and shining tracks — 

" Though, like a Peri cast from heaven, 
" I've lost, forever lost, Almack's — 

" Though not a London Miss alive 

" Would now for her acquaintance own me ; 
" And spinsters, even, of forty-five, 

" Upon their honors ne'er have known me ; 

" Here, here, at least, I triumph still, 

" And — spite of some few dandy Lancers, 

" Who vainly try to preach Quadrille — 

" See naught but true-blue Country Dancers. 

" Here still I reign, and, fresh in charms, 
" My throne, like Magna Charta, raise 

" 'Mong sturdy, freeborn legs and arms, 

" That scorn the threaten' d cliaine Anglaise" 

'Twas thus she said, as 'mid the din 

Of footmen, and the town sedan, 
She lighted at the King's Head Inn, 

And up the stairs triumphant ran. 

The Squires and their Squiresses all, 
With young Squirinas, just come out, 

And my Lord's daughters from the Hall, 
(Quadrillers, in their hearts, no doubt,) — 

All these, as light she tripp'd up stairs, 

Were in the cloak-room seen assembling — 

When, hark ! some new, outlandish airs, 
From the First Fiddle, set her trembling. 

She stops — she listens — can it be ? 

Alas, in vain her ears would 'scape it — 
It is " Di tanti palpiti" 

As plain as English bow can scrape it 

" Courage !" however — in she goes, 
With her best, sweeping country grace ; 

When, ah too true, her worst of foes, 

Quadrille, there meets her, face to face. 



Oh for the lyre, or violin, 

Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore, 
To sing the rage these nymphs were in, 

Their looks and language, airs and trickery 

There stood Quadrille, with cat-like face, 
(The beau-ideal of French beauty,) 

A bandbox thing, all art and lace 

Down from her nose-tip to her shoe-tie. 

Her flounces, fresh from Victorine — 
From Hippolyte, her rouge and hair — 

Her poetry, from Lamarline — 

Her morals, from — the Lord knows where. 

And, when she danced — so slidingly, 
So near the ground she plied her art, 

You'd swear her mother-earth and she 
Had made a compact ne'er to part. 

Her face too, all the while, sedate, 

No signs of life or motion showing, 
Like a bright pendule's dial-plate — 

So still, you'd hardly think 'twas gofvg. 

Full fronting her stood Country Dance — 

A fresh, frank nymph, whom you would know 

For English, at a single glance — 
English all o'er, from top to toe. 

A little gauche, 'tis fair to own, 

And rather given to skips and bounces ; 

Endangering thereby many a gown, 

And playing, oft, the devil with flounces. 

Unlike Mamselle — who would prefer 

(As morally a lesser ill) 
A thousand flaws of character, 

To one vile rumple of a frill. 

No rouge did she of Albion wear ; 

Let her but run that two-heat race 
She calls a Set, not Dian e'er 

Came rosier from the woodland chase. 

Such was the nymph, whose soul had in't 
Such anger now — whose eyes of blue 

(Eyes of that bright, victorious tint, 
Which English maids call Waterloo") 

Like summer lightnings, in the dusk 
Of a warm evening, flashing broke, 

While— to the tune of " Money Musk," 1 

Which struck up now — she proudly spoke : — 

1 An old English Country Dance. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



545 



" Heard you that strain — that joyous strain ? 

" 'Twas such as England loved to hear, 
" Ere thou, and all thy frippery train, 

" Corrupted both her foot and ear — 

" Ere Waltz, that rake from foreign lands, 
" Presumed, in sight of all beholders, 

" To lay his rude, licentious hands 

" On virtuous English backs and shoulders — 

" Ere times and morals both grew bad, 

" And, yet unfleeced by funding blockheads, 

" Happy John Bull not only had, 

" But danced to, « Money in both pockets.' 

" Alas, the change ! — Oh, L — d — y, 

" Where is the land could 'scape disasters, 

11 With suck a Foreign Secretary, 

" Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters ? 

" Wo to ye, men of ships and shops ! 

" Rulers of day-books and of waves ! 
" QuadrilFd, on one side, into fops, 

" And drill'd, on t'other, into slaves ! 

" Ye, too, ye lovely victims, seen, 
" Like pigeons, truss'd for exhibition, 

" With elbows, a la crapaudine, 

" And feet in — God knows what position ; 

" Hemm'd in by watchful chaperons, 
" Inspectors of your airs and graces, 

" Who intercept all whisper'd tones, 
" And read your telegraphic faces ; 

" Unable with the youth adored, 
" In that grim cordon of Mammas, 

" To interchange one tender word, 

" Though whisper'd but in queue de chats. 

" Ah did you know how bless'd wo ranged, 
" Ere vile Quadrille usurp'd the fiddle — 

"What looks in setting were exchanged, 
" What tender words in down the middle 

" How many a couple, like the wind, 
" Which nothing in its course controls, 

" Left time and chaperons far behind, 
" And gave a loose to legs and souls ; 

" How matrimony throve — ere stopp'd 
" By this cold, silent, foot-coquetting — 

" How charmingly one's partner popp'd 
" Th' important question in poussetting. 



35 



" While now, alas — no sly advances — 
" No marriage hints — all goes on badly — 

" 'Twixt Parson Maltims and French Dances, 
" We, girls, are at a discount sadly. 

" Sir William Scott (now Baron Stowell) 
" Declares not half so much is made 

" By Licenses— and he must know well — 
" Since vile Quadrilling spoil'd the trade." 

She ceased — tears fell from every Miss — 
She now had touch'd the true pathetic : — 

One such authentic fact as this 
Is worth whole volumes theoretic. 

Instant the cry was " Country Dance !" 
And the maid saw, with brightening face, 

The Steward of the night advance, 
And lead her to her birthright place. 

The fiddles, which awhile had ceased, 
Now tuned again their summons sweet, 

And, for one happy night, at least, 
Old England's triumph was complete. 



GAZEL 



Haste, Maami, the spring is nigh ; 

Already, in th' unopen'd flowers 
That sleep around us, Fancy's eye 

Can see the blush of future bowers ; 
And joy it brings to thee and me, 
My own beloved Maami ! 

The streamlet frozen on its way, 
To feed the marble Founts of Kings, 

Now, loosen'd by the vernal ray, 
Upon its path exulting springs — 

As doth this bounding heart to thee, 

My ever blissful Maami ! 

Such bright hours were not made to stay ; 

Enough if they a while remain, 
Like Irem's bowers, that fade away, 

From time to time, and come again 
And life shall all one Irem be 
For us, my gentle Maami. 

O haste, for this impatient heart, 
Is like the rose in Yemen's vale, 

That rends its inmost leaves apart 
With passion for the nightingale ; 

So languishes this soul for thee, 

My bright and blushing Maami ! 



J 



546 MOORE'S WORKS. 




To check young Genius' proud career, 


LINES 


The slaves, who now his throne invaded, 




Made Criticism his prime Vizir, 


ON THE DEATH OF 


And from that hour his glories faded. 


JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ., OF DUBLIN. 






Tied down in Legislation's school, 


If ever life was prosperously cast, 


Afraid of even his own ambition, 


If ever life was like the lengthen'd flow •• 


His very victories were by rule, 


Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last, 


And he was great but by permission. 


'Twas his who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below. 






His most heroic deeds — the same, 


The sunny temper, bright where all is strife, 


That dazzled, when spontaneous actions — 


The simple heart above all worldly wiles ; 


Now, done by law, seem'd cold and tame, 


Light wit that plays along the calm of life, 


And shorn of all their first attractions. 


And stirs its languid surface into smiles ; 






If he but stirr'd to take the air, 


Pure charity, that comes not in a shower, 


Instant, the Vizir's Council sat — 


Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds, 


" Good Lord, your Highness can't go there— 


But, like the dew, with gradual silent power, 


" Bless me, your Highness can't do that." 


Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads ; 






If, loving pomp, he chose to buy 


The happy grateful spirit, that improves 


Rich jewels for his diadem, 


And brightens every gift by fortune given ; 


" The taste was bad, the price was high — 


That, wander where it will with those it loves, 


" A flower were simpler than a gem." 


Makes every place a home, and home a heaven : 






To please them if he took to flowers — - 


All these were his. — Oh, thou who read'st this 


" What trifling, what unmeaning things ! 


stone, 


" Fit for a woman's toilet hours, 


When for thyself, thy children, to the sky 


" But not at all the style for Kings." 


Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon alone, 




That ye like him may live, like him may die ! 


If, fond of his domestic sphere, 




He play'd no more the rambling comet — 




" A dull, good sort of man, 'twas clear, 




" But, as for great or brave, far from it." 






Did he then look o'er distant oceans, 


GENIUS AND CRITICISM. 


For realms more worthy to enthrone him ? 




" Saint Aristotle, what wild notions ! 


Scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur. 


" Serve a ' ne exeat regno' on him." 


Seneca. 




Of old, the Sultan Genius reign'd, 


At length, their last and worst to do, 


As Nature meant, supreme, alone ; 


They round him placed a guard of watchmen, 


With mind uncheck'd, and hands unchain'd, 


Reviewers, knaves in brown, or blue 


His views, his conquests were his own. 


Turn'd up with yellow — chiefly Scotchmen ; 


But power like his, that digs its grave 


To dog his footsteps all about, 


With its own sceptre, could not last ; 


Like those in Longwood's prison grounds, 


So Genius' self became the slave 


Who at Napoleon's heels rode out, 


Of laws that Genius' self had pass'd. 


For fear the Conqueror should break bounds. 


As Jove, who forged the chain of Fate, 


Oh for some Champion of his power, 


Was, ever after, doom'd to wear it ; 


Some Ultra spirit, to set free, 


His nods, his struggles all too late — 


As erst in Shakspeare's sov'reign hour, 


" Qui semeljussit, semper paret." 


The thunders of his Royalty ! — 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 547 


To vindicate his ancient line, 
The first, the true, the only one, 

Of Right eternal and divine, 

That rules beneath the blessed sun. 


So might I shun the shame and pain, 
That o'er me at this instant come, 
When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain, 
Knocks at the portal of my brain, 

And gets, for answer, " Not at home !" 

November, 1828. 


TO LADY J*R**Y, 

ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE SOMETHING IN HER ALBUM. 

Written at Middleton. 
Oh albums, albums, how I dread, 
' Your everlasting scrap and scrawl ! 
How often wish that from the dead, 
Old Omar would pop forth his head, 
And make a bonfire of you all ! 

So might I 'scape the spinster band, 

The blushless blues, who, day and night, 
Like duns in doorways, take their stand, 
To waylay bards, with book in hand, 
Crying forever, " Write, sir, write !" 


TO THE SAME. 

ON LOOKING THROUGH HER ALBUM. 

No wonder bards, both high and low, 
From Byron down to * * * * * and me, 

Should seek the fame, which all bestow 
On him whose task is praising thee. 

Let but the theme be J * r * * y's eyes, 
At once all errors are forgiven ; 

As ev'n old Sternhold still we prize, 

Because, though dull, he eaigs of heaven. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


The following trifles, having enjoyed, in their 
circulation through the newspapers, all the ce- 
lebrity and length of life to which they were en- 
titled, would have been suffered to pass quietly 
into oblivion without pretending to any further 
distinction, had they not already been published, 
in a collective form, both in London and Paris, 
and, in each case, been mixed up with a number of 
other productions, to which, whatever may be their 
merit, the author of the following pages has no 
claim. A natural desire to separate his own prop- 
erty, worthless as it is, from that of others, is, he 
begs to say, the chief motive of the publication of 
this volume. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS 
POEMS. 


TO SIR HUDSON LOWE. 

Effare causam nominis, 

Utrumne mores hoc tui 

Nonien dedere, an nomen hoc 

Secuta morum regula. Ausonius. 

1816. 
Sir Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson Low, 
(By name, and ah ! by nature so,) 

As thou art fond of persecutions, 
Perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated, 
How Captain Gulliver was treated, 

When thrown among the Lilliputians. 





548 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


They tied him down — these little men did — 


Propagation in reason — a small child or two — 


And having valiantly ascended 


Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to ; 


Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance, 


The issue of some folks is moderate and few — 


They did so strut ! — upon my soul, 


But ours, my dear corporate Bank, there's no end j 


It must have been extremely droll 


to! 


To see their pigmy pride's exuberance ! 






So — hard though it bo on a pair, who've already 


And how the doughty mannikins 


Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and pence ; 


Amused themselves with sticking pins, 


And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, Freddy, 3 


And needles in the great man's breeches : 


So lavish of cash and so sparing of sense — 


And how some very little things, 




That pass'd for Lords, on scaffoldings 


The day is at hand, my Papyria 4 Venus, 


Got up, and worried him with speeches. 


When — high as we once used to carry our ! 




capers — • t 


Alas, alas ! that it should happen 


Those soft billet-doux we're now passing between us, | 


To mighty men to be caught napping ! — 


Will serve but to keep Mrs, Coults in curl-papers : 


Though different, too, these persecutions ; 




For Gulliver, there, took the nap, 


And when — if we still must continue our love, 


While, here the Nap, oh sad mishap, 


(After all that has pass'd,) — our amour, it is clear, 


Is taken by the Lilliputians ! 


Like that which Miss Danae managed with Jove, 


§ 


Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear ! 




February, 1826. 


AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN BANK 




AND GOVERNMENT. 


DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVEREIGN 


1826. 


AND A ONE POUND NOTE. 


Bank. 


" O ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet f acres 


Is all then forgotten ? those amorous pranks 


Agna lupos, capreaeqne leones." Hor. 


You and I, in our youth, my dear Government, 




play'd ; 


Said a Sov'reign to a Note, 


When you call'd me the fondest, the truest of Banks, 


In the pocket of my coat, 


And enjoy'd the endearing advances I made ! 


Where they met in a neat purse of leather, 




" How happens it, I prithee, 


When left to ourselves, unmolested and free, 


" That, though I'm wedded with thee, 


To do all that a dashing young couple should do, 


" Fair Pound, we can never live together ? 


A law against paying was laid upon me, 




But none against owing, dear helpmate, on you. 


" Like your sex, fond of change, 




" With silver you can range, 


And is it then vanish'd ? — that " hour (as Othello 


*' And of lots of young sixpences be mother ; 


So happily calls it) of Love and Direction ?" x 


" While with me — upon my word, 


And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow, 


" Not my Lady and my Lord 


Grow good in our old age, and cut the connection? 


" Of W — stm — th see so little of each other !" 


Government. 


The indignant Note replied, 


Even so, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must be ; 


(Lying crumpled by his side,) 


This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing : a 


" Shame, shame, it is yourself that roam, Sir — 


We've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee 


" One cannot look askance, 


There must soon be a stop to our bill-'mg and 


" But, whip ! you're off to France, 


cooing. 


" Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir. 
" finem, specie cffileste resumtd, 




Of love, ot worldly matter and direction." 


Luctibus imposuit, venitque salutifer urbi." 




Met. 1. xv. V. 743. 


« It appears, however, that Ovid was a friend to the re- 


3 Honorable Frederick R— b— ns— n. 


sumpti m of payment in specie : — 


4 So called, to distinguish her from the " Aurea ' or Ooldex 




Venus. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



549 



" Youi scampering began 

" From the moment Parson Van, 
" Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter ; 

" * For better or for worse' 

" Is the usual marriage curse, 
* But ours is all ' worse' and no ' better.' 

" In vain are laws pass'd, 

" There's nothing holds you fast, 
" Tho' you know, sweet Sovereign, I adore you — 

" At the smallest hint in life, 

" You forsake your lawful wife, 
" As other Sovereigns did before you. 

" I flirt with Silver, true— 

" But what can ladies do, 
" When disown'd by their natural protectors ? 

" And as to falsehood, stuff ! 

" I shall soon be false enough, 
" When I get among those wicked Bank Direc- 
tors." 

The Sovereign, smiling on her, 

Now swore, upon his honor, 
To be henceforth domestic and loyal ; 

But, within an hour or two, 

Why — I sold him to a Jew, 
And he's now at No. 10 Palais RoyaL 



AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD KING. 

" Quern das finem, Rex rnagne, laborum V Virgil. 

1826. 
How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all 
The Peers of the realm about cheapening their 
corn, 1 
When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental, 
'Tis hardly worth while being very high born ? 

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life, 
On a question, my Lord, there's so much to abhor 
in? 
A question — like asking one, " How is your 
wife ?" — 
At once so confounded domestic and foreign. 



i See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, March 1, 
1826, when Lord King was severely reproved by several of 
the noble Peers, for making so many speeches against the 
Corn Laws. 

a This noble Earl said, that " when he heard the petition 
came from ladies' boot and shoemakers, he thought it must 
be against the ' corns' which they inflicted on the fair sex." 



As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast ; 

But Peers, and such animals, fed up for show, 
(Like the well-physick'd elephant, lately deceased,) 

Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you 
know. 

You might see, my dear Baron, how bored and dis- 
tress'd 
Were their high noble hearts by your merciless 
tale, 
When the force of the agony wrung even a jest 
From the frugal Scotch wit of my Lord 
L-d-d-le ! 2 

Bright peer ! to whom Nature and Berwickshire 
gave 
A humor, endow'd with effects so provoking, 
That, when the vhole House looks unusually grave, 
You may always conclude that Lord L-d-d-le's 
joking ! 

And then, those u^brtunate weavers cf Perth — 
Not to know the vast difference Providence 
dooms 
Between weavers of Perth and Peers of high birth, 
'Twixt those who have heir -looms, and those 
who've but looms ! 

" To talk now of starving !" — as great Ath — 1 
said 3 — 
(And the nobles all cheer'd, and the bishops all 
wonder'd,) 
" When, some years ago, he and others had fed 
" Of these same hungry devils about fifteen hun- 
dred !" 

It follows from hence — and the Duke's very words 
Should be publish'd wherever poor rogues of this 
craft are — 

That weavers, once rescued from starving by Lords, 
Are bound to be starved by said Lords ever after. 

When Rome was uproarious, her knowing patri- 
cians 
Made " Bread and the Circus" a cine for each 
row ; 
But not so the plan of our noble physicians, 

" No Bread and the Tread-mill's" the regimen 
now. 



3 The Duke of Afhol said, that " at a former period, when 
these weavers were in great distress, the landed interest of 
Perth had supported 1500 of them. It was a poor return for 
these very men now to petition against the persons who had 
fed them." 



550 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, your prose, 


Whoever will bring 


As I shall my poetry — neither convinces ; 


This aforesaid thing 


And all we have spoken and written but shows, 


To the well-known house of Robinson and Jenkin, 


When you tread on a nobleman's corn, 1 how he 


Shall be paid, with thanks, 


winces. 


In the notes of banks, 




Whose Funds have all learn'd " the Art of Sinking." 
O yes ! O yes ! 






Can anybody guess 


THE SINKING FUND CRIED. 


What the devil has become of this Treasury won- 


"Now what, we ask, is become of this Sinking Fund— 


der? 
It has Pitt's name on't, 


these eight millions of surplus above expenditure, which 




were to reduce the interest of the national debt by the 


All brass, in the front, 


amount of four hundred thousand pounds annually 1 Where, 


And R — b — ns — n's, scrawl'd with a goose-quill, 


indeed, is the Sinking Fund itself V'—The Times. 


under. 


Take your bell, take your bell, 




Good Crier, and tell 




To the Bulls and the Bears, till their ears are 
stunn'd, 






That, lost or stolen, 




Or fall'n through a hole in 




The Treasury floor, is the Sinkitg Fund ! 


ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES. 


yes ! O yes ! 


BY SIR Til M S I. THBR E. 


Can anybody guess 




What the deuce has become of this Treasury won- 
der? 
It has Pitt's name on't, 


"Legiferse Cereri Phoeboque." Virgil. 


Dear Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we 


All brass, in the front, 


know, 


And R— b— ns — n's, scrawl'd with a goose-quill, 


(Among other odd whims of those comical bodies,) 


under. 


Adorn'd with somniferous poppies, to show 




Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's 


Folks well knew what 


Goddess. 


Would soon be its lot, 




When Frederick and 5enky set hob-nobbing, 2 


Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee, 


And said to each other, 


An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches, 


" Suppose, dear brother, 


Great Queen of Mark-lane, (if the thing doesn't 


" We make this funny old Fund worth robbing." 


bore thee,) 




Thou'lt read o'er the last of his — never-last 


We are come, alas ! 


speeches. 


To a very pretty pass — 




Eight Hundred Millions of score, to pay, 


Ah ! Ceres, thou know'st not the slander and scorn 


With but Five in the till, 


Now heap'd upon England's 'Squirearchy, so 


To discharge the bill, 


boasted ; 


And even that Five, too, whipp'd away ! 


Improving on Hunt, 3 'tis no longer the Corn, 




'Tis the growers of Corn that are now, alas ! 


Stop thief ! stop thief ! — 


roasted. 


From the Sub to the Chief, 




These Gemmen of Finance are plundering cattle — 


In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack us — 


Call the watch — call Brougham, 


Reviewers, economists — fellows, no doubt, 


Tell Joseph Hume, ft 


That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, and Bacchus, 


That best of Charleys, to spring his rattle. 


And Gods of high fashion know little about. 


i An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on Lord L.'s joke. 


3 A sort of " breakfast-powder," composed of roasted corn, 


2 In 1824, when the Sinking Fund was raised by the im 


was about this time introduced by Mr. Hunt, «3 a substitute 


[losition of new taxes to the sum of five millions. 

.. , ■ -- 


for coffee. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



551 



There's B — nth — m, whose English is all his own 
making, — 
Who thinks just as little of settling a nation 
As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking 
(What he, himself, calls) his "post-prandial vi- 
bration." 1 

There are two Mr. M lis, too, whom those that 

love reading 
Through all that's unreadable, call very clever ; — 

And, whereas M 11 Senior makes war on good 

breeding, 
M 11 Junior makes war on all breeding what- 
ever ! 

In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided 
Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages ; — 

With which of these classes we, landlords, have 
sided 
Thou'lt find in my Speech, if thou'lt read a few 



For therein I've proved, to my own satisfaction, 
And that of all 'Squires I've the honor of meet- 
ing . 
That 'tis the most senseless and foul-mouth'd de- 
traction 
To say that poor people are fond of cheap eating. 

On the contrary, such the " chaste notions" 2 of food 
That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart, 

They would scorn any law, be it ever so good, 
That Xvould make thee, dear Goddess, less dear 
than thou art ! 

And, oh ! for Monopoly what a blest day, 

When the Land and the Silk 3 shall, in fond com- 
bination, 
(Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the play, 4 ) 
Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and 
Starvation ! 

Long life to the Minister ! — no matter who, 

Or how dull he may be, if, with dignified spirit, 
he 
Keeps the ports shut — and the people's mouths, 
too, — 
We shall all have a long run of Freddy's pros- 
perity. 

i The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk. 

2 A phrase in one of Sir T — m — s's last speeches. 

3 Great efforts were, at that time, making for the exclusion 
of foreign silk. 

4 "Road to Kuin." 

6 This is meant not so much for a pun. as in allusion to 
the natural history of the Unicorn, which is supposed to be 
something between the Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees's 



And, as for myself, who've, like Hannibal, sworn 
To hate the whole crew who would take our 
rents from us, 
Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn, 
That last, honest Uni-Corn 5 would be Sir 
Th— m— s ! 



A HYMN OF WELCOME AFTER THE 
RECESS. 

'• Animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo." 

And now — cross-buns and pancakes o'er — 
Hail, Lords and Gentlemen, once more ! 

Thrice hail and welcome, Houses Twain . 
The short eclipse of April-Day 
Having (God grant it !) pass'd away, 

Collective Wisdom, shine again ! 

Come, Ayes and Noes, through thick and thin, — 
With Paddy H — Imes for whipper-in, — 

Whate'er the job, prepared to back it ; 
Come, voters of Supplies — bestowers 
Of jackets upon trumpet-blowers, 

At eighty mortal pounds the jacket ! 6 

Come — free, at length, from Joint-Stock cares — 
Ye Senators of many Shares, 

Whose dreams of premium knew no boundary ; 
So fond of aught like Company, 
That you would even have taken tea 

(Had you been ask'd) with Mr. Goundry. 7 

Come, matchless country-gentlemen ; 
Come, wise Sir Thomas — wisest then, 

When creeds and corn-laws are debated ; 
Come, rival even the Harlot Red, 
And show how wholly into bread 

A 'Squire is transubstantiated. 

Come, L — derd — e, and tell the world, 
That — surely as thy scratch is curl'd, 

As never scratch was curl'd before — 
Cheap eating does more harm than good, 
And working-people, spoil'd by food, 

The less they eat, will work the more. 

Cyclopaedia assures us, has a particular liking tor every 
thing " chaste." 

6 An item of expense which Mr. Hume in vain endeavor- 
ed to get rid of: — trumpeters, it appears, like the men of 
All-Souls, must be "'bene vestiti." 

7 The gentleman, lately before the public, who kept his 
Joint-Stock Tea Company all to himself, singing " Te solo 
adoro." 



552 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Come, G — lb — rn, with thy glib defence 
(Which thou'dst have made for Peter's Pence) 

Of Church-Rates, worthy of a halter ; 
Two pipes of port (old port, 'twas said 
By honest IVeicport 1 ) bought and paid 

By Papists for the Orange Altar ! a 

Come, H — rt — n, with thy plan, so merry, 
For peopling Canada from Kerry — 

Not so much rendering Ireland quiet, 
As grafting on the dull Canadians 
That liveliest of earth's contagions, 

The bull-pock of Hibernian riot ! 

Come all, in short, ye wondrous men 
Of wit and wisdom, come again ; 

Though short your absence, all deplore it — 
Oh, come and show, whate'er men say, 
That you can, after April-Day, 

Be just as — sapient as before it. 



MEMORABILIA OF LAST WEEK. 

MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1826. 

The Budget — quite charming and witty — no hear- 
ing* 
For plaudits and laughs, the good things that 
were in it ; — 
Great comfort to find, though the Speech isn't 
cheering, 
That all its gay auditors were, every minute. 

What, still more prosperity ! — mercy upon us, 
"This boy'll be the death of me" — oft as, al- 
ready, 

Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us, 
For Ruin made easy there's no one like Freddy. 

TUESDAY. 

Much grave apprehension express'd by the Peers, 
Lest — calling to life the old Peachums and 
Lockitts — 
The large stock of gold we're to have in three 
years, 
Should all find its way into highwaymen's pock- 
ets ! 3 
***** 



i Sir John Newport. 

a This charge of two pipes of port for the sacramental wine 
is a precious specimen of the sort of rates levied upon their 
Catholk fellow-parishioners by the Irish Protestants. 
" The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
Doth ask a drink divine." 



WEDNESDAY. 

Little doing — for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art 

To the seven-o'clock joys of full many a table- 
When the Members all meet, to make much of that 
part, 
With which they so rashly fell out, in the Fable. 

It appear'd, though, to-night, that — as church-war- 
dens, yearly, 
Eat up a small baby — those cormorant sinners, 
The Bankrupt-Commissioners, bolt very nearly 
A moderate-sized bankrupt, tout chaud, for their 
dinners ! 4 
Nota bene — a rumor to-day, in the City, 
"Mr. R— b— us— n just has resign'd"— what a 

pity ! 
The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing, 
When they heard of the fate of poor Cock Robin; 
While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty, 
A murmuring Stock-dove breathed her ditty r — 

Alas, poor Robin, he crow'd as long 

And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow ; 
But his note was small, and the gold-finch's song 

Was a pitch too high for Robin to go. 

Who'll make his shroud ? 

" I," said the Bank, " though he play'd me a prank, 
" While I have a rag, poor Rob shall be roll'd 
in't, 

" With many a pound I'll paper him round, 

"Like a plump rouleau — without the gold in't." 



ALL IN THE FAMILY WAY. 

A NEW PASTORAL BALLAD. 
(SUNG IN THE CHARACTER OF BRITANNIA.) 

" The Public Debt is due from ourselves to ourselves, and 
resolves itself into a Family Account."— Sir Robert PeeVs 
Letter. 

Tune— My banks are all furnish'' d with bees. 

My banks are all furnish'd with rags, 
So thick, even Freddy can't thin 'em ; 

I've torn up my old money-bags, 

Having little or naught to put in 'em. 

3 " Another objection to a metallic currency was, that it 
produced a greater number of highway robberies." — Debate 
in the Lords. 

4 Mr. Abercromby's statement of the enormous tavern 
bills of the Commissioners of Bankrupts. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 553 


My tradesmen are smashing by dozens, 


1 

1 


But this id all nothing, they say ; 


BALLAD FOR THE CAMBRIDGE 


For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins, — 


ELECTION. 


So, it's all in the family way. 


"I authorized my Committee to take the step which they 




did, of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the un- 


My Debt not a penny takes from me, 


derstanding that whichever of the two shovhl -prove tc be the 


As sages the matter explain ; — 


weakest, should give way to the other."— Extract from 


Bob owe: it to Tom, and then Tommy 


Mr. W. J. B—Jces's Letter to Mr. G—lb—n. 


Just owes it to Bob back again. 


B — kes is weak, and G — lb — n too, 


Since all have thus taken to owing, 


No one e'er the fact denied ; — 


There's nobody left that can pay ; 


Which is " weakest" of the two, 


And this is the way to keep going, — 


Cambridge can alone decide. 


All quite in the family way. 


Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 




Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


My senators rote away millions, 




To pat in Prosperity's budget ; 


G — lb — n of the Pope afraid is, 


And though it were billions or trillions, 


B — kes, as much afraid as he ; 


The generous rogues wouldn't grudge it. 


Never yet did two old ladies 


'Tis all but a family hop, 


On this point so well agree. 


'Twas Pitt began dancing the hay ; 


Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 


Hands round ! — why the deuce should we stop 1 


Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


'Tis all ha the family way. 


Each a different mode pursues, 


My laborers used to eat mutton, 

As any great man of the State does ; 

And now the poor devils are put on 
Small rations of tea and potatoes. 

But cheer up, John, Sawney, and Paddy, 


Each the same conclusion reaches ; 


B — kes is foolish in Reviews, 


G — lb — n, foolish in his speeches. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 


Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


The Kii.g is your father, they say ; 


Each a different foe doth damn, 


So, ev'n if you starve for your Daddy, 


When his own affairs have gone ill ; 


! Tis all in the family way. 


B — kes he damneth Buckingham, 




G — lb — n damneth Dan O'Connell. 


My rich manufacturers tumble, 


Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 


My poor ones have nothing to chew ; 


Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


And, even if themselves do not grumble, 




Their stomachs undoubtedly do. 


Once, we know, a horse's neigh 


But coolly to fast enfamille, 


Fix'd th' election to a throne, 


Is as good for the soul as to pray ; 


So, whichever first shall bray, 


And famine itself is genteel, 


Choose him, Cambridge, for thy own. 


When one starves in a family way. 


Choose him, choose him by his bray, 




Thus elect him, Cambridge, pray. 


I have found out a secret for Freddy, 


June, 1626. 


A secret for next Budget day : 
Though, perhaps, he may know it already, 






As he, too, 's a sage in his way. 




When next for the Treasury sceue he 


MR. ROGER DODSWORTH. 


Announces " the Devil to pay," 


1S26. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. 


Let him write on the bills, " Nota bene, 


" 'Tis all in the family way." 


Sir,— Having just heard of the wonderful resurrection ol 




Mr. Roger Dodsworth from under an avalamke, where he 




had remained, bic?i frappe, it seems, for the last ICG years, I 




hasten to impart to you a few reflections on the subject. — 




Yours, &c. Lavdator Temporis Acti. 
What a lucky turn up ! — just as Eld — n's with- 






drawing, 




To find thus a gentleman, froz'n in the year 



554 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wants thaw- 
ing* 
To serve for our times quite as well as the 
Peer ; — 

To bring thus to light, not the Wisdom alone 

Of our Ancestors, such as 'tis found on our 
shelves, 

But, in perfect condition, full-wigg'd and full-grown, 
To shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves ! 

Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth, and send him safe home — 
Let him learn nothing useful or new on the 
way ; 
With his wisdom kept snug from the light let him 
come, 
And our Tories will hail him with " Hear !" and 
" Hurra !" 

What a God-send to them ! — a good, obsolete man, 
Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a 
reader ; — 
Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth as fast as you can, 

And the L — nsd — les and H — rtf — rds shall choose 
him for leader. 

Yes, sleeper of ages, thou shalt be their chosen ; 

And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good 
men, , 

To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen, 

So alter'd, thou hardly wilt know it again. 

And Eld — n will weep o'er each sad innovation 
Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that ho 

Has been also laid up in a long congelation, 

And is only now thawing, dear Roger, like thee. 



COPY OF AN INTERCEPTED DISPATCH. 

FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STREPITOSO DIABOLO, 
ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY TO HIS SATANIC MA- 
JESTY. 

St. James's Street, July 1, 1826. 
Great Sir, having just had the good luck to catch 

An official young Demon, preparing to go, 
Ready booted and spurr'd, with a black-leg dispatch, 
From th^Hell here, at Cr — ckf — rd's, to our Hell, 
below — 

I write these few lines to your Highness Satanic, 
To say that, first having obey'd your directions, 

And done all the mischief I could in " the Panic," 
My next special care was to help the Elections. 



Well knowing how dear were those times to thy 
soul, 
When every good Christian tormented his bro- 
ther, 
And caused, in thy realm, such a saving of coal, 
From all coming down, ready grill'd by each 
other ; 

Rememb'ring, besides, how it pain'd thee to part 
With the Old Penal Code — t»hat chef-d'oeuvre of 
Law, 
In which (though to own it too modest thou art) 
We could plainly perceive the fine touch of thy 
claw ; 

I thought, as we ne'er can those gooa times revive, 
(Though Eld — n, with help from your Highness ' 
would try,) 

'Twould still keep a taste for Hell's music alive, 
Could we get up a thund'ring No-Popery cry ; — 

That yell which, when chorus'd fcv *aics and clerics. 

So like is to ours, in its spirit and tone, 
That I often nigh laugh myself into hysterics, 

To think that Religion should make it her own. 

So, having sent down for th' original notes 

Of the chorus, as sung by your Majesty's choir, 

With a few pints of lava, to gargle the throats 
Of myself and some others, who sing it " with 
fire," 1 

Thought I, " if the Marseillois Hymn could com- 
mand 
" Such audience, though yell'd by a Sans-culotte 
crew, 
" What wonders shall we do, who've men in our 
band, 
"That not only wear breeches, but petticoats 
too." 

Such then were my hopes : but, with sorrow, your 
Highness, 
I'm forced to confess — be the cause what ifewill, 
Whether fewness of voices, or hoarseness, or shy- 
ness, — 
Our Beelzebub chorus has gone off but ill. 

The truth is, no placeman now knows his right key, 
The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various ; 

And certain base voices, that look'd for a fee 

At the York music-meeting, now think it pre- 
carious. 



Con fuoco — a music-book direction 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



555 



Even some of our Reverends mis&t have been 
warmer, — 
Though one or two capital roarers we've had ; 
Doctor Wise 1 is, for instance, a charming per- 
former, 
And Huntingdon Maberley's yell was not bad ! 

Altogether, however, the thing was not hearty ; — 
Even Eld — n allows we got on but so so ; 

And when next we attempt a No-Popery party, 
We must, please your Highness, recruit from 
below. 

But, hark, the young Black-leg is cracking his 
whip — 
Excuse me, Great Sir — there's no time to be 
civil ; — 
The next opportunity shan't be let slip, 
But, till then, 

I'm, in haste, your most dutiful 

Devil. 
July, 1826. 



THE MILLENNIUM. 

SUGGESTED 3Y THE LATE WORK OF THE REVEREND 
MR. IRV — NG " ON PROPHECY." 

1826. 
A Millennium at hand ! — I'm delighted to hear 
it— 
As matters, both public and private, now go, 
With multitudes round us all starving, or near it, 
A good rich Millennium will come d propos. 

Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold, 
Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags, 

A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold, 

Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the 



A City, where wine and cheap corn 2 shall abound — 
A celestial Cocaigne, on whose buttery shelves 

We may swear the best things of this world will 
be found, 
As your Saints seldom fail to take care of them- 



i This reverend gentleman distinguished himself at the 
Reading election. 

a " A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures 
of barley for a penny." — Rev. vi. 

3 See the oration of this reverend gentleman, where he 
describes the connubial joys of Paradise, and paints the 
angels hovering round "each happy fair." 

* When Whiston presented to Prince Eugene the Essay in 
which he attempted to connect his victories over the Turks 



Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures Elysian, 3 
Divine Squintifobus, who, placed within reach 

Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of your vision, 
Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at each ; — 

Thanks, thanks for the hopes thou affordest, that we 
May, ev'n in our own times, a Jubilee share, 

Which so long has been promised by prophets like 
thee, 
And so often postponed, we began to despair. 

There was Whiston, 4 who learnedly took Prince 
Eugene 
For the man who must bring the Millennium 
about ; 
There's Faber, whose pious productions have been 
All belied, ere his book's first edition was out ; — 

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M. P., 
Who discoursed on the subject with signal eclat, 

And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see 
A Millennium break out in the town of Ar- 
magh ! 5 

There was also — but why should I burden my lay 
With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names 
less deserving, 
When all past Millenniums henceforth must give 
way 
To the last new Millennium of Orator Irv — ng. 

Go on, mighty man, — doom them all to the shelf, — ' 
And when next thou with Prophecy troublest thy 
sconce, 
Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself 
Art the Beast (Chapter iv.) that sees nine ways at 
once. 



THE THREE DOCTORS. 



Doctoribus lcetamur tribus. 

1826. 
Though many great Doctors there be, 

There are three that all Doctors out-top, 
Doctor Eady, that famous M. D., 

Doctor S — th — y, and dear Doctor Slop. 8 



with Revelation, the Prince is said to have replied, that 
"he was not aware he had ever had the honor of being 
known to St. John." 

6 Mr. Dobbs was a member of the Irish Parliament, and, 
on all other subjects but the Millennium, a very sensible 
person: he chose Armagh as the scene of his Millennium, 
on account of the name Armageddon, mentioned in Reve- 
lation. 

6 The editor of the Morning Herald, so nicknamed. 



556 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The purger — the proser — the bard — 

All quacks in a different style ; 
Doctor S — th — y writes books by the yard, 

Doctor Eady writes puffs by the mile I 1 

Doctor Slop, in no merit outdone 

By his scribbling or physicking brother, 

Can dose us with stuff like the one, 

Ay, and doze us with stuff like the other. 

Doctor Eady good company keeps 
With " No Popery" scribes on the walls ; 

Doctor S — th — y as gloriously sleeps 

With " No Popery" scribes, on the stalls. 

Doctor Slop, upon subjects divine, 

Such bedlamite slaver lets drop, 
That, if Eady should take the mad line, 

He'll be sure of a patient in Slop. 

Seven millions of Papists, no less, 

Doctor S — th — y attacks, like a Turk f 

Doctor Eady, less bold, I confess, 
Attacks but his maid-of-all-work. 3 

Doctor S — th — y, for his grand attack, 
Both a laureate and pensioner is ; 

While poor Doctor Eady, alack, 

Has been had up to Bow-street, for his! 

And truly, *be law does so blunder, 

That, though little blood has been spill'd, he 

May probably suffer as, under 

The Chalking Act, known to be guilty. 

So much for the merits sublime 

(With whose catalogue ne'er should I stop) 
Of the three greatest lights of our time, 

Doctor Eady, and S — th — y, and Slop ! 

Should you ask me, to which of the three 
Great Doctors the preference should fall, 

As a matter of course, I agree 

Doctor Eady must go to the wall. 

But as S — th — y with laurels is crown'd, 
And Slop with a wig and a tail is, 

Let Eady's bright temples be bound 
With a swingeing " Corona Muralis .'"* 



* Alluding to the display of this doctor's name, in chalk, 
on all the walls round the metropolis. 

2 This seraphic doctor, in the preface to his last work, 
(Vivdicia Ecclesim Anglican®,) is pleased to anathematize 
not only all Catholics, but all advocates of Catholics:— 
"They have for their immediate allies (he says) every fac- 
tion that is banded against the State, every demagogue, 
every irreligious and seditious journalist, every open and 
every insidious enemy to Monarchy and to Christianity." 

3 See the late accounts in the newspapers of the appear- 



Lra 



EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER. 

Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard, 

Put mourning round thy page, Debrett, 

For here lies one, who ne'er preferr'd 
A Viscount to a Marquis yet. 

Beside him place the God of Wit, 

Before him Beauty's rosiest girls, 
Apollo for a star he'd quit, 

And Love's own sister for an Earl's. 

Did niggard fate no peers afford, 

He took, of course, to peers' relations ; 

And, rather than not sport a Lord, 
Put up with even the last creations. 

Even Irish names, could he but tag 'em 

With " Lord" and " Duke," were sweet to cal 

And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyraggum 
Was better than no Lord at all. 

Heaven grant him now some noble nook, 

For, rest his soul ! he'd rather be 
Genteelly damn'd beside a Duke, 

Than saved in vulgar company 



ODE TO A HAT. 



'altum 



iEdificat caput.' 



JCVENAI,. 



1826. 



Hail, reverend Hat ! — sublime 'mid all 
The minor felts that round thee grovel ; — 

Thou, that the Gods " a Delta" call, 

While meaner mortals call thee " shovel " 

When on thy shape (like pyramid, 

Cut horizontally in two 6 ) 
I raptured gaze, what dreams, unbid, 

Of stalls and mitres bless my view ! 



ance of this gentleman at one cf the Police-offices, in con- 
sequence of an alleged assault on his " maid-of all-work." 

4 A crown granted as a reward among the Romans to 
persons who performed any extraordinary exploits upon 
walls, such as scaling them, battering them, &c— No doubt, 
writing upon them, to the extent Dr. Eady does, would 
equally establish a claim to the honor. 

5 So described by a Reverend Historian of the Church :— 
" A Delta hat, like the horizontal section of a pyramid."-- 
Grant's History of the English Church. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



557 



That brim of brims, so sleekly good— 
Not flapp'd, like dull Wesleyans', down, 

Bat looking (as all churchmen's should) 
Devoutly upward — towards the crown. 

Gods ! when I gaze upon that brim, 

So redolent of Church all over, 
What swarms of Tithes, in vision dim, — 
Some pig-tail'd, some like cherubim, 

With ducklings' wings — around it hover ! 
Tenths of all dead and living things, 
That Nature into being brings, 
From calves and corn to chitterlings. , 

Say, holy Hat, that hast, of cocks, 
The very cock most orthodox, 
To which, of all the well-fed throng 
Of Zion, 1 joy'st thou to belong ? 
Thou'rt not Sir Harcourt Lees's — no — 

For hats grow like the heads that wear 'em ; 
And hats, on heads like his, would grow 

Particularly harum-scarum. 
Who knows but thou may'st deck the pate 
Of that famed Doctor Ad — mth — te, 
(The reverend rat, whom we saw stand 
On his hind-legs in Westmoreland,) 
Who changed so quick from blue to yellow, 

And would from yellow back to blue, 
And back again, convenient fellow, 

If 'twere his interest so to do. 

Or, haply, smartest of triangles, 

Thou art the hat of Doctor Ow — n ; 
The hat that, to his vestry wrangles, 

That venerable priest doth go in, — 
And, then and there, amid the stare 
Of all St. Olave's, takes the chair, 
And quotes, with phiz right orthodox, 

Th' example of his reverend brothers, 
To prove that priests all fleece their flocks, 

And he must fleece as well as others. 

Bless'd Hat ! (whoe'er thy lord may be) 
Thus low I take off mine to thee, 
The homage of a layman's castor, 
To the spruce delta of his pastor. 
Oh mayst thou be, as thou proceedest, 

Still smarter cock'd, still brush'd the brighter, 
Till, bowing all the way, thou leadest 

Thy sleek possessor to a mitre ! 



» Archbishop Magee affectionately calls the Church Estab- 
lishment of Ireland "the little Zion." 

2 A distribution was made of the Emperor Alexander's 
military wardrobe by his successor. 



NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. 



Dear Coz, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper, 
When Parliament's up, ever take in a paper, 
But trust for your news to such stray odds and ends 
As you chance to pick up from political friends — 
Being one of this well-inform'd class, I sit down 
To transmit you the last newest news that's in town. 

As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things couldn't 
look better — 

His Lordship (who promises now to fight faster) 
Has just taken Rhodes, and dispatch'd off a letter 

To Daniel O'Connell, to make him Grand Master; 
Engaging to change the old name, if he can, 
From the Knights of St. John to the Knights of 

St. Dan ;— 
Or, if Dan should prefer (as a sl/ill better whim) 
Being made the Colossus, 'tis all one to him. 

From Russia the last accounts are that the Czar — 
Most generous and kind, as all sovereigns are, 
And whose first princely act (as you know, I sup- 



Was to give away all his late brother's old clothes 2 — 

Is now busy collecting, with brotherly care, 

The late Emperor's nightcaps, and thinks of 
bestowing 

One nightcap apiece (if he has them to spare) 
On all the distinguish'd old ladies now going. 

(While I write, an arrival from Riga — the " Bro- 
thers"— 

Having nightcaps on board for Lord Eld — n and 
others.) 

Last advices from India — Sir Archy, 'tis thought, 
Was near catching a Tartar, (the first ever caught 
In N. Lat. 21.) — and his Highness Burmese, 
Being very hard press'd to shell out the rupees, 
And not having rhino sufficient, they say, meant 
To pawn his august Golden Foot 3 for the payment. 
(How lucky for monarchs, that thus, when they 

choose, 
Can establish a running account with the Jews !) 
The security being what Rothschild calls " goot," 
A loan will be shortly, of course, set on foot ; 
The parties are Rothschild, A. Baring and Co. 
With three other great pawnbrokers : each takes a 
- toe 



s This potentate styles himself the Monarch of the Golden 
Foot. 



558 



iMOORE'S WORKS. 



And engages (lest Gold-foot should give us Zeg--bail, 
As he did once before) to pay down on the nail. 

This is all for the present — what vile pens and paper ! 
Yours truly, dear Cousin — best love to Miss Draper. 

September, 1826. 



A VISION. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL. 

" Up !" said the Spirit, and, ere I could pray 
One hasty orison, whirl'd me away 
To a Limbo, lying — I wist not where — 
Above or below, in earth or air ; 
For it glimmer'd o'er with a doubtful light, 
One couldn't say whether 'twas day or night ; 
And 'twas cross'd by many a mazy track, 
One didn't know how to get on or back ; 
And I felt like a needle that's going astray 
(With its one eye out) through a bundle of hay ; 
When the Spirit he grinn'd, and whisper'd me, 
" Thou'rt now in the Court of Chancery !" 

Around me flitted unnumber'd swarms 

Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms ; 

(Like bottled -up babes, that grace the room 

Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard Home) — 

All of them, things half-kill'd in rearing ; 

Some were lame — some wanted hearing ; 

Some had through half a century run, 

Though they hadn't a leg to stand upon. 

Others, more merry, as just beginning, 

Around on a point of law were spinning ; 

Or balanced aloft, 'twixt Bill and Answer, 

Lead at each end, like a tight-rope dancer. 

Some were so cross, that nothing could please 'em ;- 

Some gulp'd down affidavits to ease 'em ;— 

All were in motion, yet never a one, 

Let it move as it might, could ever move on. 

" These," said the Spirit, " you plainly see, 

" Are what they call Suits in Chancery !" 

I heard a loud screaming of old and young, 

Like a chorus by fifty Vellutis sung ; 

Or an Irish Dump (" the words by Moore") 

At an amateur concert scream'd in score ; 

So harsh on my ear that wailing fell 

Of the wretches who in this Limbo dwell ! 

It soem'd like the dismal symphony 

Of the shapes Mneas in hell did see ; 



Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarous cook 
Cut off, and left the frogs in the brook, 
To cry all night, till life's last dregs, 
" Give us our legs ! — give us our legs !" 
Touch'd with the sad and sorrowful scene, 
I ask'd what all this yell might mean, 
When the Spirit replied, with the grin of glee 
" 'Tis the cry of the Suitors in Chancery !" 

I look'd, and I saw a wizard rise, 1 

With a wig like a cloud btuuiw men's eyes. 

In his aged hand he held a wand, 

Wherewith he beckon'd his embryo band, 

And they moved and moved, as he waved it o'er, 

But they never got on one inch the more. 

And still they kept limping to and fro, 

liike Ariels round old Prospero — 

Saying, " Dear Master, let us go," 

But still old Prospero answer'd " No." 

And I heard, the while, that wizard elf 

Muttering, muttering spells to himself, 

While o'er as many old papers he turn'd, 

As Hume e'er moved for, or Omar burn'd. 

He talk'd of his virtue — " though «ome, less nice, 

(He own'd with a sigh) preferr'd his Vice" — 

And he said, " I think"—" I doubt"—" I hope," 

Call'd God to witness, and damn'd the Pope ; 

With many more sleights of tongue and hand 

I couldn't, for the soul of me, understand. 

Amazed and posed, I was just about 

To ask his name, when the screams without, 

The merciless clack of the imps within, 

And that conjuror's mutterings, made such a din, 

That, startled, I woke — leap'd up in my bed — 

Found the Spirit, the imps, and the conjuror fled, 

And bless'd my stars, right pleased to see, 

That I wasn't, as yet, in Chanceiy. 



THE PETITION OF THE ORANGEMEN 
OF IRELAND. 

1826. 
To the people of England, the humble Petition 

Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen, showing — 
That sad, very sad, is our present condition ; — 
Our jobbing all gone, and our noble selves 
going ;— 

That, forming one seventh, within a few fractions, 
Of Ireland's seven millions of hot he&ds and 
hearts, 

1 The Lord Chancellor Eld— n. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



559 



We hold it the basest of all base transactions 

To. keep us from murd'ring the other six parts ; — 

That, as to laws made for the good of the many, 
We humbly suggest there is nothing less true ; 

As all human laws (and our own, more than any) 
Are made by and for a particular few ; — 

That much it delights every true Orange brother, 
To see you, in England, such ardor evince, 

In discussing which sect most tormented the other, 
And barn'd with most gusto, some hundred years 
since ; — 

That we love to behold, while Old England grows 
faint, 
Messrs. Southey and Butler nigh coming to blows, 
1 d decide whether Dunstan, that strong-bodied 
Saint, 
Ever truly and really pull'd the Devil's nose ; 

Whether t'other Saint, Dominic, burnt the Devil's 
paw — 
Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgiva's old mo- 
ther 1 — 
And many such points, from which Southey can 
draw 
Conclusions most apt for our hating each other. 

That 'tis veiy well known this devout Irish nation 
Has now, for some ages, gone happily on, 

Believing in two kinds of Substantiation, 
Oue party in Trans and the other in Con ; a 

That we, your petitioning Cons, have, in right 
Of the said monosyllable, ravaged the lands, 
And embezzled the goods, and annoy'd, day and 
night, 
Both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for 
Trans ; — 

That we trust to Peel, Eldon, and other such sages, 
For keeping us still in the same state of mind ; 

Pretty much as the world used to be in those ages, 
When still smaller syllables madden'd man- 
kind ; — 

When the words ex and^er 3 served as well, to annoy 
One's neighbors and friends with, as con and 
trans now ; 



i To such important discussions as these the greater part 
of Dr. Pouthey's Vindicite Ecclesia Jlnglicnva is devoted. 

2 Consubstantiation— the true Reformed belief; at least, 
the belief of Luther, and, as Mosheim asserts, of Melanc- 
thon also. 

3 When John of Ragusa went to Constantinople, (at the 



And Christians, like S — th — y, who stickled for oi, 
Cut the throats of all Christians who stickled for 
ow. 4 

That, relying on England, whose kindness already 
So often has help'd us to play this game o'er, 

We have got our red coats and our carabines ready, 
And wait but the word to show sport, as before. 

That, as to the expense — the few millions, or so, 
Which for all such diversions John Bull has to 
pay— 
'Tis, at least, a great comfort to John Bull to know, 
That to Orangemen ts pockets 'twill all find its 

way. 
For which your petitioners ever will pray, 

&c. &c. &c. &o &c. 



COTTON AND CORN. 

A DIALOGUE. 

Said Cotton to Corn, t'other day, 

As they met and exchanged a salute — 

(Squire Corn in his carriage so gay, 
Poor Cotton, half famish 'd, on foot:) 

" Great Squire, if it isn't Uncivil 
" To hint at starvation before you, 

" Look down on a poor hungry devil, 

" And give him some bread, I implore you V 

Quoth Corn then, in answer to Cotton, 
Perceiving he meant to make/ree — - 

" Low fellow, you've surely forgotten 
" The distance between you and me ! 

" To expect that we, Peers of high birth, 
" Should waste our illustrious acres, 

" For no other purpose on earth 

" Than to fatten cursed calico-makers ! — 

" That Bishops to bobbins should bend — 
" Should stoop from their Bench's sublimity, 

" Great dealers in lawn, to befriend 
" Such contemptible dealers in dimity ! 



time this dispute between "ex" and "per" was going on,) 
he found the Turks, we are told, " laughing at the Christians 
for being divided by two such insignificant particles." 

* The Arian controversy —Befoe that time, says Hooker, 
"in order to be a sound believing Christian, men were not 
curious what syllables or particles of speech they used." 



560 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" No — vile Manufacturer ! ne'er harbor 
" A hope to be fed at our boards ; — 

" Base offspring of Arkwright the barber, 
" What claim canst thou have upon Lords? 

" No — thanks to the taxes and debt, 

" And the triumph of paper o'er guineas, 

" Our race of Lord Jemmys, as yet, 

" May defy your whole rabble of Jennys .'" 

So saying — whip, crack, and away 

Went Corn in his chaise through the throng, 
So headlong, I heard them all say, 

" Squire Corn would be down, before long." 



THE CANONIZATION OF SAINT 
B— TT— RW— RTH. 

" A Christian of the best edition."— Rabelais. 

Canonize him ! — yea, verily, we'll canonize him ; 
Though Cant is. his hobby, and meddling his 
bliss, 
Though sages may pity, and wits may despise him, 
He'll ne'er make a bit the worse Saint for all 
this*. • 

Descend, all ye Spirits, that ever yet spread 

The dominion of Humbug o'er land and o'er sea, 

Descend on our B — tt — rw — rth's biblical head, 
^hrice-Great, Bibliopolist, Saint, and M. P. 

Come, shade, of Joanna, come down from thy 
sphere, 
And bring little Shiloh — if 'tisn't too far — 
Such a sight will to B — tt — rw — rth's bosom be 
dear, 
His conceptions and thine being much on a par. 

Nor blush, Saint Joanna, once more to behold 
A world thou hast honor'd by cheating so 
many ; 
Thou'lt find still among us one Personage old, 
Who also by tricks and the Seals 1 makes a 
penny 



1 A great part of the income of Joanna Southcott arose 
from the Seals of the Lord's protection which she sold to 
her followers. 

2 Mrs. Anne Lee, the "chosen vessel" of the Shakers, 
and " Mother of all the children of regeneration." 



Thou, too, of the Shakers, divine Mother Lee ! 2 

Thy smiles to beatified B — tt — rw — rth deign ; 
Two " lights of the Gentiles" are thou, Anne, and 
he, 
One hallowing Fleet Street, and t'other Toad 
Lane ! 3 

The Heathen, we know, made their Gods aut of 
wood, 
And Saints may be framed of as handy ma- 
terials ; — 
Old women and B — tt — rw — rths make just as good 
As any the Pope ever book'd as Ethereale. 

Stand forth, Man of Bibles! — not Mahomet's 
pigeon, 
When, perch'd on the Koran, he dropp'd there, 
they say, 
Strong marks of his faith, ever shed o'er religion 
Such glory as B — tt — rw — rth sheds every day. 

Great Galen of souls, with what vigor he crams 
Down Erin's idolatrous throats, till they crack 
again, 
Bolus on bolus, good man ! — and then damns 

Both their stomachs and souls, if they dare cast 
them back again. 

How well might his shop — as a type representing 
The creed of himself and his sanctified clan, 

On its counter exhibit " the Art of Tormenting/' 
Bound neatly, and letter'd " Whole Duty of 
Man !" 

Canonize him ! — by Judas, we will canonize him ; 

For Cant is his hobby and twaddling his bliss ; 
And, though wise men may pity and v. 7 its may 
despise him, 

He'll make but the better shep-xamt for all this. 

Call quickly togethef the whole tribe of Canters, 
Convoke all the serious Tag-rag of the nation ; 

Bring Shakers and Snufflers and Jumpers and 
Ranters, 
To witness their B — tt — rw — rth's Canonization ! 

Yea, humbly I've ventured his merits to paint, 
Yea, feebly have tried all his gifts to portray, 

And they form a sum-total for making a Saint, 
That the Devil's own Advocate could not gain- 
say. 



3 Toad Lane, in Manchester, where Mother Lee was born. 
In her " Address to Young Believers," she says, that ''it ia 
a matter of no importance with them from whence the 
means of their deliverance come, whether from a stable in 
Bethlehem, or from Toad Lane, Manchester." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 561 


Jump high, all ye Jumpers, ye Ranters all roar, 


Others, as if lent a ray 


While B — tt — rw — rth's spirit, upraised from your 


From the streaming Milky Way, 


eyes, 


Glist'ning o'er with curds and whey 


Like a kite made of foolscap, in glory shall soar, 


From the cows of Aiderney. 


With a long tail of rubbish behind, to the skies ! 






Now's the moment — who shall first 




Catch the bubbles, ere they burst ? 




Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run, 






Br— gd— n, T— ynh— m, P— lm— t— n ;— 




John W — Iks junior runs beside ye ! 


AN INCANTATION. 


Take the good the knaves provide ye ! 4 




See, with upturn'd eyes and hands, 


SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT. 


Where the Sharern&n? Br — gd — n, stands, 




Gaping for the froth to fall 


Air. — Come with me, and we will go 


Down his gullet — lye and all. 


Where the rocks of coral grow 


See! 




But, hark, my time is out — 
Now, like some great water-spout, 
Scatter'd by the cannon's thunder, 


Come with me, and we will blow 
Lots of bubbles, as we go ; 


Bubbles, bright as ever Hope 


Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder I 


Drew from fancy — or from soap ; 


Bright as e'er the South Sea sent 


[Here the stage darkens — a discordant crash is heard from 


From its frothy element ! 


the orchestra — the broken bubbles descend in a saponaceous 


Come with me, and we will blow 


but uncleanly mist over the heads of the Dramatis Persona, 


Lots of bubbles, as we go. 


and the scene drops, leaving the bubble-hunters all in the 

suds.] 


Mix the lather, Johnny W — Iks, 


Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks ; x 




Mix the lather — who can be 
Fitter for such task than thee, 






Great M. P. for Sudsbwy ! 






A DREAM OF TURTLE. 


Now the frothy charm is ripe, 




Puffing Peter, 2 bring thy pipe, — 


BY SIR W. CURTIS. 


Thou, whom ancient Coventry 




Once so dearly loved, that she 


1826. 


Knew not which to her was sweeter, 


'Twas evening time, in the twilight sweet 


Peeping Tom or Puffing Peter ; — 


I sail'd along, when — whom should I meet 


Puff the bubbles high in air, 


But a Turtle journeying o'er the sea, 


Puff thy best to keep them there 


" On the service of his Majesty." 6 


Bravo, bravo, Peter M — re ! 


When spying him first through twilight dim, 


Now the rainbow humbugs 3 soar, 


I did'nt know what to make of him ; 


Glitt'ring all with golden hues, 


But said to myself, as slow he plied 


Such as haunt the dreams of Jews : — 


His fins, and roll'd from side to side 


Some, reflecting mines that lie 


Conceitedly o'er the watery path— * 


Under Chili's glowing sky, 


" 'Tis my Lord of St — w — 11 taking a bath, 


Some, those virgin pearls that sleep 


" And I hear him now, among the fishes, 


Cloister d in the southern deep ; 


" Quoting Vatel and Burgersdicius !" 


i Strong indications of character may be sometimes traced 


+ " Lovely Thais sits beside thee : 


in the rhymes to names. Marvell thought so, when he wrote 


Take the good the Gods provide thee." 


" Sir Edward Sutton, 


6 So called by a sort of Tuscan dulcification of the ch, in 


The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton." 


the word " Chairman." 


2 The member, during a long period, for Coventry. 


« We are told that the passport of this grand diplomatic 


3 An humb e imitation of one of our modern poets, who, 


Turtle (sent by the Secretary for Foreign Affairs to a certain • 


in a poem against War, after describing the splendid habili- 


noble envoy) described him as " on his majesty's service." 


ments of the soldier, thus apostrophizes him—" thou rain- 


dapibus supremi 


bow ruffian !" 
L. 


Grata testudo Jovis. 



562 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But, no — 'twas, indeed, a Turtle, wide 
And plump as ever these eyes descried ; 
A Turtle, juicy as ever yet 
Glued up the lips of a Baronet ! 
And much did it grieve my soul to see 
That an animal of such dignity 
Like an absentee abroad should roam, 
When he ought to stay and be ate at home. 

But now " a change came o'er my dream," 

Like the magic lantern's shifting slider ; — 
I look'd, and saw, by the evening beam, 

On the back of that Turtle sat a rider — 
A goodly man, with an eye so merry, 
I knew 'twas our Foreign Secretary, 1 
"Who there, at his ease, did sit and smile, 
Like Waterton on his crocodile ; 2 
Cracking such jokes, at ev'ry motion, 

As made the Turtle squeak with glee, 
And own they gave him a lively notion 

Of what his forced-meat balls would be. 

So, on the Sec. in his glory went, 

Over that briny element, 

Waving his hand, as he took farewell, 

With graceful air, and bidd'ng me tell 

Inquiring friends that the Turtle and he 

Were gone on a foreign embassy — 

To soften the heart of a Diplomate, 

Who is known to doat upon verdant fat, 

And to let admiring Europe see, 

That calipash and calipee 

Are the English forms of Diplomacy. 



THE DONKEY AND HIS PANNIERS. 



1 fessus jam sudat asellus, 



"Parce illi ; vestrum delicium est asinus." 

Virgil, Copa. 

A Donkey, whose talent for burdens was wondrous, 
So much that you'd swear he rejoiced in a load, 

One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous, 
That — down the poor Donkey fell smack on the 
road ! 

His owners and drivers stood round in amaze — 
What ! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy, 

J Mr Canning. 

a Wanderings in South America. " It was the first and 
last time (says Mr. Waterton) I was ever on a crocodile's 
back." 

3 Alluding to an early poem of Mr. Coleridge's, addressed 
to an Ass, and beginning, " I hail thee, brother J" 



So easy to drive, through the dirtiest ways, 
For every description of job-work so ready ! 

One driver (whom Ned might have " hail'd" as a 
" brother" 3 ) 

Had just been proclaiming his Donkey's renown 
For vigor, for spirit, for one thing or other — 

WI en, lo, 'mid his praises, the Donkey came down ! 

But, how )o upraise him ? — one shouts, t'other 
whistles, 
While Jenky, the Conjuror, wisest of all, 
Declared that an " over-production of thistles"* — 
(Here Ned gave a stare) — " was the cause of his 
fall." 

Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes — 

" There, let him alone, and the fit will soon cease ; 

" The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses, 
" And this is his mode of ' transition to peace.' " 

Some look'd at his hoofs, and, with learned gri- 
maces, 
Pronounced that too long without shoes he had 
gone — 
"Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal 
basis 
(The wise-acres said,) " and he's sure to jog on." 

Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture and fear, 
Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan ; 

And — what was still dolefuller — lending an ear 
To advisers, whose ears were a match for his own. 

At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far 
As to see others' folly, roar'd out, as he pass'd — 

" Quick, off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are, 
" Or, your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his 
last !" 

October, 1826 



ODE TO THE SUBLIME PORTE. 

1826. 
Great Sultan, how wise are thy state compositions ! 

And oh, above all, I admire that Decree, 
In which thou command'st, that all she politicians 

Shall forthwith be strangled and cast in the sea. 

4 A certain country gentleman having said in the House 
"that we must return at last to the food of our ancestors, 
somebody asked Mr. T. " what food the gentleman meant ?" 
—"Thistles, I suppose," answered Mr. T. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



563 



'Tis my fortune to know a lean Benthamite spinster— 
A maid, who her faith in old Jeremy puts ; 

Who talks, with a lisp, of " the last new Westmin- 
ster." 
And hopes you're delighted with "Mill upon Gluts;" 

Who tells you how clever one Mr. Fun -blank is, 
How charming his Articles 'gainst the Nobility ; — 

And assures you that even a gentleman's rank is, 
In Jeremy's school, of no sort of utility. 

To see her, ye Gods, a new Number perusing — 
Art. 1. — " On the Needle's variations, * by PI — e ; 2 

3 rt. 2. — By her fav'rite Fun-blank 2 — so amusing ! 
" Dear man ! he makes Poetry quite a Laio case." 

Art. 3. — " Upon Fallacies," Jeremy's own — 
(Chief Fallacy being, his hope to find readers ;) — 

Art. 4. — " Upon Honesty," author unknown ; — 

Art. 5.— (by the young Mr. M ) " Hints to 

Breeders." 

Oh, Sultan, oh, Sultan, though oft for the bag 
And the bowstring, like thee, I am tempted to call — 

Though drowning's too good for each blue-stocking 
hag, 
I would bag this she Benthamite first of them all ! 

And, lest she should ever again lift her head 
From the watery bottom, her clack to renew — 

As a clog, as a sinker, far better than lead, 

I would hang round her neck her own darling 
Review. 



CORN AND CATHOLICS. 



Utrum horum 
Dirius borum ? 



Incerti Jluctoris. 



What ! still those two infernal questions, 

That with our meals, our slumbers mix- 
That spoil our tempers and digestions — 
Eternal Corn and Catholics ! 

Gods ! were there ever two such bores ? 
■ Nothing else talk'd of night or morn — 
Nothing in doors, or out of doors, 
But endless Catholics and Corn ! 



1 A celebrated political tailor. 

2 This pains-taking gentleman has been at the trouble of 
counting, with the assistance of Cocker, the number of meta- 
phors in Moore's " Life of Sheridan," and has found them to 
amount, as nearly as possible, to 2235 — and some fractions. 



Never was such a brace of pests — 

While Ministers, still worse than either, 

Skill'd but in feathering their nests, 
Plague us with both, and settle neither. 

So addled in my cranium meet 
Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt, 

Whether, this year, 'twas bonded Wheat, 
Or bonded Papists, they let out. 

Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you, 
Arm'd with all rubbish they can rake up ; 

Prices and Texts at once assail you — 
From Daniel these, and those from Jacob. 3 

And when you sleep, with head still torn 
Between the two, their shapes you mix, 

Till sometimes Catholics seem Com — 
Then Corn again seems Catholics. 

Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats — 

Now, Jesuits from California — 
Now Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats, 

Comes dancing through the " Porta Cornea.' 

Oft, too, the Corn grows animate, 
And a whole crop of heads appears, 

Like Papists, bearding Church and State — 
Themselves, together by the ears ! 

In short, these torments never cease ; 

And oft I wish myself transferr'd off 
To some far, lonely land of peace, 

Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of. 

Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole ; 

For — if my fate is to be chosen 
'Twixt bores and icebergs — on my soul, 

I'd rather, of the two, be frozen ! 



A CASE OF LIBEL. 

"The greater the truth, the worse the libel." 

A certain Sprite, who dwells below, 

('Twere a libel, perhaps, to mention where,) 

Came up incog., some years ago, 

To try, for a change, the London air. 



s Author of the late Report on Foreign Corn. 
< The Horn Gate, through which the ancients supposed 
all true dreams (such as those of the Popish Plot, &c.) to 



564 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



So well he look'd, and dress'd, and talk'd, 
And hid his tail and horns so handy, 

You'd hardly have known him as he walk'd, 
From C e, or any other Dandy. 

(His horns, it seems, are made t'unsorew ; 

So, he has but to take them out of the socket, 
And — just as some fine husbands do — 

Conveniently clap them into his pocket.) 

In short, he look'd extremely natty, 

And even contrived — to his own great wonder- 
By dint of sundry scents from Gattie, 

To keep the sulphurous ho go under. 

And so my gentleman hoof 'd about. 

Unknown to all but a chosen few 
At White's and Crockford's, where, no doubt, 

He had many post-obits falling due. 

Alike a gamester and a wit, 

At night he was seen with Crockford's crew, 
At morn with learned dames would sit — 

So pass'd his time 'twixt black and blue 

Some wish'd to make him an M. P., 
But, finding W — Iks was also one, ho 

Swore in a rage, " he'd be d — d, if he 

" Would ever sit in one house with Johnny." 

At length, as secrets travel fast, 

And devils, whether he or she, 
Are sure to be found out at last, 

The affair got wind most rapidly. 

The Press, the impartial Press, that snubs 
Alike a fiend's or an angel's capers — 

Miss Paton's soon as Beelzebub's — 

Fired off a squib in the morning papers : 

" We warn good men to keep aloof 
" From a grim old Dandy, seen about, 

" With a fire-proof wig, and a cloven hoof 
" Through a neat-cut Hoby smoking out." 

Now, — the Devil being a gentleman, 

Who piques himself on well-bred dealings, — 

You may guess, when o'er these lines he ran, 
How much they hurt and shock'd his feelings. 

Away he posts to a Man of Law, 

And 'twould make you laugh could you have 
seen 'em, 
As paw shook hand, and hand shook paw, 

And 'twas " hail, good fellow, well met," be- 
tween 'em. 



Straight an indictment was preferr'd — 
And much the Devil enjoy'd the jest, 

When, asking about the Bench, he heard 
That, of all the Judges,, his own was Best. 1 

In vain Defendant proffer'd proof 

That Plaintiff's self was the Father of Evil- 
Brought Hoby forth, to swear to the hoof, 

And Stultz to speak to the tail of the Devil. 

The Jury (saints, all snug and rich, 

And readers of virtuous Sunday papers) 

Found for the plaintiff— on hearing which 
The Devil gave one of his loftiest capers 

For oh, 'twas nuts to the Fathei . Lies 
(As this wily fiend is named in the Bible) 

To find it settled by laws so wise, 

That the greater the truth, the worse the libe 



LITERARY ADVERTISEMENT. 

Wanted — Authors of all-work, to job for the sea- 
son, 

No matter which party, so faithful to neither ; 
Good hacks, who, if posed for a rhyme or a reason, 

Can manage, like #*####, to do without either. 

If in jail, all the better for out-o'-door topics ; 

Your jail is for Travellers a charming retreat ; 
They can take a day's rule for a trip to the Tropics, 

And sail round the world, at their ease, in the 
Fleet. 

For a Dramatist, too, the most useful of schools — 
He can study high life in the King's Bench 
community ; 

Aristotle could scarce keep him more within rules, 
And of place he, at least, must adhere to the unity. 

Any lady or gentleman, come to an age 

To have good " Reminiscences," (three-score or 
higher,) 
Will meet with encouragement — so much, per 



And the spelling and grammar both found by the 
buyer. 

No matter with what their remembrance is stock'd, 
So they'll only remember the quantum desired ; — 

Enough to fill handsomely Two Volumes, oct, 
Price twenty-four shillings, is all that's required. 

1 A celebrated Judge, so named. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



565 



They may treat us, like Kelly, with old jeu-d'esprits, 
Like Dibdin, may tell of each farcical frolic ; 

Or kindly inform us, like Madame Genlis, 1 

That gingerbread-cakes always give them the 
colic. 

Wanted, also, a new stock of Pamphlets on Corn, 
By " Farmers" and " Landholders," — (worthies 
whose lands 
Enclosed all in bow-pots, their attics adorn, 

Or, whose share of the soil may be seen on their 
hands.) 

No-Popery Sermons, in ever so dull a vein, 

Sure of a market ; — should they, too, whope:* em, 

Be renegade Papists, like Murtagh O'S — 11 — v — n, a 
Something extra allow'd for th' additional venom. 

Funds, Physic, Corn, Poetry, Boxing, Romance, 
All excellent subjects for turning a penny ; — 

To write upon all is an author's sole chance 

For attaining, at last, the least knowledge of any. 

Nine times out of ten, if his title is good, 

The material within of small consequence is ; — 

Let him only write fine, and, if not understood, 
Why — that's the concern of the reader, not his. 

Nota Bene — an Essay, now printing, to show, 
That Horace (as clearly as words could express it) 

Was for taxing the Fund-holders, ages ago, 
When he wrote thus — " Quodcunque in Fund is, 
it." 3 



THE IRISH SLAVE. 



182? 



I heard, as I lay, a wailing sound, 

" He is dead — he is dead," the rumor flew ; 

And I raised my chain, and turn'd me round, 
And ask'd, through the dungeon- window, "Who?' 

I saw my livid tormentors pass ; 

Their grief 'twas bliss to hear and see ! 
For, never came joy to them, alas, 

That didn't bring deadly bane to me. 



i This lady also favors us, in her Memoirs, with the ad- 
dress of those apothecaries, who have, from time to time, 
given her pills that agreed with her; always desiring that 
the pills should be ordered "commepour elle." 

2 A gentleman who distinguished himself by his evidence 
before the Irish Committees. 



Eager I look'd through the mist of night, 

And ask'd, " What foe of my race hath died? 

" Is it he — that Doubter of law and right, 

" Whom nothing but wrong could e'er decide — 

" Who, long as he sees but wealth to win, 
" Hath never yet felt a qualm or doubt 

" What suitors for justice he'd keep in, 

" Or what suitors for freedom he'd shut out — 

" Who, a clog forever on Truth's advance, 

" Hangs round her, (Lke the Old Man of the 
Sea 

" Round Sinbad's neck, 5 ) nor leaves a chanca 
" Of shaking him off— is't he ? is't he ?" 

Ghastly my grim tormentors smiled, 

And thrusting me back to my den of wo, 
With a laughter even more fierce and wild 



But the cry still pierced my prison-gate, 

And again I ask'd, " What scourge is gone ? 

" Is it he — that Chief, so coldly great, 
" Whom Fame unwillingly shines upon — 

" Whose name is one of th' ill-omen'd words 
" They link with hate, on his native plains ; 

" And why ? — they lent him hearts and swords, 
" And he, in return, gave scoffs and chains ! 

" Is it he ? is it he ?" I loud inquired, 

When, hark ! — there sounded a Royal knell ; 

And I knew what spirit had just expired, 
And, slave as I was, my triumph fell. 

He had pledged a hate unto me and mine, 
He had left to the future nor hope nor choice, 

But seal'd that hate with a Name Divine, 

And he now was dead, and — I couldn't rejoice ! 

He had fann'd afresh the burning brands 

Of a bigotry waxing cold and dim ; 
He had arm'd anew my torturer's hands, 

And them did I curse — but sigh'd for him. 

For, his was the error of head, not heart ; 

And — oh, how beyond the ambush'd foe, 
Who to enmity adds the traitor's part, 

And carries a smile, with a curse below ! 



3 According to the common reading, " quodcunque in- 
fundis, acescit." 

4 Written on the death of the Duke of York. 

5 " You fell, said they, into the hands of the Old Man of 
the Sea, and are the first who ever escaped strangling by his 
malicious tricks."— Story of Sinbad. 



566 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


If ever a heart made bright amends 


For old Goody W— stm— 1— d ; 


For the fatal fault of an erring head — 


One who loves, Like Mother Cole, 


Go, learn his fame from the lips of friends, 


Church and State with all her soul ; 


In the orphan's tear be his glory read. 


And has pass'd her life in frolics 




Worthy of your Apostolics. 


A Prince without pride, a man without guile, 


Choose, in dressing this old flirt, 


To the last unchanging, warm, sincere, 


Something that wo'n't show the dirt, 


For Worth he had ever a hand and smile, 


As, from habit, every minute 


And for Misery ever his purse and tear. 


Goody W — stm — 1 — d is in it. 


Touch'd to the heart by that solemn toll, 


This is all I now shall ask, 


I calmly sunk in my chains again ; 


Hie thee, monarch, to thy task ; 


While, still as I said, " Heaven rest his soul !" 


Finish Eld — n's frills and borders, 


My mates of the dungeon sigh'd " Amen !" 


Then return for further orders. 


January, 1827. 


Oh what progress for our sake, 
Kings in millinery make ! 




Ribands, garters, and such things, 
Are supplied by other Kings, — 






Ferdinand his rank denotes 


ODE TO FERDINAND. 

1827. 
Quit the sword, thou King of men, 


By providing petticoats. 




Grasp the needle once again ; 






Making petticoats is far 




Safer sport than making war ; 




Trimming is a better thing, 


HAT versus WIG 


Than the being trimm'd, oh King ! 


1827. 
" At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord Eld — n, in 


Grasp the needle bright with which 


Thou didst for the Virgin stitch 


order to guard against the effects of the damp, stood upon 


Garment, such as ne'er before 


his hat during the whole of the ceremony." 


Monarch stitch'd or Virgin wore. 


metus omnes et inexorahiie fatum 


Not for her, oh semster nimble ! 


Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari. 


Do I now invoke thy thimble ; 




Not for her thy wanted aid is, 


Twixt Eld— n's Hat and Eld— n's Wig 


But for certain grave old ladies, 


There lately rose an altercation, — 


Who now sit in England's cabinet, 


Each with its own importance big, 


Waiting to be clothed in tabinet, 


Disputing which most serves the nation 


Or whatever choice etoffe is 




Fit for Dowagers in office. 


Quoth Wig, with consequential air, 


First, thy care, oh King, devote 


" Pooh ! pooh ! you surely can't design, 


To Dame Eld — n's petticoat. 


" My worthy beaver, to compare 


Make it of that silk, whose dye 


" Your station in the state with mine. 


Shifts forever to the eye, 
Just as if it hardly knew 




" Who meets the learned legal crew ? 


Whether to be pink or blue. 


" Who fronts the lordly Senate's pride ? 


Or — material fitter yet — 


" The Wig, the Wig, my friend — while you 


If thou couldst a remnant get 


" Hang dangling on some peg outside. 


Of that stuff, with which, of old, 




Sage Penelope, we're told, 

Still by doing and undoing, 

Kept her suitors always wooing — 

That's the stuff which I pronounce, is 


" Oh, 'tis the Wig, that rules, like Love, 


" Senate and Court, with like eclat — 
" And wards below, and lords above, 


" For Law is Wig and Wig is Law I 1 


Fittest for Dame Eld — n's flounces. 






1 " Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 


After this, we'll try thy hand, 


And men below and gods above, 


Mantua-making Ferdinand, 


For Love is Heaven and Heaven is Love."— Scj>tt 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



567 



" Who tried the long, Long W — ll— sly suit, 
" Which tried one's patience, in return ? 

" Not thou, oh Hat ! — though, could' st thou do't, 
" Of other brims 1 than thine thou'dst learn. 

* 'Twas mine our master's toil to share ; 

" When, like ' Truepenny,' in the play, 2 
" He, every minute, cried out ' Swear,' 

" And merrily to swear went they ; 3 — 

" When, loath poor W — ll — sl — y to condemn, he 

" With nice discrimination weigh'd, 
" Whether 'twas only ' Hell and Jemmy,' 

" Or * Hell and Tommy' that he play'd. 

" No, no, my worthy beaver, no — 

" Though cheapen'd at the cheapest hatter's, 
" And smart enough, as beavers go, 

" Thou ne'er wert made for public matters." 

Here Wig concluded his oration, 

Looking, as wigs do, wondrous wise ; 

While thus, full cock'd for declamation, 
The veteran Hat enraged replies : — 

" Ha ! dost thou then so soon forget 

" What thou, what England owes to me ? 

" Ungrateful Wig!- — when will a debt, 
" So deep, so vast, be owed to thee ? 

" Think of that night, that fearful night, 
" When, through the steaming vault below, 

" Our master dared, in gout's despite, 
" To venture his podagric toe ! 

" Who was it then, thou boaster, say, 

" When thou hadst to thy box sneak'd off, 

" Beneath his feet protecting lay, 

" And saved him from a mortal cough ? 

" Think, if Catarrh had quench'd that sun, 
" How blank this world had been to thee ! 

" Without that head to shine upon, 
" Oh Wig, where would thy glory be ? 

" You, too, ye Britons, — had this hope 

" Of Church and state been ravish'd from ye, 

" Oh think, how Canning and the Pope 

" Would then have play'd up ' Hell and Tom- 



* " Brim— a. naughty woman."— Grosb. 
2 " Ghost [beneath].— Swear! 

" Hamlet —ha, ha ! say'st thou so ? Art thou there, 
Truepenny ? Come on." 



" At sea, there's but a plank, they say, 

" 'Twixt seamen and annihilation ; 
" A Hat, that awful moment, lay 

" 'Twixt England and Emancipation ! 

« Oh ! ! ! " 

At this « Oh ! ! !" The Times' 

Reporter 
Was taken poorly, and retired ; 
Which made him cut Hat's rhetoric shorter, 
Than justice to the case required 

On £ds return, he found these shocks 

Of eloquence all ended quite ; 
And Wig lay snoring in his box, 

And Hat was — hung up for the night. 



THE PERIWINKLES AND THE LOCUSTS. 

A SALMAGUNDIAN HYMN. 

"To Panurge was assigned the Lairdship of Salmagundi, 
which was yearly worth 6.789,106,789 ryals, besides the 
revenue of the Locusts and Periwinkles, amounting one 
year with another to the value of 2,435,768," &c. &c— 
Rabelais. 

" Hurra ! hurra !" I heard them say, 
And they cheer'd and shouted all the way, 
As the Laird of Salmagundi went, 
To open in state his Parliament. 

The Salmagundians once were rich, 

Or thought they were — no matter which — 

For, every year, the Revenue 4 

From their Periwinkles larger grew ; 

And their rulers, skill'd in all the trick 

And legerdemain of arithmetic, 

Knew how to place 1, 2, 3, 4, 

5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 and 10, 
Such various ways, behind, before, 
That they made a unit seem a score, 

And proved themselves most wealthy men I 
So, on they went, a prosperous crew, 

The people wise, the rulers clever — 
And God help those, like me and you, 
Who dared to doubt (as some now do) 
That the Periwinkle Revenue 

Would thus go flourishing on forever. 



s His Lordship's demand for fresh affidavits was incessant. 
4 Accented as in Swift's line — 

"Not so a nation's revenues are paid." 



568 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" Hurra ! hurra !" I heard them say, 
And they cheer'd and shouted all the way, 
As the Great Panurge in glory went 
To open his own dear Parliament. 

But folks at length began to doubt 
What all this conjuring was about ; 
For, every day, more deep in debt 
They saw their wealthy rulers get : — 
" Let's look (said they) the items through, 
" And see if what we're told be true 
" Of our Periwinkle Revenue." 
But, Lord ! they found there wasn't a tittle 

Of truth in aught they heard before ; 
For, they gain'd by Periwinkles little, 

And lost by Locusts ten times more ! 
These Locusts are a lordly breed 
Some Salmagundians love to feed. 
Of all the beasts that ever were born, 
Your Locust most delights in corn ; 
And, though his body be but small, 
To fatten him takes the devil and all ! 
" Oh fie ! oh fie !" was now the ciy, 
As they saw the gaudy show go by, 
And the Laird of Salmagundi went 
To open his Locust Parliament ! 



NEW CREATION OF PEERS. 



BATCH THE FIRST. 

" His 'prentice han' 
He tried on man, 
And then he made the lasses." 

1827. 
" And now," quoth the Minister, (eased of his 
panics, 
And ripe for each pastime the summer affords,) 
" Having had our full swing at destroying me- 
chanics, 
" By way of set-off, let us make a few Lords. 

" 'Tis pleasant — while nothing but mercantile frac- 
tures, 
" Some simple, some compound, is dinn'd in our 
ears — 
" To think that, though robb'd of all coarse manu- 
factures, 
" We still have our fine manufacture of Peers ; — 



"Those Gobelin productions, which Kings take a 
pride 
" In engrossing the whole fabrication and trade of; 
" Choice tapestry things, very graid on one side, 
"But showing, on t'other, what rags they are 
made of." 

The plan being fix'd, raw material was sought, — 
No matter how middling, if Tory the creed be ; 

And first, to begin with, Squire W , 'twas 

thought, 
For a Lord was as raw a material as need be. 

Next came, with his penchant for painting and pelf, 
The tasteful Sir Charles, 1 so renown'd, far and 
near, 

For purchasing pictures, and selling himself — 
And both (as the public well knows) very dear. 

Beside him Sir John comes, with equal eclat, in ; — 
Stand forth, chosen pair, while for titles we 
measure ye ; 
Both connoisseur baronets, both fond of drawing, 
Sir John, after nature, Sir Charles, on the 
Treasury. 

But, bless us ! — behold a new candidate come — 
In his hand he upholds a prescription, new 
written ; 
He poiseth a pill-box 'twixt finger and thumb, 
And he asketh a seat 'mong the Peers of Great 
Britain ! ! 

" Forbid it," cried Jenky, " ye Viscounts, ye 
Earls !— 
"Oh Rank, how thy glories would fall disen- 
chanted, 
" If coronets glisten'd with pills 'stead of pearls, 
" And the strawberry-leaves were by rhubarb 
supplanted ! 

"No — ask it not, ask it not, dear Doctor H — 1- 
f— rd— 
" If naught but a Peerage can gladden thy life, 
" And young Master H — If — rd as yet is too small 
for't, 
"Sweet Doctor, we'll make a she Peer of thy 
wife. 

" Next to bearing a coronet on our own brows, 
" Is to bask in its light from the brows of an- 
other ; 

,1 Created Lord F— rnb— gh. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



569 



" And grandeur o'er thee shall reflect from thy 
spouse, 
"As o'er V — y F — tz — d 'twill shine through 
his mother." 1 

Thus ended the First Batch — and Jenky, much 
tired, 
(It being no joke to make Lords by the heap.) 
Took a large dram of ether — the same that inspired 
His speech 'gainst the Papists — and prosed off to 
sleep. 



SPEECH ON THE UMBRELLA 2 QUES- 
TION. 

BY LORD ELD N. 

"Vos inumbrelles video." 3 — Ex. Juvenil. Geoegii Can- 
ton gii. 

1827. 

My Lords, I'm accused of a trick that, God knows, is 
" The last into which, at my age, I could fall — 
Of leading this grave House of Peers, by their 



Whenever I choose, princes, bishops, and all. 

My Lords, on the question before us at present, 
No doubt I shall hear, "'Tis that cursed old 
fellow, 
" That bugbear of all that is lib'ral and pleasant, 
"Who won't let the Lords give the man his 
umbrella !" 

God forbid that your Lordships should knuckle to 
me; 

I am ancient — but were I as old as King Priam, 
Not much, I confess, to your credit 'twould be, 

To mind such a twaddling old Trojan as I am. 

I own, of our Protestant laws I am jealous, 

And, long as God spares me, will always main- 
tain, 

That, once having taken men's rights, or umbrellas, 
We ne'er should consent to restore them again. 

What security have you, ye Bishops and Peers, 
If thus you give back Mr. Bell's parapluie, 



i Among the persons mentioned as likely to be raised to 
the Peerage, are the mother of Mr. V— y F— tz— d, &c. 

2 A case which interested the public very much at this 
period. A gentleman, of the name of Bell, having left his 
umbrella behind him in the House of Lords, the doorkeep- 
ers (standing, no doubt, on the privileges of that noble body) 



That he mayn't, with its stick, come about all your 
ears, 
And then — where would your Protestant peri- 
wigs be ? 

No, heaven be my judge, were I dying to-day, 
Ere I dropp'd in the grave, like a medlar that's 
mellow, 
" For God's sake" — at that awful moment I'd say — 
" For God's sake, don't give Mr. Bell his um- 
brella." 

[" This address," says a ministerial journal, " delivered 
with amazing emphasis and earnestness, occasioned an ex- 
traordinary sensation in the House. Nothing since the 
memorable address of the Duke u York has produced so 
remarkable an impression."] 



A PASTORAL BALLAD. 



BY JOHN BULL. 

Dublin, March 12, 1827. — Friday, after the arrival of the 
packet bringing the account of the defeat of the Catholic 
Question, in the House of Commons, orders were sent 
to the Pigeon House to forward 5,OOQ\000 rounds of mus- 
ket-ball cartridge to the different garrisons round the 
country." — Freeman's Journal. 

I have found out a gift for my Erin, 
A gift that will surely content her ; — 

Sweet pledge of a love so endearing ! 
Five millions of bullets I've sent her. 

She ask'd me for Freedom and Right, 
- But ill she her wants understood ; — 
Ball cartridges, morning and night, 
Is a dose that will do her more good. 

There is hardly a day of our lives 
But we read, in some amiable trials, 

How husbands make love to their wives 
Through the medium of hemp and of vials. 

One thinks, with his mistress or mate 

A good halter is sure to agree — 
That love-knot which, early and late, 

I have tried, my dear Erin, on thee. 



refused to restore it to him; and the above speech, which 
may be considered as a pendant to that of the Learned Earl 
on the Catholic Question, arose out of the transaction. 
3 From Mr. Canning's translation of Jekyl's— 
"I say. my good fellows, 
As you've no umbrellas." 



570 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



While another, whom Hymen has bless'd 
With a wife that is not over placid, 

Consigns the dear charmer to rest, 
With a dose of the best Prussic acid. 

Thus, Erin ! my love do I show — 
Thus quiet thee, mate of my bed ! 

And, as poison and hemp are too slow, 
Do thy business with bullets instead. 

Should thy faith in my medicine be shaken, 
Ask R — d — n, that mildest of saints ; 

He'll tell thee, lead, inwardly taken, 
Alone can remove thy complaints ; — 

That, blest as thou art in thy lot, 

Nothing's wanted to make it more pleasant 
But being hang'd, tortured, and shot, 

Much oftener than thou art at present 

Even W — 11 — t — n's self hath averr'd 
Thou art yet but half sabred and hung, 

And I loved him the more when I heard 
Such tenderness fall from his tongue. 

So take the five millions of pills, 
Dear partner, I herewith enclose ; 

'Tis the cure that all quacks for thy ills, 
From Cromwell to Eld — n, propose. 

And you, ye brave bullets that go, 
How I wish that, before you set out, 

The Devil of the Freischutz could know 
The good work you are going about. 

For he'd charm ye, in spite of your lead, 

Into such supernatural wit, 
That you'd all of you know, as you sped, 

Where a bullet of sense ought to hit. 



A LATE SCENE AT SWANAGE. 1 



Regnis ex-su! adenitis. 



Virg. 



1827. 
To Swanage — that neat little town, in whose bay 
Fair Thetis shows off, in her best silver slippers — 
Lord Bags 2 took his annual trip t'other day. 

To taste the sea breezes, and chat with the dip- 
pers. 

i A small bathing-place on the coast of Dorsetshire, long 
a favorite summer resort of the ex-nobleman in question, 
and, till this season, much frequented also by gentlemen of 
the church. 

a The Lord Chancellor Eld— n. 



There — learn'd as he is in conundrums and laws — 
Quoth he to his dame, (whom he oft plays the 
wag on,) 
" Why are chancery suitors like bathers?" — " Be- 
cause 
" Their suits are put off, till — they haven't a rag 
on." 

Thus on he went chatting— .* ut, lo, while he chats, 
With a face full of wonder around him he looks ; 

For he misses his parsons, his dear shovel hats, 
Who used to flock round him at Swanage like 
rooks. 

" How !s this, ->.ady Bags ? — to this region aquatic 
" Last year they came swarming, to make me 
their bow, 
" As thick as Burke's cloud o'er the vales of Car- 
natic, 
" Deans, Rectors, D. D.'s — where the devil are 
they now ?" 

" My dearest Lord Bags !" saith his dame, " can 
you doubt ? 
" I am loath to remind you of things so unpleasant ; 
" But don't you perceive, dear, the Church have 
found out 
" That you're one of tho people called Ex's, at 
present?" 

" Ah, true — you have hit it — I am, indeed, one 
" Of those ill-fated Ex's, (his Lordship replies,) 

" And, with tears, I confess — God forgive me the 
pun ! — 
" We X's have proved ourselves not to be YV 



WO ! WO ! s 

Wo, wo unto him who would check or disturb it — 
That beautiful Light, which is now on its way ; 

Which, beaming, at first, o'er the bogs of Belturbet, 
Now brightens sweet Ballinafad with its ray ! 

Oh F — rnh — m, Saint F — rnh — m, how much do 
we owe thee ! 

How form'd to all tastes are thy various employs ! 
The old, as a catcher of Catholics, know thee, 

The young, as an amateur scourger of boys. 

s Suggested by a speech of the Bishop of Ch— st— r on the 
subject of the New Reformation in Ireland, in which his 
Lordship denounced " Wo ! Wo ! Wo !" pretty abundantly 
on all those who dared to interfere with its progress. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



571 



Wo, wo to the man, who such doings would 
smother ! — 

On, Luther of Cavan ! On, Saint of Kilgroggy ! 
With whip in one hand, and with Bible in t'other, 

Like Mungo's tormentor, both "preachee and 



Come, Saints from all quarters, and marshal his way ; 

Come, L — rt — n, who, scorning profane erudition, 
Popp'd Shakspeare, they say, in the river, one day, 

Though 'twas only old Bowdler's Velluii edition. 

Come, R — den, who doubtest — so mild are thy 
views — 

Whether Bibles or bullets are best for the nation ; 
Who leav'st to poor Paddy no medium to choose, 

'Twixt good old Rebellion and new Reformation. 

What more from her Saints can Hibernia require ? 

St. Bridget, of yore, like a dutiful daughter, 
Supplied her, 'tis said, with perpetual fire, 1 

And Saints keep her, now, in eternal hot water. 

Wo, wo to the man, who would check their career, 
Or stop the Millennium, that's sure to await us, 

When, bless'd with an orthodox crop every year, 
We shall learn to raise Protestants, fast as pota- 
toes. 

In kidnapping Papists, our rulers, we know, 

Had been trying their talent for many a day ; 
Till F — rnh — m, when all had been tried, came to 
show, 
Like the German flea-catcher, " anoder goot 
way." 

And nothing's more simple than F — rnh — m's re- 
ceipt ; — ' 
" Catch your Catholic, first — soak him well hi 
poteen* — 
" Add salary sauce, 3 and the thing is complete. 
" You may serve up your Protestant, smoking 
and clean." 

" Wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh at such 
cookery !" 

Thus, from his perch, did I hear a black crow* 
Caw angrily out, while the rest of the rookery 

Open'd their bills, and re-echo'd " Wo ! wo !" 



i The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare. 

2 Whiskey. 

3 " We understand that several applications have lately 
been made to the Protestant clergymen of this town by fel- 
lows, inquiring, ' What are they giving a head for converts V " 
-Wexford Post. 



TOUT POUR LA TRIPE 

"If, in China or among the natives of India, we claimed 
civil advantages which were connected with religious 
usages, little as we might value those forms in oui hearts, 
we should think common decency required us to abstain 
from treating them with offensive contumely ; and, though 
unable to consider them sacred, we would not sneer at 
the name of Fot, or laugh at the imputed divinity of 
Visthnou." — Courier, Tuesday, Jan. 18. 

1827. 
Comk, take my advice, never trouble your cranium, 

When " civil advantages" are to be gain'd, 
What god or what goddess may help to obtain you 
'em, 
Hindoo or Chinese, so they're only obtain'd. 

In this world (let me hint in your organ auricular) 
All the good things to good hypocrites fall ; 

And he, who in swallowing creeds is particular, 
Soon will have nothing to swallow at all. 

Oh place me where Fo (or, as some call him, Fot) 
Is the god, from whom " civil advantages" flow, 

And you'll find, if there's any thing snug to be got, 
I shall soon be on excellent terms with old Fo. 

Or were I where Vishnu, that four-handed god, 
Is the quadruple giver of pensions and places, 

I own I should feel it unchristian and odd 

Not to find myself also in Vishnu's good grace3 

For, among all the gods that humanely attend 
To our wants in this planet, the gods to my wishes 

Are those that, like Vishnu and others, descend 
In the form, so attractive, of loaves and of fishes !* 

So take my advice — for, if even the devil 

Should tempt men again as an idol to tiy him, 

'Twere best for us Tories, even then, to be civil, 
As nobody doubts we should get something by 
him. 



ENIGMA. 

Monstrum nulla virtute rcdcmptnm. 

Come, riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, 
And tell me what my name may be. 



* Of the rook species — Corvus frugilcgiis, i. e. a great con- 
sumer of corn. 

s Vishnu was (as Sir W. Jones calls him) "a pisciform 
god," — his first Avatar being in the shape of a fish. 



572 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old, 

And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose ; — 
Though a dwarf in my youth, (as my nurses have 
told,) 
I have, ev'ry year since, been outgrowing my 
clothes ; 
Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I stand, 

That, if folks were to furnish me now with a suit, 
It would take ev'ry morsel of scrip in the land 

But to measure my bulk from the head to the foot. 
Hence, they who maintain me, grown sick of my 
stature, 
To cover me nothing but rags will supply ; 
And the doctors declare that, in due course of na- 
ture, 
About the year 30 in rags I shall die. 
Meanwhile, I stalk hungiy and bloated around, 

An object of infrest, most painful, to all ; 

In the warehouse, the cottage, the palace I'm found, 

Holding citizen, peasant, and king in my thrall. 

Then riddle-me-ree, oh riddle-me-ree, 

Come, tell me what my name may be. 

When the lord of the counting-house bends o'er his 
book, 
Bright pictures of profit delighting to draw, 
O'er his shoulders with large cipher eyeballs I look, 
And down drops the pen from his paralyzed paw ! 
When the Premier lies dreaming of dear Waterloo, 
And expects through another to caper and prank 
it, 
You'd laugh did you see, when I bellow out " Boo !" 
How he hides his brave Waterloo head in the 
blanket. 
When mighty Belshazzar brims high in the hall 
His cup, full of gout, to the Gaul's overthrow, 
Lo, " Eight Hundred Millions" I write on the wall, 
And the cup falls to earth and — the gout to his 
toe! 
But the joy of my heart is when largely I cram 
My maw with the fruits of the Squirearchy's 
acres, 
And, knowing who made me the thing that I am, 
Like the monster of Frankenstein, wony my ma- 
kers. 
Then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, 
And tell, if thou-know'st, who / may be. 



i One of the shows of London. 

2 More particularly his Grace's celebrated amendment to 
the Corn Bill ; for which, and the circumstances connected 
with it, see Annual Register for a. d. 1827. 



DOG-DAY REFLECTIONS. 



BY A DANDY KEPT IN TOWN. 



" Vox clamantis in deserto.' 



1827. 



Said Malthus, one day, to a clown 

Lying stretch'd on the beach, in the sun, — 

" What's the number of souls in this town ?" — 
" The number ! Lord bless you, there's none. 

" We have nothing but dabs in this place, 
" Of them a great plenty there are ; 

' But the soles, please your rev'rence and grace, 
" Are all t'other side of the bar." 

And so 'tis in London just now, 

Not a soul to be seen, up oi J own ; — 

Of dabs a great glut, I allow, 

But your soles, every one, out of town. 

East or west, nothing wondrous or new ; 

No courtship or scandal, worth knowing ; 
Mrs. B , and a Mermaid 2 or two, 

Are the only loose fish that are going. 

Ah, where is that dear house of Peers, 
That, some weeks ago, kept us merry ? 

Where, Eld — n, art thou, with thy tears ? 
And thou, with thy sense, L — d — d — y ? 

Wise Marquis, how much the Lord May'r, 

In the dog-days, with thee must be puzzled ! — 

It being his task to take care 

That such animals shan't go unmuzzled. 

Thou, too, whose political toils 

Are so worthy a captain of horse — 

Whose amendments 2 (like honest Sir Boyle's) 
Are " amendments, that make matters worse;" 3 

Great Chieftain, who takest such pains 
To prove — what is granted, nem. con.— 

With how mod'rate a portion of brains 
Some heroes contrive to get on. 

And, thou, too, my R — d — sd — e, ah, where 
Is the peer, with a star at his button, 

Whose quarters could ever compare 

With R — d — sd — e's five quarters of mutton ',* 



3 From a speech of Sir Boyle Roche's, in the Irish House 
of Commons. 

4 The learning his Lordship displayed, on the subject of 
the butcher's " fifth quarter" of mutton, will not speedily be 
forgotten. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



573 



Why, why have ye taken your flight, 
Ye diverting and dignified crew ? 

How ill do three farces a night, 

At the Hay market, pay us for you ! 

For, what is Bombastes to thee, 

My Ell— nbro', when thou look'st big? 

Or, where's the burletta can be 

Like L — d — rd — le's wit, and his wig? 

I doubt if ev'n Griffinhoof 1 could 
(Though Griffin's a comical lad) 

Invent any joke half so good 

As that precious one, " This is too bad !" 

Then come again, come again, Spring ! 

Oh haste thee, with Fun in thy train ; 
And — of all things the funniest — bring 

These exalted Grimaldis again! 



1HE "LIVING DOG" AND "THE 
DEAD LION." 

1828. 
Next week will be publish'd (as " Lives" are the 
rage) 
The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange, 
Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once in the cage 
Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change. 

Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call 
" sad," 

'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends ; 
And few dogs have such opportunities had 

Of knowing how Lions behave — among friends ; 

How that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks, 
Is all noted down by this Boswell so small ; 

And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog 
thinks 
That the Lion was no such great things after all. 

Though he roar'd pretty well — this the puppy 
allows — 
It was all, he says, borrow'd — all second-hand 
roar : 



1 The now. de guerre under which Colman has written 
some of his best farces. 

2 At the commencement of this year, the designs of Don 
Miguel and his partisans against the constitution established 
by his brother had begun more openly to declare them- 
selves. 



And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows 
To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour. 

'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a Cynic could ask, 
To see how this cockney -bred setter of rabbits 

Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task, 
And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits. 

Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) 
With sops every day from the Lion's own pan, 

He lifts up his leg at the neble beast's carcass, 
And — does all a dog, so diminutive, can. 

However, the book's a good book, being rich in 

Examples ano earnings to lions high-bred, 
How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their 
kitchen 
Who'll feed on them living, and Tcul them when 
dead. 

T. Pidcock. 
Exeter 'Change. 



ODE TO DON MIGUEL. 

Ettu, Brute I 



1828.2 



What ! Miguel, not patriotic? oh, fie, 

After so much good teaching 'tis quite a take-in, 
Sir ;— 
First school'd, as you were, under Metternich's eye, 
And then (as young misses say) "finish'd" at 
Windsor ! 3 

I ne'er in my life knew a case that was harder ; — 
Such feasts as you had, when you made us a call ! 

Three courses each day from his Majesty's larder, — 
And now, to turn absolute Don, after all ! ! 

Some authors, like Bayes, to the style and the matter 
Of each thing they write suit the way that they 
dine, 
Roast sirloin for Epic, broil'd devils for Satire, 
And hotch-potch and trifle for rhymes such as 
mine. 

That Rulers should feed the same way, I've no 
doubt ; — 
Great Despots on bouilli served up a la Russe* 



s Don Miguel had paid a visit to the English court, at the 
close of the year 1827. 

4 Dressed with a pint of the strongest spirits — a favorite 
dish of the Great Frederick of Prussia^ and which he perse- 
vered in eating even on his death-bed, much to the horror of 
his physician Zimmerman. 



574 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Your small German Princes on frogs and sour-krout, 
And your Viceroy of Hanover always on goose. 

Some Dons, too, have fancied (though this may be 
fable) 
A dish rather dear, if, in cooking, they blunder 
it;- 
Not content with the common hot meat on a table, 
They're partial (eh, Mig ?) to a dish of cold under 
it! 

No wonder a Don of such appetites found 
Even Windsor's collations plebeianly plain ; 

Where the dishes most high that my Lady sends 
round 
Are her Maintenon cutlets and soup a la Reine. 

Alas ! that a youth with such charming beginnings, 
Should sink, all at once, to so sad a conclusion, 

And, what is still worse, throw the losings and 
winnings 
Of worthies on 'Change into so much confusion ! 

The Bulls, in hysterics — the Bears just as bad — 
The few men who have, and the many who've 
not tick, 

All shock'd to find out that that promising lad, 
Prince Metternich's pupil, is — not patriotic ! ■ 



THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT GOVERN- 
MENT OF IRELAND. 

1828. 

Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride, 

Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus ride 

Two stately steeds — standing, with graceful 

straddle, 
Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either saddle, 
While to soft tunes — some jigs, and some an- 
dantes — 
He steers around his light-paced Rosinantes. 

So rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant, 
That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at present; — 
Papist and Protestant the coursers twain, 
That lend their necks to his impartial rein, 
And round the ring — each honor'd, as they go, 
With equal pressure from his gracious toe — 
To the eld medley tune, half " Patrick's Day" 
And half " Boyna Water," take their cant'ring way, 



i This quiet case of murder, with all its particulars— the 
hiding the body under the dinner-table, &c. &c. — is, no 
doubt, well known to the reader. 



While Peel, the showman in the middle, cracks 
His long-lash'd whip, to cheer the doubtful hacks. 
Ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art ! 
How bless'd, if neither steed would bolt or start ; — 
If Protestant's old restive tricks were gone, 
And Papist's winkers could be still kept on ! 
But no, false hopes — not even the great Ducrow 
'Twixt two such steeds could 'scape an overthrow : 
If solar hacks play'd Phaeton a trick, 
What hope, alas, from hackney's lunatic ? 

If once my Lord his graceful balance loses, 

Or fails to keep each foot where each horse chooses ; 

If Peel but gives one extra touch of whip 

To Papist's tail or Protestant's ear-tip — 

That instant ends their glorious horsemanship ! 

Off bolt the sevei'd steeds, for mischief free, 

And down, between them, clumps Lord Anglesea! 



THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTATIONS. 

A DREAM. 

" Cio che si perde qui, la si raguna." Ariosto. 

Milton. 



" a valley, where he sees 

Things' that on earth were lost. 



Know'st thou not him 2 the poet sings, 

Who flew to the moon's serene domain, 
And saw that valley, where all the things, 

That vanish on earth, are found again— 
The hopes of youth, the resolves of age, 
The vow of the lover, the dream of the sage, 
The golden visions of mining cits, 

The promises great men strew about them ; 
And, pack'd in compass small, the wits 

Of monarchs, who rule as well without them !- 
Like him, but diving with wing profound, 
I have been to a Limbo under ground. 
Where characters lost on earth, (and cried, 
In vain, like H — rr — s's, far and wide,) 
In heaps, like yesterday's orts, are thrown 
And there, so worthless and fly-blown, 
That ev'n the imps would not purloin them, 
Lie, till their worthy owners join them. 

Curious it was to see this mass 
Of lost and torn -up reputations ; — 

Some of them female wares, alas, 
Mislaid at innocent assignations; 

2 Astolpho. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



575 



Some, that had sigh'd their last amen 

From the canting lips of saints that would be ; 
And some once own'd by " the best of men," 

Who had proved — no better than they should be. 
'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied, 

Once shining fair, now soak'd and black — 
" No wonder," (an imp at my elbow cried,) 

" For I pick'd it out of a butt of sack 9* 

Just then a yell was heard o'er head, 

Like a chimney-sweeper's lofty summons ; 
And lo ! a devil right downward sped, 
Bringing, within his claws so red, 
Two statesmen's characters, found, he said, 

Last night, on the floor of the House of Com- 
mons : 
The which, with black official grin, 
He now to the Chief Imp handed in ; — 
Both these articles much the worse 

For their journey down, as you may suppose ; 
But one so devilish rank — " Odds curse !" 

Said the Lord Chief Imp, and held his nose. « 

" Ho, ho !" quoth he, " I know full well 

" From whom these two stray matters fell ;" — 

Then, casting away, with loathful shrug, 

Th' uncleaner waif, (as he would a drug 

Th 5 Invisible's own dark hand had mix'd,) 

His gaze on the other 1 firm he fix'd, 

And trying, though mischief laugh'd in his eye, 

To be moral, because of the young imps by, 

v - What a pity !" he cried — " so fresh its gloss, 

" So long preserved — 'tis a public loss ! 

" This comes of a man, the careless blockhead, 

" Keeping his character in his pocket ; 

" And there — without considering whether 

" There's room for that and his gains together — 

" Cramming, and cramming, and cramming away, 

" Till — out slips character some fine day ! 

" However" — and here he view'd it round — 

" This article still may pass for sound. 

" Some flaws, soon patch'd, some stains are all 

" The harm it has had in its luckless fall. 

" Here, Puck !" — and he call'd to one of his train — 

" The owner may have this back again. 

" Though damaged forever, if used with skill, 

" It may serve, perhaps, to trade on still ; 

" Though the gem can never, as once, be set, 

" It will do for a Tory Cabinet." 



i H— k— n. 



HOW TO WRITE BY PROXY 

Qui facit per alium facit per se 

'Mong our neighbors, the French, in the good olden 
time 
When Nobility flourish'd, great Barons and Dukes 
Often set up for authors in prose and in rhyme, 
But ne'er took the trouble to write their own 
books. 

Poor devils were found to do this for their betters ; — 

And one day, a Bishop, addressing a Blue, 
Said, " Ma'am, have you read my new Pastora 
Letters ?" 
To which the Blue answer'd — " No, Bishop, have 
vou T 

The same is now done by our privileged class ; 

And, to show you how simple the process it needs, 
If a great Major-General 2 wishes to pass 

For an author of History, thus he proceeds : — 

First, scribbling his own stock of notions as well 
As he can, with a g-oose-quill that claims him as kin, 

He settles his neckcloth — takes snuff — rings the bell, 
And yawningly orders a Subaltern in. 

The Subaltern comes — sees his General seated, 
In all the self-glory of authorship swelling ; — 
" There, look," saith his Lordship, " My work is 
completed, — 
" It wants nothing now, but the grammar and 
spelling." 

Well used to a breach, the brave Subaltern dreads 
Awkward breaches of syntax a hundred times 
more ; 
And, though often condemn'd to see breaking of 
heads, 
He had ne'er seen such breaking of Priscian's 
before. 

However, the job's sure to pay — that's enough — 
So, to it he sets with his tinkering hammer, 

Convinced that there never was job half so tough 
As the mending a great Major-General's grammar. 

But, lo, a fresh puzzlement starts up to view — 
New toil for the Sub. — for the Lord new expense : 

'Tis discover'd that mending his grammar won't do, 
As the Subaltern also must find him in sense ! 



3 Or Lieutenant-Genoral, as it may happen to be. 



576 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



At last — even this is achieved by his aid ; — 

Friend Subaltern pockets the cash and — the story ; 

Drums beat — the new Grand March of Intellect's 
play'd — 
And off struts my Lord, the Historian, in glory ! 



IMITATION OF THE INFERNO OF DANTE. 

" Cosi quel fiato gli spiriti mali 
Di qua, di la, di giii, di su gli mena." Inferno, canto 5. 

I turn'd my steps, and lo, a shadowy throng 
Of ghosts came flutt'ring tow'rds me — blown along, 
Like cockchafers in high autumnal storms, 
By many a fitful gust that through their forms 
Whistled, as on they came, with wheezy puff, 
And puff 'd as — though they'd never puff enough. 

" Whence and what are ye ?" pitying I inquired 
Of these poor ghosts, who, tatter'd, toss'd, and tired 
With such eternal puffing, scarce could stand 
On their lean legs while answering my demand. 
" We once were authors" — thus the Sprite, who led 
This tag-rag regiment of spectres, said — 
" Authors of every sex, male, female, neuter, 
" Who, early smit with love of praise and— pewter? 
" On C — lb — n's 3 shelves first saw the light of day, 

" In 's puffs exhaled our lives away — 

" Like summer windmills, doom'd to dusty peace, 

" When the brisk gales, that lent them motion cease. 

" Ah, little knew we then what ills await 

" Much-lauded scribblers in their after state ; 

" Bepuff d on earth — how loudly Str — t can tell — 

" And, dire reward, now doubly puff 'd in hell !" 

Touch'd with compassion for his ghastly crew,. 
Whose ribs, even now, the hollow wind sung through 
In mournful prose, — such prose as Rosa's 3 ghost 
Still at th' accustom'd hour of eggs and toast, 
Sighs through the columns of the M — rn — g P — t, — 
Pensive I turn'd to weep, when he, who stood 
. Foremost of all that flatulential brood, 
Singling a she-ghost from the party, said, 
" Allow me to present Miss X. Y. Z., 4 
" One of our letter' d nymphs — excuse the pun — 
" Who gain'd a name on earth by — having none ; 
" And whose initials would immortal be, 
" Had she but learn'd those plain ones, A. B. C. 



i The classical term for money. 

2 The reader may fill up this gap with any one of the 
dissyllabic publishers of London that occurs to him. 

3 Rosa Matilda, who was for many years the writer of the 
political articles in the journal alluded to, and whose spirit 
still seems to preside—" regnat Rosa"— over its pages. 



" Yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry and neat, 
"Wrapp'd in his own dead rhymes — fit winding- 
sheet — 
" Still marvels much that not a soul should care 
" One single pin to know who wrote ' May Fair ;' — 
" While this young gentleman," (here forth he 

drew 
A dandy spectre, puff'd quite through and through, 
As though his ribs were an iEolian lyre 
For the old Row's soft trade-winds to inspire,) 
" This modest genius breathed one wish alone, 
" To have his volume read, himself unknown ; 
" But different far the course his glory took, 
" All knew the author, and — none read the book. 

" Behold, in yonder ancient figure of fun, 
" Who rides the -'blast, Sir J — n — h B — rr — t — n ; — 
" In tricks to raise the wind his life was spent, 
" And now the wind returns the compliment. 

" This lady here, the Earl of 's sister, 

" Is a dead novelist ; and this is Mister — 

" Beg pardon — Honorable Mister L — st — r, 

" A gentleman who, some weeks since, came over 

" In a smart puff (wind S. S. E.) to Dover. 

" Yonder behind us limps young Vivian Grey, 

" Whose life, poor youth, was long since blown away, 

" Like a torn paper -kite, on which the wind 

" No further purchase for a puff can find." 

" And thou thyself" — here, anxious, I exclaim'd — 
" Tell us, good ghost, how thou, thyself, art named." 
"Me, Sir!" he blushing cried — "Ah, there's the 

rub — 
" Know, then — a waiter once at Brooks's Club, 
" A waiter still I might have long remain'd, 
" And long the club-room's jokes and glasses 

drain'd ; 
" But, ah, in luckless hour, this last December, 
" I wrote a book, 5 and Colburn dubb'd me ' Mem- 
ber' — 
" ' Member of Brooks's !' — oh Promethean puff, 
" To what wilt thou exalt even kitchen-stuff! 
" With crumbs of gossip, caught from dining wits, 
" And half-heard jokes, bequeath'd, like half-chew'd 

bits, 
" To be, each night, the waiter's perquisites ; — 
" With such ingredients, served up oft before, 
" But with fresh fudge and fiction garnish'd o'er, 
" I managed, for some weeks, to dose the town, 
" Till fresh reserves of nonsense ran me down ; 



4 mt the charming L. E. L., and still less, Mrs. F. H., 
whose poetry is among the most beautiful of the present day. 

e " History of the Clubs of London," announced as by 
" a Member of Brooks's." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 577 


" And, ready still even waiters' souls to aamn, 


And, proving Samson's story true, 


" The Devil but rang his bell, and — here I am ; — 


She lost her vigor with her queue. 


" Yes — ' Coming up, Sir,' once my favorite cry, 




" Exchanged for ' Coming down, Sir,' here am I !" 


Parties are much like fish, 'tis said — 




The tail directs them, not the head ; 


Scarce had the spectre's lips these words let drop, 


Then, how could any party fail, 


When, lo, a breeze — such as from 's shop 


That steer'd its course by B — th — st's tail ? 


Blows in the vernal hour, when puffs prevail, 


Not Murat's plume, through Wagram's fight, 


And speeds the sheets and swells the lagging sale — 


E'er shed such guiding glories from it, 


Took the poor waiter rudely in the poop, 


As erst, in all true Tories' sight, 


And, whirling him and all his grisly group 


Blazed from our old Colonial comet ! 


Of literary ghosts— Miss X. Y. Z.— 


If you, my Lord, a Bashaw were, 


The nameless author, better known than read — 


(As W — 11 — gt — n will be anon,) 


Sir Jo. — the Honorable Mr. L — st — r, 


Thou might'st have had a tail to spare : 


And, last, not least, Lord Nobody's twin-sister — 


But no, alas, thou hadst but one, 


Blew them, ye gods, with all their prose and rhymes 


And that — like Troy, or Babylon, 


And sins about them, far into those climes 


A tale of other times — is gone ! 


" Where Peter pitch'd his waistcoat" 1 in old times, 


Yet — weep ye not, ye Tories true — 


Leaving me much in doubt, as on I press'd 


Fate has not yet of all bereft us ; 


With my great master, through this realm unbless'd, 


Though thus deprived of B — th — st's queue, 


Whether old Nick or C — lb — n puffs the best. 


We've E — b — h's curls still left us ; — 




Sweet curls, from which young Love, so vicious, 




His shots, as from nine-pounders, issues ; 
Grand, glorious curls, which, in debate, 






Surcharged with all a nation's fate, 




His Lordship shakes, as Homer's God did, 3 


LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF LORD 


And oft in thundering talk comes near him ; — 


B— TH— ST'S TAIL. 3 


Except that, there, the speaker nodded, 




And, here, 'tis only those who hear him. 


All in again — unlook'd for bliss ! 


Long, long, ye ringlets, on the soil 


Yet, ah, one adjunct still we miss ; — 


Of that fat cranium may ye flourish, 


One tender tie, attach'd so long 


With plenty of Macassar oil, 


To the same head, through right and wrong. 


Through many a year your growth to nourish ! 


Why, B — th — st, why didst thou cut off 


And, ah, should Time too soon unsheath 


That memorable tail of thine ? 


His barbarous shears such locks to sever, 


Why — as if one was not enough — 


Still dear to Tories, even in death, 


Thy pig-tie with thy place resign, 


Their last, loved relics we'll bequeath, 


And thus, at once, both cut and run ? 


A hair-loom to our sons forever. 


Alas, my Lord, 'twas not well done, 




'Twas not, indeed — though sad at heart, 
From office and its sweets to part, 






Yet hopes of coming in again, 




Sweet Tory hopes ! beguiled our pain ; 




But thus to miss that tail of thine, 


THE CHERRIES. 


Through long, long years our rallying sign — 




As if the State and all its powers 


A PARABLE.* 


By tenancy in tail were ours — 


1828. 


To see it thus by scissors fall, 


See those cherries, how they cover 


This was " th' unkindest cut of all !' r 


Yonder sunny garden wall ; — 


It secm'd as though th' ascendant day 


Had they not that network over, 


Of Toryism had pass'd away, 


Thieving birds would eat them all 


1 A Dantesque allusion to tlie old saying, " Nine miles 


3 " Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod. 


beyond H— 11, where Peter pitched his waistcoat." 


Pope's Homer. 


2 The noble Lord, it is weil known, cut off this much- 


4 Written during the late discussion on the Test and Cor- 


respected appendage, on his retirement from office some 


poration Acts. 


months since. 


1 
t 



37 



578 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



So, to guard our posts and pensions, 

Ancient sages wove a net, 
Through whose holes, of small dimensions, 

Only certain knaves can get. 

Shall we then this network widen 1 
Shall we stretch these sacred holes, 

Through which, even already, slide in 
Lots of small dissenting souls ? 

" God forbid !" old Testy crieth ; 

" God forbid !" so echo I ; 
Every ravenous bird that flieth 

Then would at our cherries fly. 

Ope but half an inch or so, 

And, behold, what bevies break in ; — 
Here, some cursed old Popish crow 

Pops his long and lickerish beak in ; 

Here, sly Arians flock unnumber'd, 

And Socinians, slim and spare, 
Who, with small belief encumber'd, 

Slip in easy anywhere ; — 

Methodists, of birds the aptest, 
Where there's pecking going on ; 

And that water-fowl, the Baptist — 
All would share our fruits anon ; 

Every bird, of every city, 

That, for years, with ceaseless din, 
Hath reversed the starling's ditty, 

Singing out " I can't get in." 

" God forbid !" old Testy snivels ; 

" God forbid !" I echo too ; 
Rather may ten thousand d-v-ls 

Seize the whole voracious crew ! 

If less costly fruit wo' n't suit 'em, 
Hips and haws, and such like berries, 

Curse the cormorants ! stone 'em, shoot 'em, 
Any thing — to save our cherries. 



I STANZAS WRITTEN IN ANTICIPATION 
OF DEFEAT. 1 

1828. 
Go seek for some abler defenders of wrong. 

If we must run the gauntlet through blood and 
expense ; 

1 During the discussion of the Catholic question in the 
House of Commons last session. 

« This rhyme is more for the ear than the eye, as the 
carpenter's tool is spelt auger. 



Or, Goths as ye ore, in your multitude strong 
Be content with success, and pretend not to 



If the words of the wise and the gen'rous are vain, 
If Truth by the bowstring must yield up her 
breath, 

Let Mutes do the office — and spare her the pain 
Or an In — gl — s or T — nd — 1 to talk her to death. 

Chain, persecute, plunder — do all that you will — 
But save us, at least, the old womanly lore 

Of a F — st — r, who, dully prophetic of ill, 

Is, at once, the two instruments, augur 2 and 

BORE. 

Bring legions of Squires — if they'll only be mute— 
And array their thick heads against reason and 
right, 
Like the Roman of old, of historic repute, 3 

Who with droves of dumb animals carried the 
fight; 

Pour out, from each corner and hole of the Court, 
Your Bedchamber lordlings, your salaried slaves, 

Who, ripe for all job-work, no matter what sort, 
Have their consciences tack'd to their patents 
and staves. 

Catch all the small fry who, as Juvenal sings, 
Are the Treasury's creatures, wherever they 
swim ; 4 
With all the base, time-serving toadies of Kings, 
Who, if Punch were the monarch, would wor- 
ship even him ; 

And while, on the one side, each name of renown, 
That illumines and blesses our age is combined ; 
While the Foxes, the Pitts, and the Cannings look 
down, 
And drop o'er the cause their rich mantles of 
Mind; 

Let bold Paddy H — Imes show his troops on the 
other, 
And, counting of noses the quantum doWed, 
Let Paddy but say, like the Gracchi's famed mother, 
" Come forward, my jewels" — 'tis all that's re- 
quired. 

And thus let your farce be enacted hereafter — 
Thus honestly persecute, outlaw, and chain ; 

But spare even your victims the torture of laughter, 
And never, oh never, try reasoning again ! 

3 Fabius, who sent droves of bullocks against the enemy. 

4 Res Fisci est, ubicumque natat. — Juvenal. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



579 



ODE TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS. 

BY ONE OF THE BOARD. 

1898. 

Let other bards to groves repair, 

Where linnets strain their tuneful throats, 

Mine be the Woods and Forests, where 
The Treasury pours its sweeter notes. 

No whispering winds have charms for me, 

Nor zephyrs balmy sighs I ask ; 
To raise the wind for Royalty 

Be all our Sylvan zephyr's task ! 

And, 'stead of crystal brooks and floods, 

And all such vulgar irrigation, 
Let Gallic rhino through our Woods 

Divert its " course of liquid-ation." 

Ah, surely, Virgil knew full well 

What Woods and Forests ought to be, 

When, sly, he introduced in hell 

His guinea-plant, his bullion-tree :* — 

Nor see I why, some future day, 

When short of cash, we should not send 

Our H — rr — s down — he knows the way — 
To see if Woods in hell will lend. 

Long may ye nourish, sylvan haunts, 
Beneath whose " brandies of expense" 

Our gracious K g gets all he wants, — 

Except a little taste and sense. 

Long, in your golden shade reclined, 
Like him of fair Armida's bowers, 

May W — 11 — n some wood-nymph, find, 
To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours ; 

To rest from toil the Great Untaught, 
And sooth the pangs his warlike brain 

Must suffer, when, unused to thought, 
It tries to think, and — tries in vam. 

Oh long may Woods and Forests be 
Preserved, in all their teeming graces, 

To shelter Tory bards, like me, 

Who take delight in Sylvan places ! 2 



1 Called by Virgil botanically, " species auri frondentis." 

2 Tu facis, ut silvas, ut amem loca 

Ovid. 

* These verses were suggested by the result of the Clare 



STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OF 

THE SHANNON. 3 

1838. 
" Take back the virgin page." 

Moore's Irish Melodies 

No longer, dear V — sey, feel hurt and uneasy 
At hearing it said by thy Treasury brother, 

That thou art a sheet of blank paper, my V — sey, 
And he, the dear innocent placeman, another. 4 

For, lo, what a service we, Irish, have done thee ; — 
Thou now art a sheet of blank paper no more ; 

By St. Patrick, we've scrawl'd such a lesson upon 
thee 
As never was scrawl'd upon foolscap before. 

Come — on with your spectacles, 2 oble Lord Duke, 
(Or O'Connell has green ones he haply would 
lend you,) 
Read V — sey all o'er (as you can't read a book) 
And improve by the lesson we, bog-trotters, send 
you; 

A lesson, in large Ro?nan characters traced, 

Whose awful impressions from you and your 
kin 

Of blank-sheeted statesmen will ne'er be effaced — 
Unless, 'stead of paper, you're mere asses' skin. 

Shall I help you to construe it? ay, by the Gods, 
Could I risk a translation, you should have a rare 
one ; 
But pen against sabre is desperate odds, 

And you, my Lord Duke, (as you hinted once,) 
wear one. 

Again and again I say, read V — sey o'er ; — 

You will find him worth all the old scrolls of 
papyrus, 
That Egypt e'er fiU'd with nonsensical lore, 

Or the learned Champollion e'er wrote of, to 
tiro us. 

All blank as he was, we've return'd him on hand, 
Scribbled o'er with a warning to Princes and 
Dukes, 
Whose plain, simple drift if they wo'n't understand, 
Though caress' d at St. James's, they're fit for 
St. Luke's. 



election, in the year 1828, when the Right Honorable W, 
Vesey Fitzgerald was rejected, and Mr. O'Connell returned. 
4 Some expressions of this purport, in a published letter 
of one of these gentlemen, had then produced a good deal 
of amusement. 



580 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Talk of leaves of the Sibyls ! — more meaning con- 
vey'd is 

In one single leaf such as now we have spell'd on, 
Than e'er hath been utter'd by all the old ladies 

That ever yet spoke, from the Sibyls to Eld — n. 



THE ANNUAL PILL. 

Supposed to be sung by Old Prosy, the Jew, in the 
character of Major C— rtvv — ght. 

Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, 

Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay ? 
Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat I vill, 

Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat I say ! 
'Tis so pretty a bolus ! — just down let it go, 

And, at vonce, such a radical shange you vill see, 
Dat I'd not be surprish'd, like de horse in de show, 

If your heads all vere found, vere your tailsh 
ought to be ! 
Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, &c. 

'Twill cure all Electors, and purge away clear 

Dat mighty bad itching dey've got in deir hands — 
'Twill cure, too, all Statesmen, of dulness, ma tear, 
Though the case vas as desperate as poor Mister 
Van's. 
Dere is nothing at all vat dis Pill vill not reach — 
Give the Sinecure Shentleman von little grain, 
Piess ma heart, it vill act, like de salt on de leech, 
And he'll throw de pounds, shillings, and pence, 
up again ! 
Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, &c. 

'Twould be tedious, ma tear, all its peauties to paint — 

But, among oder tings fundamentally wrong, 
It vill cure de Proad Pottom 1 — a common complaint 

Among M. P.'s and weavers — from sitting too 
long. 
Should symptoms of speeching preak out on a dunce, 

(Vat is often de case,) it vill stop de disease, 
And pring avay all de long speeches at vonce, 

Dat else vould, like tape-worms, come by degrees ! 

Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, 
Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay ? 

Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat I vill, 
Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat I say ! 



1 Meaning, I presume, Coalition Administrations. 
a Written, after hearing a celebrated speech in the House 
of Lords, Jane 10, 1828, when the motion in favor of Catholic 



" IF' AND « PERHAPS." 3 

Oh tidings of freedom ! oh accents ofthope ! 

Waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to Erin's blue sea, 
And refresh with their sounds every son of the Pope, 

From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donaghadee. 

" If mutely the slave will endure and obey, 

" Nor clanking his fetters, nor breathing his pains, 

" His masters, perhaps, at some far distant day, 
" May think (tender tyrants !) of loosening his 
chains " 

Wise "if" and "perhaps!" — precious salve for 
our wounds, 
If he, who would rule thus o'er manacled mutes, 
Could check the free spring-tide of Mind, that re- 
sounds, 
Even now, at his feet, like the sea at Canute's. 

But, no, 'tis in vain — the grand impulse is give; — 
Man knows his high Charter, and knowing will 
claim ; 
And if ruin must follow where fetters are riven, 
Be theirs, who have forged them, tfoe guilt and 
the shame. 

" If the slave will be silent ! — vain Soldier, be- 
ware — 
There is a dead silence the wrong'd may assume, 
When the feeling, sent back from the lips in despair, 
But clings round the heart with a deadlier 
gloom ; — 

When the blush, that long burn'd on the suppliant's 
cheek, 
Gives place to th' avenger's pale, resolute hue ; 
And the tongue, that once threaten'd, disdaining to 
speak, 
Consigns to the arm the high office — to do- 

If men, in that silence, should think of the hour, 
When proudly their fathers in panoply stood, 

Presenting, alike, a bold front-work of power 

To the despot on land and the foe on the 
flood: 

That hour, when a Voice had come forth from the 
west, 
To the slave bringing hopes, to the tyrant 
alarms ; 



Emancipation, brought forward by the Marquis of L&i*- 
downe, was rejected by the House of Lords. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 581 


And a lesson, long look'd for, was taught the op- 


Give me the Dukes and Lords, who go, 


press'd, 


Like crabs, the other way. 


That kings are as dust before freemen in arms ! 


Write on, write on, &c. 


If, awfuller still, the mute slave should recall 


Even now I feel the coming light — 


That dream of his boyhood, when Freedom's 


Even now, could Folly lure 


sweet day 


My Lord M — ntc — sh — 1, too, to write, 


At length seem'd to break through a long night of 


Emancipation's sure. 


thrall, 


By geese (we read in history) 


And Union and Hope went abroad in its ray ; — 


Old Rome was saved from ill ; 




And now, to quills of geese, we see 


If Fancy should tell him, that Day-spring of Good, 


Old Rome indebted still. 


Though swiftly its light died away from his 


Write on, write on, &c 


chain, 




Though darkly it set in a nation's best blood, 


Write, write, y? Peers, ijc* itoop to style, 


Now wants but invoking to shine out again ; — 


Nor beat for se.j.t»e about — 




Things, little worth a Noble's while, 


If— if, I say — breathings like these should come 


You're better far without 


o'er 


Oh ne'er, since asses spoke of yore, 


The chords of remembrance, and thrill, as they 


Such miracles were done ; 


come, 


For, write but four such letters more, 


Then, perhaps — ay, perhaps — but I dare not say 


And Freedom's cause is won ! 


more ] 
Thou hast will'd that thy slaves should be mute — 
I am dumb. 






« 


SONG OF THE DEPARTING SPIRIT OF 




TITHE. 




" The parting Genius is with sighing sent." — Milton. 


WRITE ON, WRITE ON. 






It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er ; 


A BALLAD. 


1 hear a Voice, from shore to shore, 




From Dunfanaghy to Baltimore, 


Air. — " Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear 


And it saith, in sad, parsonic tone, 


Salvete, fratres Asini. St. Francis 


" Great Tithe and Small are dead and gone !*' 


Write on, write on, ye Barons dear, 


Even now, I behold your vanishing wings, 


Ye Dukes, write hard and fast ; 


Ye Tenths of all conceivable things, 


The good we've sought for many a year 


Which Adam first, as Doctors deem, 


Your ovulls will bring at last. 


Saw, in a sort of night-mare dream, 1 


One letter ziore, N — wc — stle, pen 


After the feast of fruit abhorr'd — 


To match Lord K — ny — n's two, 


First indigestion on record ! — 


And more than Ireland's host of men, 


Ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks, 


One brace of Peers will do. 


Ye pigs which, though ye be Catholics, 


Write or>, write on, &c 


Or of Calvin's most select depraved, 




In the Church must have your bacon saved ; — 


Sure, never, since the precious use 


Ye fields, where Labor counts his sheaves, 


Of pen and ink began, 


And, whatsoe'er himself believes, 


Did letters, writ by fools, produce 


Must bow to th' Established Church belief, 


Such signal good to man. 


That the tenth is always a Protestant sheaf; — 


While intellect, 'mong high and low, 


Ye calves, of which the man of Heaven 


Is marching on, they say, 


Takes Irish tithe, one calf in seven ; 2 


» A reverend prebendary of Hereford, in an Essay on th» 


" "The tenth calf is due to the parson of common right , 


Revenues of the Church of England, has assigned the origin 


and if there are seven he shall have one."— Rees's Cyclo- 


of Tithes to " some unrecorded revelation made to Adam." 


paedia, art. " Tithes." 



582 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Ye tenths of rape, hemp, barley, flax, 


(Books fit only to hoard dust in,) 


Eggs, 1 timber, milk, fish, and bees' wax ; 


His reverence stints his evening readings 


All things, in short, since earth's creation, 


To learn'd Reports of Tithe Proceedings, 


Doom'd, by the Church's dispensation, 


Sipping, the while, that port so ruddy, 


To suffer eternal decimation — 


Which forms his only ancient study ; — 


Leaving the whole lay- world, since then, 


Port so old, you'd swear its tartar 


Reduced to nine parts out of ten ; 


Was of the age of Justin Martyr, 


Or — as we calculate thefts and arsons — 


And, had he sipp'd of such, no doubt 


Just ten per cent, the worse for Parsons ! 


His martyrdom would have been — to gout. 


Alas, and is all this wise device 


Is all then lost ? — alas, too true — 


For the saving of souls thus gone in a trice ? — 


Ye Tenths beloved, adieu, adieu ! 


The whole put down, in the simplest way, 


My reign is o'er, my reign is o'er — 


By the souls resolving not to pay ! 


Like old Thumb's ghost, " I can no more." 


And even the Papists, thankless race, 




Who have had so much the easiest case — 
To pay for our sermons doom'd, 'tis true, 






But not condemn'd to hear them, too — 




(Our holy business being, 'tis known, 


THE EUTHANASIA OF VAN. 


With the ears of their barley, not their own,) 




Even they object to let us pillage, 


" We are told that the bigots are growing old and fast 


By right divine, their tenth of tillage, 


wearing out. If it be so, why not let us die in peace ?" — 
Lord Bexlky's Letter to the Freeholders of Kent. 


And, horror of horrors, even decline 




To find us in sacramental wine ! 2 


Stop, Intellect, in mercy stop, 




Ye cursed improvements, cease ; 


It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er, 


And let poor jfick V — ns — tt — t drop 


Ah, never shall rosy Rector more, 


Into his grave in peace. 


Like the shepherds of Israel, idly eat, 




And make of his flock " a prey and meat." 3 


Hide, Knowledge, hide thy rising sun, 


No more shall be his the pastoral sport 


Young Freedom, veil thy head ; 


Of suing his flock in the Bishop's Court, 


Let nothing good be thought or done, 


Through various steps, Citation, Libel — 


Till Nick V— ns— tt— t's dead ! 


Scriptures all, but not the Bible ; 




Working the Law's whole apparatus, 


Take pity on a dotard's fears, 


To get at a few pre-doom'd potatoes, 


Who much doth light detest ; 


And summoning all the powers of wig, 


And let his last few drivelling years 


To settle the fraction of a pig ! — 


Be dark as were the rest. 


Till, parson and all committed deep 




In the case of " Shepherds versus Sheep," 


You, too, ye fleeting one-pound notes, 


The Law usurps the Gospel's place, 


Speed not so fast away — 


And, on Sundays, meeting face to face, 


Ye rags, on which old Nicky gloats, 


While Plaintiff fills the preacher's station, 


A few months longer stay. 4 


Defendants form the congregation. 






Together soon, or much I err, 


So lives he, Mammon's priest, not Heaven's, 


You both from life may go — 


For tenths thus all at sixes and sevens, 


The notes unto the scavenger, 


Seeking what parsons love no less 


And Nick — to Nick below. 


Than tragic poets — a good distress. 




Instead of studying St. Augustin, 


Ye Liberals, whate'er your plan, 


Gregory Nyss., or old St. Justin, 


Be all reforms suspended ; 


i Chaucer's Plowman complains of the parish rectors, that 


of Church rates levied upon Catholics in Ireland, was a 


" For the tithing of a duck, 


charge of two pipes of port for sacramental wine. 


Or an apple or an aye, (egg,) 


3 Ezekiel, xxxiv. 10.—" Neither shall the shepherds feed 


They make him swear upon a boke ; 


themselves any more ; for I will deliver my flock from their 


Thus they foulen Christ's fay." 


mouth, that they may not be meat for them." 


» Among the specimens laid before Parliament of the sort 


4 Periturae parcere charts. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



583 



In compliment to dear old Van, 
Let nothing bad be mended. 

Ye Papists, whom oppression wrings, 

Your cry politely cease, 
And fret your hearts to fiddle -strings 

That Van may die in peace. 

So shall he win a fame sublime 
By few old rag -men gain'd ; 

Since all shall own, in Nicky's time, 
Nor sense, nor justice reign' d. 

So shall his name through ages past, 

And dolts ungotten yet, 
Date from " the days of Nicholas," 

With fond and sad regret ; — 

And sighing, say, " Alas, had he 
" Been spared from Pluto's bowers, 

" The blessed reign of Bigotry 
" And Rags might still be ours !" 



TO THE REVEREND 



ONE OF THE SIXTEEN REQUISITIONISTS OF NOTTING- 
HAM. 

1828. 

What, you, too, my *****#, in hashes so know- 
ings 

Of sauces and soups Aristarchus profess'd ! 
Are you, too, my savory Bruns wicker, going 

To make an old fool of yourself with the rest ? 

Far better to stick to your kitchen receipts ; 

And — if you want something to tease — for va- 
riety, 
Go study how Ude, in his " Cookery," treats 

Live eels, when he fits them for polish'd society. 

Just snuggling them in, 'twixt the bars of the fire, 
He leaves them to wriggle and writhe on the 
coals, 1 

In a manner that H — rn — r himself would admire, 
And wish, 'stead of eels, they were Catholic souls. 

Ude tells us, the fish little sufFering feels ; 

While Papists, of late, have more sensitive grown ; 



i The only way, Monsieur Ude assures us, to get rid of 
the oil so objectionable in this fish. 

2 A liver complaint. The process by which the livers of 
geese are enlarged for the famous Fates defoie d'oie. 



So, take my advice, try your hand at live eels, 
And, for once, let the other poor devils alone. 

I have even a still betier receipt for your cook — 
How to make a goose die of confirrn'd hepatitis ; a 

And, if you'll, for once, fellow -feelings o'erlook, 
A well -tortured goose a most capital sight is. 

First, catch him, alive — make a good steady fire — 
Set your victim before it, both legs being tied, 

(As, if left to himself, he might wish to retire,) 
And place a large bowl of rich cream by his side. 

There roasting by inches, dry, fever'd, and faint, 
Having drunk a., he «ream, vou so civilly laid, 
off, 

He dies of a,s charming a liver complaint 

As ever sleek parson could wish a pie made of. 

Besides, only think, my dear one of Sixteen, 

What an emblem this bird, for the epicure's use 
meant, 
Presents of the mode in which Ireland has been 
Made a tit-bit for yours and your brethren's 
amusement : 

Tied down to the stake, while her limbs, as they 
quiver, 

A slow fire of tyranny wastes by degrees — 
No wonder disease should have swell'd up her liver, 

No wonder you, Gourmands, should love her dis- 



IRISH ANTIQUITIES. 

According to some learn'd opinions 
The Irish once were Carthaginians ; 
But, trusting to more late descriptions, 
I'd rather say they were Egyptians. 
My reason's this : — the Priests of Isis, 

When forth they march'd in long array, 
Employ'd, 'mong other grave devices, 

A Sacred Ass to lead the way ; 3 
And still the antiquarian traces 

'Mong Irish Lords this Pagan plan, 
For still, in all religious cases, 

They put Lord R — d — n in the van. 

s To this practice the ancient adage alludes, " Asinus por- 
tans mysteria." 



584 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



A CURIOUS FACT. 

The present Lord K — ny — n (the Peer who writes 

letters, 
For which the waste-paper folks much are his 

debtors) 
Hath one little oddity, well worth reciting, 
Which puzzleth observers, even more than his wri- 
ting 
Whenever Lord K — ny — n doth chance to behold 
A cold Apple-pie — mind, the pie must be cold — 
His Lordship looks solemn, (few people know why,) 
And he makes a low bow to the said apple-pie. 
This idolatrous act, in so " vital" a Peer, 
Is, by most serious Protestants, thought rather 

queer — 
Pie-worship, they hold, coming under the head 
(Vide Crustium, chap, iv.) of the Worship of Bread. 
Some think 'tis a tribute, as author, he owes 
For the service that pie-crust hath done to his 

prose ; — 
The only good things in his pages, they swear, 
Being those that the pastry-cook sometimes puts 

there. 
Others say, 'tis a homage, through pie-crust con- 

vey'd, 
To our Glorious Deliverer's much-honor'd shade ; 
As that Protestant Hero (or Saint, if you please) 
Was as fond of cold pie as he was of green peas, 1 
And 'tis solely in loyal .remembrance of that, 
My Lord K — ny — n to apple-pie takes off his hat. 
While others account for this kind salutation 
By what Tony Lumpkin calls " concatenation ;" — 
A certain good-will that, from sympathy's ties, 
'Twixt old Apple-women and Orange-men lies. 

But 'tis needless to add, these are all vague sur- 



For thus, we're assured, the whole matter arises : 
Lord K — ny — n's respected old father (like many 
Respected old fathers) was fond of a penny ; 
And loved so to save, 2 that — there's not the least 

question — 
His death was brought on by a bad indigestion, 
From cold apple-pie-crust his Lordship would stuff 

in, 
At breakfast, to save the expense of hot muffin. 
Hence it is, and hence only, that cold apple-pies 
Are beheld by his Heir with such reverent eyes — 



i See the anecdote, which the Duchess of Marlborough 
relates in her Memoirs of this polite hero appropriating to 
himself, one day, at dinner, a whole dish of green peas — the 
first of the season — while the poor Princess Anne, who was 
then in a longing condition, sat by, vainly entreating, with 
her eyes, for a share. 



Just as honest King Stephen his beaver might doff 
To the fishes that carried his kind uncle off— 
And while filial piety urges so many on, 
'Tis pure apple-nie-ety moves my Lord K — ny — n. 



NEW-FASHIONED ECHOES. 

Sir, 

Most of your readers are, no doubt, acquainted with the 
anecdote told of a certain, not over-wise, judge, who, when 
in the act of delivering a charge in some country court-house, 
was interrupted by the braying of an ass at the door. " What 
noise is that?" asked the angry judge. "Only an extraor- 
dinary echo there is in court, my Lord," answered one of the 
counsel. 

As there are a number of such " extraordinary echoes" 
abroad just now, you will not, perhaps, be unwilling, Mr. 
Editor, to receive the following few lines suggested by them. 

Yours, &c. 

S. 

Hue coeamus, 3 ait ; nullique libentius unquam 
Responsura sono, Coeamus, rctulit echo. 

Ovi». 

There are echoes, we know, of all sorts, 
From the echo, that " dies in the dale," 

To the " airy-tongued babbler," that sports 
Up the tide of the torrent her " tale." 

There are echoes that bore us, like Blues, 
With the latest smart mot they have heard ; 

There are echoes, extrenely like shrews, 
Letting nobody have the last word. 

In the bogs of old Paddy-land, too, 

Certain " talented" echoes 4 there dwell, 

Who, on being ask'd, " How do you do ?" 
Politely reply, " Pretty well." 

But why should I talk any more 

Of such old-fashion'd echoes as these, 

When Britain has new ones in store, 
That transcend them by many degrees ? 

For, of all repercussions of sound, 

Concerning which bards make a pother, 

There's none like that happy rebound 
When one blockhead echoes another ; — 



a The same prudent propensity characterizes his descend- 
ant, who (as is well known) would not even go to the expense 
of a diphthong on his father's monument, but had the in- 
scription spelled, economically, thus : — " Morsjanua vita." 

8 " Let us form Clubs." 

4 Commonly called " Paddy Blake's Echoes." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



585 



When K — ny — n commences the bray, 
And the Borough-Duke follows his track ; 

And loudly from Dublin's sweet bay, 

R — thd — ne brays, with interest, back ; — 

And while, of most echoes the sound 

On our ear by reflection doth fall, 
These Brunswickers 1 pass the bray round, 

Without any reflection at all. 

Oh Scott, were I gifted like ycti, 

Who can name all the echoes there are 

From Benvoirlich to bold Ben-venue, 
From Benledi to wild Uamvar ; 

I might track, through each hard Irish name, 
The rebounds of this asinine strain, 

Till from Neddy to Neddy, it came 

To the chief Neddy, K — ny — n, again ; 

Might tell how it roar'd in R — thd — ne, 

How from D — ws — n it died off genteelly — 

How hollow it rung from the crown 
Of the fat-pated Marquis of E — y ; 

How, on hearing my Lord of G e, 

Thistle-eaters, the stoutest, gave way, 

Outdone, in their own special line, 
By the forty-ass power of his bray ! 

But, no — for so humble a bard 

'Tis a subject too tiying to touch on ; 

Such noblemen's names are too hard, 

And their noddles too soft to dwell much on. 

Oh Echo, sweet nymph of the hill, 

Of the dell, and the deep-sounding shelves ; 

If, in spite of Narcissus, you still 

Take to fools who are charm'd with themselves, 

Who knows but, some morning retiring, 
To walk by the Trent's wooded side, 

You may meet with N — wc — stle, admiring 
His own lengthen'd ears in the tide ! 

Or, on into Cambria straying, 

Find K — ny — n, that double-tongued elf, 
In his love of ass-cendency, braying 

A Brunswick duet with himself! 



i Anti-Catholic associations, under the title of Brunswick 
Clubs, were at this time becoming numerous both in Eng- 
land and Ireland. 

2 Alluding to a well-known lyric composition of the late 
Marquis, which, with a slight alteration, might be addressed 
either to a flea or a fly. For instance :— 



INCANTATION. 



FROM THE KEW TRAGEDY ?>F 



THE BRUNSWICKERS." 

1828. 



SCENE. — Penenden Plain. In the middle, a caldron boiling. 
Thunder. — Enter Three Brunswickers- 

1st Bruns. — Thrice hath scribbling K — ny — n 
scrawl'd, 

2d Bruns. — Once hath fool N — wc — stle bawl'd, 

3d Bruns. — B — xl — y snores: — 'tis time, 'tis 
time, 

1st Bruns. — Round about the caldron go ; 
In the poisonous nonsense throw. 
Bigot spite, that long hath grown, 
Like a toad within a stone, 
Sweltering in the heart of Sc — tt, 
Boil we in the Brunswick pot. 

All. — Dribble, dribble, nonsense d: Dole, 
Eld — n, talk, and K — ny — n, scribble. 

2d Bruns. — Slaver from N — wc — stle's quill 
In the noisome mess distil, 
Brimming high our Brunswick broth 
Both with venom and with froth. 
Mix the brains (though apt to hash ill, 
Being scant) of Lord M — ntc — shel, 
With that malty stuff which Ch — nd — s 
Drivels as no other man does. 
Catch (?'. e. if catch you can) 
One idea, spick and span, 
From my Lord of S — 1 — sb— y, — 
One idea, though it be 
Smaller than the " happy flea," 
Which his sire, in sonnet terse, 
Wedded to immortal verse. 2 
Though to rob the son is sin, 
Put his one idea in ; 
And, to keep it company, 
Let that conjuror W — nch — Is — a 
Drop but half another there, 
If he hath so much to spare. 
Dreams of murders and of arsons, 
Hatch'd in heads of Irish parsons, 
Bring from every 7 hole and corner, 
Where ferocious priests, like H — rn — r, 
Purely for religious good, 
Cry aloud for Papist's blood, 
Blood for W — Us, and such old women, 
At their ease to wade and swim in. 



Or, 



'Oh, happy, happy, happy fly, 
If I were you, or you were I." 

' Oh, happy, happy, happy flea, 
If I were you, or you were me ; 
But since, alas ! that cannot be, 
I must remain Lord S y." 



586 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



All. — Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble, 
B — xl — y, talk, and K — ny — n, scribble. 

3d Bruns. — Now the charm begins to brew ; 
Sifters, sisters, add thereto 
Scraps of L — thbr — dge's old speeches, 
Mix'd with leather from his breeches. 
Rinsings of old B — xl — y's brains, 
Thicken'd (if you'll take the pains) 
With that pulp which rags create, 
In their middle, nympha state, 
Ere, like insects frail and sunny, 
Forth they wing abroad as money. 
There — the Hell-broth we've enchanted — 
Now but orte thing more is wanted. 
Squeeze o'er all that Orange juice, 

C keeps cork'd for use, 

Which, to work the better spell, is 

Color'd deep with blood of , 

Blood, of powers far more various, 
Even than that of Januarius, , 
Since so great a charm hangs o'er it, 
England's parsons bow before it ! 

All. — Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble, 
B — xl — y, talk, and K — ny — n, scribble. 

2d Bruns. — Cool it now with 's blood, 

So the charm is firm and good. [Exeunt. 



HOW TO MAKE A GOOD POLITICIAN. 

Whene'er you're in doubt, said a Sage I once 

knew, 
'Twixt two lines of conduct which course to pursue, 
Ask a woman's advice, and, whate'er she advise, 
Do the very reverse, and you're sure to be wise. 

Of the same use as guides, are the Brunswicker 

throng ; 
In their thoughts words, and deeds, so instinctively 

wrong, 
That, whatever they counsel, act, talk, or indite, 
Take the opposite course, and you're sure to be 

right. 

So golden this rule, that, had nature denied you 
The use of that finger-post, Reason, to guide you — 
Were you even more doltish than any given man is, 
More soft than N — wc — stle, more twaddling than 

Van is, 
I'd stake my repute, on the following conditions, 
To make you the soundest of sound politicians. 

Place yourself near the skirts of some high-flying 

Tory- 
Some Brunswicker parson, of port-drinking glory, — 



Watch well how he dines, during any great Ques- 
tion — 
What makes him feed gayly, what spoils his diges- 
tion — 
And always feel sure that his joy o'er a stew 
Portends a clear case of dyspepsia to you. 
Read him backwards, like Hebrew — whatever he 

wishes, 
Or praises, note down as absurd, or pernicious. 
Like the folks of a weather-house, shifting about, 
When he's out, be an In — when he's in, be an Out. 
Keep him always reversed in your thoughts, night 

and day, 
Like an Irish barometer turn'd the vvrong way : — 
If he's up, you may swtar that foul weather is 

nigh; 
If he's down, you may look for a bit of blue sky. 
Never mind what debaters or journalists say, 
Only ask what he thinks, and then think t'other 

way. 
Does he hate the Small-note Bill ? then firmly rely 
The Small-note Bill's a blessing, though you don't 

know why. 
Is Brougham his aversion ? then Harry's your man. 
Does he quake at O'Connell ? take doubly to Dan. 
Is he all for the Turks? then, at once, take the 

whole 
Russian Empire (Czar, Cossacks, and all) to your 

soul. 
In short, whatsoever he talks, thinks, or is, 
Be your thoughts, words, and essence the contrast 

of his. 
Nay, as Siamese ladies — at least, the polite ones — 
All paint their teeth black, 'cause the devil has white 

ones — 
If ev'n, by the chances of time or of tide, 
Your Tory, for once, should have sense on his side, 
Even then stand aloof — for, be sure that Old Nick, 
When a Tory talks sensibly, means you some trick. 

Such my recipe is — and, in one single verse, 
I shall now, in conclusion, its substance rehearse. 
Be all that a Brunswicker is not, nor could be, 
And then — you'll be all that an honest man should 
be. 



EPISTLE OF CONDOLENCE, 

FROM A SLAVE-LORD TO A COTTON-LORD. 

Alas ! my dear friend, what a state of affairs ! 
How unjustly we both are despoil'd of our righto ! 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



587 



Not a pound of black flesh shall I leave to my heirs, 
Nor must you any more work to death little 
whites. 

Both forced to submit to that general controller 
Of Kings, Lords, and cotton mills, Public Opin- 
ion, 

No more shall you beat with a big-billy -roller, 
Nor I with the cart-whip assert my dominion. 

Whereas, were we suffer'd to do as we please 
With our Blacks and our Whites, as of yore we 
were let, 
We might range them alternate, like harpsichord 
keys, 
And between us thump out a good piebald duet. 

But this fun is all over ; — farewell to the zest 

Which Slavery now lends to each teacup we sip ; 

Which makes still the cruellest coffee the best, 
And that sugar the sweetest which smacks of the 
whip. 

Farewell, too, the Factory's white picaninnies — 
Small, living machines, which, if flogg'd to their 
tasks, 
Mix so well with their namesakes, the " Billies" and 
" Jennies," 
That which have got souls in 'em nobody asks ; — 

Little Maids of the Mill, who, themselves but ill- 
fed, 
Are obliged, 'mong their other benevolent cares, 
To " keep feeding the scribblers," 1 — and better, 'tis 
said, 
Than old Blackwood or Fraser have ever fed 
theirs. 

All this is now o'er, and so dismal my loss is, 

So hard 'tis to part from the smack of the thong, 

That I mean (from pure love for the old whipping 
process) 
To take to whipp'd syllabub all my life long. 



THE GHOST OF MILTIADES. 

Ah quoties dubius Scriptis exarsit ainator !— Ovid. 

The Ghost of Miltiades came at night, 
And he stood by the bed of the Benthamite, 



» One of the operations in cotton mills usually performed 
by children. 



And he said, in a voice that thrill'd the h ame, 
" If ever the sound of Marathon's name 
" Hath fired thy blood or flush'd thy brow, 
" Lover of Liberty, rouse thee now !" 

The Benthamite, yawning, left his bed — 

Away to the Stock Exchange he sped, 

And he found the Scrip of Greece so high, 

That it fired his blood, it flush'd his eye, 

And oh, 'twas a sight for the Ghost to see, 

For never was Greek more Greek than he ! 

And still as the premium higher went, 

His ecstasy rose — so much per cent., 

(As we see in a glass, that tells the weather, 

The heat and the silver rise together,) 

And Liberty sung from the patriot's lip, 

While a voice from his pocket whisper'd " Scrip !" 

The Ghost of Miltiades came again ; — 

He smiled, as the pale moon smiles through rain, 

For his soul ^as glad at that patriot strain ; 

(And poor, dear ghost — how little he knew 

The jobs and the tricks of the Philhellene crew !) 

" Blessings and thanks !" was all he said, 

Then, melting away, like a night-dream, fled ! 

The Benthamite hears — amazed that ghosts 

Could be such fools, — and away he posts, 

A patriot still ? Ah no, ah no — 

Goddess of Freedom, thy Scrip is low, 

And, warm and fond as thy lovers are, 

Thou triest their passion, when under par. 

The Benthamite's ardor fast decays, 

By turns he weeps, and swears, and prays, 

And wishes the d — 1 had Crescent and Cross, 

Ere he had been forced to sell at a loss. 

They quote him the Stock of various nations, 

But, spite of his classic associations, 

Lord, how he loathes the Greek quotations ! 

" Who'll buy my Scrip ? Who'll buy my Scrip ?" 

Is now the theme of the patriot's lip, 

As he runs to tell how hard his lot is 

To Messrs. Orlando and Lurioitis, 

And says, " Oh Greece, for Liberty's sake, 

" Do buy my Scrip, and I vow to break 

" Those dark, unholy bonds of thine — 

" If you'll only consent to buy up mine .'" 

The Ghost of Miltiades came once more ; — 

His brow, like the night, was lowering o'er, 

And he said, with a look that flash'd dismay, 

" Of Liberty's foes the worst are they, 

" Who turn to a trade her cause divine, 

" And gamble for gold on Freedom's shrine !" 

Thus saying, the Ghost, as he took his flight, 

Gave a Parthian kick to the Benthamite, 

Which sent him, whimpering, on to Jerry— 

And vanish'd away to the Stygian lorry ! 



I 588 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ALARMING INTELLIGENCE — REVOLU- 
TION IN THE DICTIONARY — ONE 
G ALT AT THE HEAD OF IT. 

God preserve us ! — there's nothing now safe from 
assault ; — 
Thrones toppling around, churches brought to the 
hammer ; 
And accounts have just reach'd us that one Mr. Gait 
Has declared open war against English and 
Grammar ! 

He had long been suspected of some such design, 
And, the better his wicked intents to arrive at, 

Had lately 'mong C — lb — n's troops of the line 
(The penny-a-line men) enlisted as private. 

There school'd, with a rabble of words at command, 
Scotch, English, and slang, in pfomiscuous alli- 
ance, 

He, at length, against Syntax has taken his stand, 
And sets all the Nine Parts of Speech at defiance. 

Next advices, no doubt, further facts will afford ; 

In the mean time the danger most imminent grows, 
He has taken the Life of one eminent Lord, 

And whom he'll next murder the Lord only knows. 

Wednesday Evening. 
Since our last, matters, luckily, look more serene ; 
Though the rebel, 'tis stated, to aid his defection, 
Has seized a great Powder — no, Puff Magazine, 
And th' explosions are dreadful in every direc- 
tion. 

What his meaning exactly is, nobody knows, 
As he talks (in a strain of intense botheration) 

Of lyrical " ichor," 1 " gelatinous" prose, 2 

And a mixture call'd " amber immortalization." 3 

Now, he raves of a bard he once happen'd to meet, 
Seated high " among rattlings," and churning a 
sonnet ; 4 



i " That dark diseased ichor which colored his effusions." 
— Galt's Life of Byron. 

2 "That gelatinous character of their effusions." — Ibid. 

s "The poetical embalmment, or rather, amber immortal- 
ization." — Ibid. 

< " Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattli<|gs, churning an 
/narticulate melody." — Ibid. 

6 " He was a mystery in a winding sheet, crowned with a 
halo." — Ibid. 

e " One of the questions propounded to the Puritans in 
1573 was—" Whether the Book of Service was good and 
godly, every tittle grounded on the Holy Scripture V On 
wbLch an honest Dissenter remarks—" Surely they had a 



Now, talks of a mystery, wrapp'd in a sheet, 
With a halo (by way of a nightcap) upon it ! 5 

We shudder in tracing these terrible lines ; 

Something bad they must mean, though we can't 
make it out ; 
For, whate'er may be guess'd of Gait's secret designs, 
That they're all Anti- English no Christian can 
doubt. 



RESOLUTIONS 

PASSED AT A LATE MEETING OF 

REVERENDS AND RIGHT REVERENDS. 

Resolved — to stick to every particle 
Of every Creed and every Article ; 
Reforming naught, or great or little, 
We'll stanchly stand by every tittle, 8 
And scorn the swallow of that soul 
Which cannot boldly bolt the whole 

Resolved that, though St. Athanasius 
In damning souls is rather spacious — 
Though wide and far his curses fall, 
Our Church " hath stomach for them all ;" 
And those who're not content with such, 
May e'en be d — d ten times as much. 
Resolved — such liberal souls are we — • 
Though hating Nonconformity, 
We yet believe the cash no worse is 
That comes from Nonconformist purses. 
Indifferent whence the money reaches 
The pockets of our reverend breeches, 
To us the Jumper's jingling penny 
Chinks with a tone as sweet as any ; 
And even our old friends Yea and Nay 
May through the nose for ever pray, 
If also through the nose they'll pay. 

Resolved, that Hooper, 7 Latimer, 8 
And Cranmer, 9 all extremely err, 



wonderful opinion of their Service Book that there was not 
a tittle amiss in it." 

"> "They," the Bishops, "know that the primitive Church 
had no such Bishops. If the fourth part of the bishopric 
remained unto the Bishop, it were sufficient." — On the Com- 
mandments, p. 72. 

8 " Since the Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, the 
plough standeth, there is no work done, the people starve." 
— Lat. Serm. 

3 "Of whom have come all these glorious titles, styles, 
and pomps into the Church. Bu I would that I, and all 
my brethren, the Bishops, would leave all our styles, and 
write the styles of onr offices," &c. — Life of Cranmer, by 
Strype, Appendix. 



r 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



580 



In taking such a low-bred view 

Of what Lords Spiritual ought to do : — 

All owing to the fact, poor men, 

That Mother Church was modest then, 

Nor knew what golden eggs her goose, 

The Public, would in time produce. 

One Pisgah peep at modern Durham 

To far more lordly thoughts would stir 'em. 

Resolved, that when we, Spiritual Lords, 

Whose income just enough affords 

To keep our Spiritual Lordships cozy, 

Are told, by Antiquarians prosy, 

How ancient Bishops cut up theirs, 

Giving the poor the largest shares — 

Our answer is, in one short word, 

We think it pious, but absurd. 

Those good men made the world their debtor, 

But se, the Church reform'd, know better ; 

And, taking all that all can pay, 

Balance th' account the other way. 

Resolved, our thanks profoundly due are 

To last month's Quarterly Reviewer, 

Who proves (by arguments so clear 

One sees how much he holds per year) 

That England's Church, though out of date, 

Must still be left to lie in state, 

As dead, as rotten, and as grand as 

The mummy of King Osymandyas, 

All pickled snug — the brains drawn out 1 — 

With costly cerements swathed about, — 

And " Touch me not," those words terrific, 

Scrawl'd o'er her in good hieroglyphic. 



SIR ANDREW'S DREAM. 

; ' Nee tu sperne piis venientia somnia portis : 
Cum pia venerunt somnia, pondus habent." 

Propert. lib. iv. eleg. 

As snug, on a Sunday eve, of late, 

In his easy chair Sir Andrew sate, 

Being much too pious, as every one knows, 

To do aught, of a Sunday eve, but doze, 

He dreamt a dream, dear, holy man, 

And I'll tell you his dream as well as I can. 



1 Part of the process of embalmment. 

8 The Book of Sports drawn up by Bishop Moreton was 
first put forth in the reign of James I., 1618, and afterwards 
republished, at the'advice of Laud, by Charles I., 1633, with 
an injunction that it should be " made public by order from 
the Bishops." We find it therein declared, that " for his good 
people's recreation, his Majesty's pleasure was, that after the 



He found himself, to his great amaze, 

In Charles the First's high Tory days, 

And just at the time tint gravest of Courts 

Had publish'd its Book of Sunday Sports. 2 

Sunday Sports ! what a thing for the ear 

Of Andrew, even in sleep, to hear ! — 

It chanced to be, too, a Sabbath day, 

When the people from church were coming away ; 

And Andrew with horror heard this song, 

As the smiling sinners flock'd along : — 

" Long life to the Bishops, hurrah ! hurrah ! 

" For a week of work and a Sunday of play 

" Make the poor man's life run merry away." 

" The Bishops !" quoth Andrew, " Popish, I guess," 
And he grinned with conscious holiness. 
But the song went on, and, to brim the cup 
Of poor Andy's grief, the fiddles struck up ! 

" Come, take out the lasses — let's have a dance — 

" For the Bishops allow us to skip our fill, 
" Well knowing that no one's the more in advance 

" On the road to heaven, for standing still. 
" Oh, it never was meant that grim grimaces 

" Should sour the cream of a creed of love : 
" Or that fellows with long, disastrous faces, 

" Alone should sit among cherubs above. 

" Then hurrah for the Bishops, &c. 

" For Sunday fun we never can fail, 

"When the Church herself each sport points 
out ; — 
" There's May-games, archery, Whitsun-ale, 

" And a May -pole high to dance about. 
" Or, should we be for a pole hard driven, 

" Some lengthy saint, of aspect fell, 
" With his pockets on earth, and his nose in heaven, 

" Will do for a May-pole just as well. 
" Then hurrah for the Bishops, hurrah ! hurrah ! 
" A week of work and a Sabbath of play 
" Make the poor man's life run merry away." 

To Andy, who doesn't much deal in history, 

This Sunday scene was a downright mystery ; 

And God knows where might have ended the joke, 

But, in trying to stop the fiddles, he woke. 

And the odd thing is (as the rumor goes) 

That since that dream — which, one would suppose, 

end of divine service they should not be disturbed, letted, or 
discouraged from any lawful recreations, such as dancing, 
either of men or women, archery for men, leaping, vaulting, 
or any such harmless recreations, nor having of May-games, 
Whitsun-ales, or Morris-dances, or setting up of May-poles, 
or other sports therewith used." &c. 



590 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Should have made his godly stomach rise, 


Oh far more proper and well-bred 


Even more than ever, 'gainst Sunday pies — 


To stick to writing books instead ; 


He has view'd things quite with different eyes ; 


And show the world how two Blue lovers 


Is beginning to take, on matters divine, 


Can coalesce, like two book-covers, 


Like Charles and his Bishops, the sporting line — 


(Sheep-skin, or calf, or such wise leather,) 


Is all for Christians jigging in pairs, 


Letter'd at back, and stitch'd together, 


As an interlude 'twixt Sunday prayers ; — 


Fondly as first the binder fix'd 'em, 


! Nay, talks of getting Archbishop H — 1 — y 


With naught but — literature betwixt 'em. 


To bring in a Bill, enacting duly, 




That all good Protestants, from this date, 




May, freely and lawfully, recreate, 
Of a Sunday eve, their spirits moody, 






With Jack in the Straw, or Punch and Judy. 






SUNDAY ETHICS. 

A SCOTCH ODE. 




A BLUE LOVE-SONG 






Puir, profligate Londoners, having heard tell 




That the De'il's got amang ye, and fearing 'tis 


Air. — " Come live with me, and be my love." 


true, 
We ha' sent ye a mon wha's a match for his spell, 




A chiel o' our ain, that the De'il himseP 


Come wed with me, and we will write, 


Will be glad' to keep clear of, one Andrew 


My Blue of Blues, from morn till night. 


Agnew. 


Chased from our classic souls shall be 




All thoughts of vulgar progeny ; 


So, at least, ye may reckon, for ane day entire 


And thou shalt walk through smiling rows 


In ilka lang week ye'll be tranquil eneugh, 


Of chubby duodecimos, 


As Auld Nick, do him justice, abhors a Scotch 


While I, to match thy products nearly, 


squire, 


Shall lie-in of a quarto yearly. 


An' would sooner gae roast by his ain kitchen fire 


'Tis true, ev'n books entail some trouble ; 


Than pass a hale Sunday wi' Andrew Agnew. 


But live productions give one double. 




Correcting children is such bother, — 


For, bless the gude mon, gin he had his ain way, 


While printers' devils correct the other. 


He'd na let a cat on the Sabbath say " mew ;" 


Just think, my own Malthusian dear, 


Nae birdie maun whistle, nae lambie maun play, 


How much more decent 'tis to hear 


An' Phoebus himsel could na travel that day, 


From male or female — as it may be — 


As he'd find a new Joshua in Andie Agnew. 


" How is your book?" than " How's your baby?" 




And, whereas physic and wet nurses 


Only hear, in your Senate, how awfu' he cries, 


Do much exhaust paternal purses, 


" Wae, wae to a' sinners who boil an' who stew ! 


Our books, if rickety, may go 


" Wae, wae to a' eaters o' Sabbath-baked pies, 


And be well dry-nursed in the Row ; 


" For as surely again shall the crust thereof rise 


And, when God wills to take them hence, 


" In judgment against ye," saith Andrew Agnew I 


Are buried at the Row's expense. 






Ye may think, from a' this, that our Andie's the lad 


Besides (as 'tis well proved by thee, 


To ca' o'er the coals your nobeelity, too ; 


In thy own Works, vol. 93.) 


That their drives, o' a Sunday, wi' flunkies, 2 a' 


The march, just now, of population 


clad 


So much outstrips all moderation, 


Like Shawmen, behind 'em, would mak the mon 


That even prolific herring-shoals 


mad — 


Keep pace not with our erring souls. 


But he's nae sic a noodle, our Andie Agnew. 

i 


i See " Ella of Garveloch."— Garveloch being a place 


are told by the author, "the people increased much faster 


where there was a large herring-fishery, but where, as we 


than the produce." 




2 Servants in livery. ! 


L. .. k ..- 


1 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



591 



If Lairds an' fine Ladies, on Sunday, think right 
To gang to the deevil — as maist o' em do — 

To stop them our Andie would think na polite ; 

And 'tis odds (if the chiel could get ony thing by't) 
But he'd follow 'em, booing, 1 would Andrew 
Agnew 



AWFUL EVENT. 

Yes, W — nch — Is — a, (I tremble while I pen it,) 
W — nch — Is — a's Earl hath cut the British Senate — 
Hath said to England's Peers, in accent gruff, 
"That for ye all," [snapping his fingers,] and 
exit, in a huff! 

Disastrous news ! — like that, of old, which spread 
From shore to shore, " our mighty Pan is dead," 
O'er the cross benches (cross from being cross'd) 
Sounds the loud wail, " Our W — nch — Is — a is lost !" 

Which of ye, Lords, that heard him, can forget 
The deep impression of that awful threat, 
" I quit your house ! !" — 'midst all that histories tell, 
I know but one event that's parallel : — 

It chanced at Drury Lane, one Easter night, 
When the gay gods, too bless'd to be polite, 
Gods at their ease, like those of learn'd Lucretius, 
Laugh'd, whistled, groan'd, uproariously facetious — 
A well-dress'd member of the middle gallery, 
Whose " ears polite" disdain'd such low canaillerie, 
Rose in his place — so grand, you'd almost swear 
Lord W — nch — Is — a himself stood towering 

there — 
And like that Lord of dignity and nous,. 
Said, " Silence, fellows, or — I'll leave the house ! !" 

Ho\* brook'd the gods this speech ? Ah well-a-day, 
That speech so fine should be so thrown awav ! 
In vain did this mid-gallery grandee 
Assert his own two-shilling dignity — 
In vain he menaced to withdraw the ray 
Of his own full-price countenance away — 

i For the " gude effects and utility of booing/ see the Man 
of the World. 
2 Come, Cloe, and give me sweet kisses, 
For sweeter sure never girl gave ; 
But why, in the midst of my blisses, 
Do you ask me how many I'd have 1 
8 For whilst I love thee above measure, 
To numbers I'll ne'er be confined. 



Fun against Dignity is fearful odds, 

And as the Lords laugh now, so giggled then the 



THE NUMBERING OF THE CLERGY. 

» 

PARODY ON SIR CHARLES HAN. WILLIAMS'S 
FAMOUS ODE, 

' COME, CLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET KISSES." 

"We want more Churches and more Clergymen." 

BisJiop of London's late Charge. 
" Rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus, augent." 

Claudian in Eutrop. 

Come, give us more Livings and Rectors, 

For, richer no realm ever gave ; 
But why, ye unchristian objectors, 

Do ye ask us how many we crave ? 2 

Oh, there can't be too many rich Livings 

For souls of the Pluralist kind, 
Who, despising old Cocker's misgivings, 

To numbers can ne'er be confined. 3 

Count the cormorants hovering about, 4 

At the time their fish season sets in, 
When these models of keen diners-out 

Are preparing their beaks to begin. 

Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses, 
Flock round when the harvest's in play, 

And, not minding the farmer's distresses, 
Like devils in grain peck away. 

Go, number the locusts in heaven, 6 
On their way to some titheable shore ; 

And when so many Parsons you've given, 
We still shall be craving for more. 

Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, ye 

Must leave us in peace to augment, 
For the wretch who could number the Clergy, 

With few will be ever content. 6 



Count the bees that on Hybla are playing, 
Count the flowers that enamel its fields, 
Count the flocks, &c. 

Go number the stars in the heaven, 
Count how many sands on the shore ; 

When so many kisses you've given, 
I still shall be craving for more. 

But the wretch who can number his kisses, 
With few will be ever content. 



592 MOORE'S 

• 


WORKS. 


A SAD CASE. 


A DREAM OF HINDOSTAN. 


" If it be the undergraduate season at which this rabies 


risum teneatis, amicL 


' religiosa is to be so fearful, what security has Mr. G — lb — n 




against it at this moment, when his son is actually exposed 


" The longer one lives, the more one learns," 
Said I, as off to sleep I went, 


*.o the full venom of an association with Dissenters ?" — The 
i Times, March 25. 




Bemused with thinking of Tithe concerns, 


How sad a case ! — just think of it — 


And reading a book, by the Bishop of Ferns, 5 


If G — lb — n junior should be bit 


On the Irish Church Establishment. 


1 

i By some insane Dissenter, roaming 


But, lo, in sleep, not long I lay, 


Through Granta's halls, at large and foaming, 


When Fancy her usual tricks began, 


And with that aspect, ultra crabbed 


And I found myself bewitch'd away 


Which marks Dissenters when they're rabid ! 


To a goodly city in Hindostan — 


j God only knows what mischiefs might 


A city, where he, who dares to dine 


Result from this one single bite, 


On aught but rice, is deem'd a sinner ; 


Or how the venom, once suck'd in, 


Where sheep and kine are held divine, 


Might spread and rage through kith and kin. 


And, accordingly — never dress'd for dinner. 


1 Mad folks, of all denominations, 




First turn upon their own relations : 


" But how is this ?" I wond'ring cried — 


So that one G — lb — n, fairly bit, 


As I walk'd that city, fair and wide, 


! Might end in maddening the whole kit, 


And saw, in every marble street, 


Till, ah, ye gods, we'd have to rue 


A row of beautiful butchers' shops — 


Our G — lb — n senior bitten too ; 


" What means, for men who don't eat meat, 


' The Hychurchphobia in those veins, 


" This grand display of loins and chops ?" 


Where Tory blood now redly reigns ; — 


In vain I ask'd — 'twas plain to see 


And that dear man, who now perceives 


That nobody dared to answer me. 


Salvation only in lawn sleeves, 




Might, tainted by such coarse infection, 


So, on, from street to street I strode ; 


Run mad in th' opposite direction, 


And you can't conceive how vastly odd 


And think, poor man, 'tis only given 


The butchers look'd — a roseate crew 


To linsey-woolsey to reach Heaven ! 


Inshrined in stalls, with naught to do ; 




While some on a bench, half-dozing, sat, 


Just fancy what a shock 'twould be 


And the Sacred Cows were not more fat 


j Our G — lb — n in his fits to see. 




j Tearing into a thousand particles 


Still posed to think, what all this scene 


His once loved Nine and Thirty Articles ; 


Of sinecure trade was meant to mean, 


(Those Articles his friend, the Duke, 1 


" And, pray," ask'd I — " by whom is paid 


For Gospel, t'other night, mistook ;) 


"The expense of this strange masquerade?" — 


1 Cursing cathedrals, deans, and singers — 


" Th' expense ! — oh, that's of course defray 'd 


i Wishing the ropes might hang the ringers — 


(Said one of these well-fed Hecatombers) 


J Pelting the church with blasphemies, 


" By yonder rascally rice -consumers." 


Even worse than Parson B — v — rl — y's ; — 


" What ! they, who mustn't eat meat !" — 


i And ripe for severing Church and State, 


" No matter — 


Like any creedless reprobate, 


(And, while he spoke, his cheeks grew fatter.) 


Or like that class of Methodists 


" The rogues may munch their Paddy crop, 


Prince Waterloo styles " Atheists !" 


"But the rogues must still support our shop. 


j 


" And, depend upon it, the way to treat 


1 But 'tis too much — the Muse turns pale, 


" Heretical stomachs that thus dissent, 


And o'er the picture drops a veil. 


" Is to burden all that won't eat meat, 


Praying, God save the G — lb — rns all 


" With a costly Meat Establishment." 


From mad Dissenters, great and small ! 






On hearing these words so gravely said, 




With a volley of laughter loud I shook ; 


1 The Duke of Wellington, who styled them the " Articles 


s An indefatigable scribbler of anti-Catholic pamphlets 


of Christianity." 

i i — — — 


J 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



593 



And my slumber fled, and my dream was sped,, 
And I found I was lying snug in bed, 

With my nose in the Bishop of Ferns's book. 



THE BRUNSWICK CLUB. 

A letter having been addressed to a very distinguished per- 
sonage, requesting him to become the Patron of this Orange 
Club, a polite answer was forthwith returned, of which we 
have been fortunate enough to obtain a copy. 

Brimstone-hall, September 1, 1828. 

Private. — Lord Belzebub presents 

To the Brunswick Club his compliments, 

And much regrets to say that he 

Cannot, at present, their Patron be. 

In stating this, Lord Belzebub 

Assures, on his honor, the Brunswick Club, 

That 'tisn't from any lukewarm lack 

Of zeal or fire he thus holds back — 

As even Lord Coal 1 himself is not 

For the Orange party more red-hot : 

But the truth is, till their Club affords 

A somewhat decenter show of Lords, 

And on its list of members gets 

A few less rubbishy Baronets, 

Lord Belzebub must beg to be 

Excused from keeping such company. 

Who the devil, he humbly begs to know, 

Are Lord Gl — nd — ne, and Lord D — nlo ? 

Or who, with a grain of sense, would go 

To sit and be bored by Lord M — yo ? 

What living creature — except his nurse — 

For Lord M — ntc — sh — 1 cares a curse, 

Or thinks 'twould matter if Lord M — sk — rry 

Were t'other side of the Stygian ferry ? 

Breathes there a man in Dublin town, 

Who'd give but half of half-a-crown 

To save from drowning my Lord R — thd — ne, 

Or who wouldn't also gladly hustle in 

Lords R — d — n, B — nd — n, C — le, and J — c — 1 — n ? 

In short, though, from his tenderest years, 

Accustom'd to all sorts of Peers, 

Lord Belzebub much questions whether 

He ever yet saw, mix'd together, 

As 'twere in one capacious tub, 

Such a mess of noble silly-bub 

As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick Club. 

'Tis therefore impossible that Lord B. 

Could stoop to such society, 

I Usually written "Cole." 



Thinking, he owns, (though no great prig,) 

For one in his station 'twere infra dig. 

But he begs to propose, in the interim, 

(Till they find some prop'rsr Peers for him,) 

His Highness of C — mb — d, as Sub, 

To take his place at the Brunswick Club — 

Begging, meanwhile, himself to dub 

Their obedient servant, Belzebub. 

It luckily happens, the R — y — 1 Duke 
Resembles so much, in air and look, 
The head of the Belzebub family, 
That few can any difference see ; 
Which makes him, of course, the better suit 
To serve as Lord B.'s substitute. 



PROPOSALS FOR A GYNjECOCRACY. 



ADDRESSED TO A LATE RADICAL MEETING. 



" Quas ipsa decus sibi dia Camilla 

Delegit pacisque bonas bellique ministras." 



Virgil 



As Whig Reform has had its range, 

And none of us are yet content, 
Suppose, my friends, by way of change, 

We try a Female Parliament ; 
And since, of late, with he M. P.'s 
We've fared so badly, take to she's — 
Petticoat patriots, flounced John Russells, 
Burdetts in blonde, and Broughams in bustles. 
The plan is startling, I confess — 
But 'tis but an affair of dress ; 
Nor see I much there is to choose 

'Twixt Ladies (so they're thorough bred ones) 
In ribands of all sorts of hues, 

Or Lords in only blue or red ones. 

At least, the fiddlers will be winners, 

Whatever other trade advances ; 
As then, instead of Cabinet dinners, 

We'll have, at Almack's, Cabinet dances ; 
Nor let this world's important questions 
Depend on Ministers' digestions. 

If Ude's receipts have done things ill, 

To Weippert's band they may go better ; 
There's Lady * #, in one quadrille, 

Would settle Europe, if you'd let her: 
And who the deuce or asks, or cares, 

When Whigs or Tories have undone 'em, 
Whether they've danced through State affairs, 

Or simply, dully, dined upon 'em ? 



594 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Hurrah then for the Petticoats ! 

To them we pledge our free-born votes ; 

We'll have all she, and only she — 

Pert blues shall act as " best debaters," 
Old dowagers our Bishops be, 

And termagants our Agitators. 

If Vestris, to oblige the nation, 

Her own Olympus will abandon, 
And help to prop th' Administration, 

It can't have better legs to stand on. 
The famed Macaulay (Miss) shall show, 

Each evening, forth in learn'd oration ; 
Shall move (midst general cries of " Oh !") 

For full returns of population : 
And, finally, to crown the whole, 
The Princess Olive, 1 Royal soul, 
Shall from her bower in Banco Regis, 
Descend, to bless her faithful lieges, 
And, 'mid our Union's loyal chorus, 
Reign jollily forever o'er us. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE * * *. 



Sir, 



Having heard some rumors respecting the strange and 
awful visitation under which Lord H— nl— y has for some 
time past been suffering, in consequence of his declared hos- 
tility to "anthems, solos, duets,"2 &c, I took the liberty of 
making inquiries at his Lordship's house this morning, and 
lose no time in transmitting to you such particulars as I could 
collect. It is said that the screams of his Lordship, under 
the operation of this nightly concert, (which is, no doubt, 
some trick of the Radicals,) may be heard all over the neigh- 
borhood. The female who personates St. Cecilia is supposed 
to be the same that, last year, appeared in the character of 
Isis, at the Rotunda. How the cherubs are managed, I have 
not yet ascertained. Yours, &c. 

P.P. 

LORD H— NL— Y AND ST. CECILIA. 



in Metii descendat Judices aures. 



HORAT. 



As snug in his bed Lord H — nl — y lay, 

Revolving much his own renown, 
And hoping to add thereto a ray, 

By putting duets and anthems down, 

Sudden a strain of choral sounds 
Mellifl ious o'er his senses stole ; 

A personage, so styling herself, who attained consider- 
able notoriety at that period. 

a In a work on Church Reform, published by his Lord- 
ship in 1832. 



Whereat the Reformer mutter'd, " Zounds !" 
For he loathed sweet music with all his soul. 

Then, starting up, he saw a sight 

That well might shock so learn'd a snorer — 
Saint Cecilia, robed in light, 

With a portable organ slung before her 

And round were Cherubs, on rainbow wings, 
Who, his Lordship fear'd, might tire of flitting, 

So begg'd they'd sit — but ah ! poor things, 

They'd, none of them, got the means of sitting 3 

" Having heard," said the Saint, " you're Igi d of 
hymns, 

" And indeed, that musical snore betray'd you, 
" Myself, and my choir of cherubims, 

" Are come, for a while, to serenade you." 

In vain did the horrified H — nl — y say 

" 'Twas all a mistake" — " she was misdirected ;" 

And point to a concert over the way, 

Where fiddlers and angels were expected. 

In vain — the Saint could see in his looks 
(She civilly said) much tuneful lore ; 

So, at once, all open'd their music-books, 
And herself and her Cherubs set off at score. 

All night duets, terzets, quartets, 

Nay, long quintets most dire to hear ; 

Ay, and old motets, and canzonets, 
And glees, in sets, kept boring his ear. 

He tried to sleep — but it wouldn't do ; 

So loud they squall'd, he must attend to 'em ; 
Though Cherubs' songs, to his cost he knew, 

Were like themselves, and had no end to 'em. 

Oh judgment dire on judges bold, 

Who meddle with music's sacred strains ! 

Judge Midas tried the same of old, 

And was punish'd, like H — nl — y, for his pains. 

But worse on the modem judge, alas ! 

Is the sentence launch'd from Apollo's throne ; 
For Midas was given the ears of an ass, 

While H — nl — y is doom'd to keep his own ! 



s " Asseyez-vous, mes enfans."- 
mon Seigneur." 



-" II n'y a pas de quoi, 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 595 




As, once the thing's well set about, 


ADVERTISEMENT. 1 

1830. 


No doubt but we shall hunt him out. 


Missing or lost, last Sunday night, 


His Lordship's mind, of late, they say, 


A Waterloo coin, whereon was traced 


Hath been in an uneasy way, 


Th' inscription, " Courage !" in letters bright, 


Himself and colleagues not being let 


Though a little by rust of years defaced. 


To climb into the Cabinet, 




To settle England's state affairs, 


The metal thereof is rough and hard, 


Hath much, it seems, w??settled theirs ; 


And ('tis thought of late) mix'd up with brass ; 


And chief to this stray Plenipo 


But it bears the stamp of Fame's award, 


Hath been a most distressing blow. 


And through all Posterity's hands will pass. 


Already, — certain to receive a 




Well-paid mission to the Neva, 


How it was lost, God only knows, 


And be the bearer of kind words 


But certain City thieves, they say, 


•To tyrant Nick from Tory Lords, — 


Broke in on the owner's evening doze, 


To fit himself for free discussion, 


And filch'd this " gift of gods" away ! 


His Lordship had been learning Russian ; 




And all so natural to him were 


One ne'er could, of course, the Cits suspect, 


The accents of the Northern bear, 


If we hadn't, that evening, chanced to see, 


That, while his tones were in your ear, you 


At the robb'd man's door, a Mare elect, 


Might swear you were in sweet Siberia. 


With an ass to keep her company. 


And still, poor Peer, to old and young, 




He goes on raving in that tongue ; 


Whosoe'er of this lost treasure knows, 


Tells you how much you would enjoy a 


Is begg'd to state all facts about it, 


Trip to Dalnodoubrowskoya ; 3 


As the owner can't well face his foes, 


Talks of such places, by the score, on 


Nor even his friends, just now, without it. 


As Oulisfflirmchinagoboron, 4 




And swears (for he at nothing sticks) 


And if Sir Clod will bring it back, 


That Russia swarms with Raskol-niks 


Like a trusty Baronet, wise and able, 


Though one such Nick, God knows, must L-a 


He shall have a ride on the whitest hack 2 


A more than ample quantity. 


That's left in old King George's stable. 






Such are the marks by which to know 




This stray'd or stolen Plenipo ; 
And whosoever brings or sends 






The unhappy statesman to his friends, 


MISSING. 


On Carlton Terrace, shall have thanks, 




And — any paper but .the Bank's. 


Carlton Terrace, 1832. 




Whereas, Lord ****** de ****** 


P. S. — Some think, the disappearance 


Left his home last Saturday, 


Of this our diplomatic Peer hence 


And, th ugh inquired for, round and round, 


Is for the purpose of reviewing, 


Through certain purlieus, can't be found ; 


In person, what dear Mig is doing, 


And whereas, none can solve our queries 


So as to 'scape all tell-tale letters 


As to where this virtuous Peer is, 


'Bout B — s — d, and such abettors, — 


Notice is hereby given that all 


The only " wretches" for whose aid 6 


May forthwith to inquiring fall, 


Letters seem not to have been made. 


i Written at that memorable crisis when a distinguished 


* Territory belonging to the mines of Kolivano-Kosskres- 


Duke, then Prime Minister, acting under the inspirations of 


sense. 


Sir CI— d— s H— nt— r and other Cicy worthies, advised his 


6 The name of a religious sect in Russia. " 11 existe en 


Majesty to give up his announced intention of dining with 


Russie plusieurs sectes ; la plus nombreuse est celle des 


the Lord Mayor. 


Raskol-niks, ou vrai-croyants."— Gamba, Voyage dans la 


3 Among other remarkable attributes by which Sir 


Russie Meridionale. 


CI — d — s distinguished himself, the dazzling whiteness of 


e " Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid." 


his favorite steed was not the least conspicuous. 


Pope 


8 In the Government of Perm. 





596 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



THE DANCE OF BISHOPS ; 

OR, THE EPISCOPAL QUADRILLE. 1 

A DREAM. 

1833. 

Solemn dances were, on great festivals and celebrations, 
admitted amcng the primitive Christians, in which even the 
Bishops and dignified Clergy were performers. Scaliger 
says, that the first Bishops were called Frees .desfl for no 
other reason than that they led off these dances." — Cyclo- 
pedia, art. Dances. 

I've had such a dream — a frightful dream — 
Though funny, mayhap, to wags 'twill seem, 
By all who regard the Church, like us, 
'Twill be thought exceedingly ominous ! 

As reading in bed I lay last night — 
Which (being insured) is my delight — 
I happen'd to doze off just as I got to 
The singular fact which forms my motto. 
Only think, thought I, as I dozed away, 
Of a party of Churchmen dancing the hay ! 
Clerks, curates, and rectors, capering all, 
With a neat-legg'd Bishop to open the ball ! 

Scarce had my eyelids time to close, 

When the scene I had fancied before me rose — 

An Episcopal Hop, on a scale so grand 

As my dazzled eyes could hardly stand. 

For, Britain and Erin clubb'd their Sees 

To make it a Dance of Dignities, 

And I saw — oh brightest of Church events ! 

A quadrille of the two Establishments, 

Bishop to Bishop vis-d-vis, 

Footing away prodigiously. 

There was Bristol capering up to Derry, 
And Cork with London making merry ; 
While huge Llandaff, with a See, so so, 
Was to dear old Dublin pointing his toe. 
There was Chester, hatch'd by woman's smile, 
Performing a chaine des Dames in style ; 
While he who, whene'er the Lords' House dozes, 
Can waken them up by citing Moses, 3 
The portly Tuam was all in a hurry 
To set, en avant, to Canterbury. 

Meanwhile, while pamphlets stuff'd his pockets, 
(All out of date, like spent sky-rockets,) 

i Written on the passing of the memorable Bill, in the 
year 1833, for the abolition of ten Irish Bishoprics. 

2 Literally, First Dancers. 

s " And what does Moses say V— One of the ejaculations 
with which this eminent prelate enlivened his famous 
speech on the Catholic question. 



Our Exeter stood forth to caper, 

As high on the floor as he doth on paper — 

Much like a dapper Dancing Dervise, 

Who pirouettes his whole church-service — 

Performing, 'midst those reverend souls, 

Such entrechats, such cabriolcs, 

Such balonnes* such — rigmaroles, 

Now high, now low, now this, now that, 

That none could guess, what the devil he'd be at ; 

Though, watching his various steps, some thought 

That a step in the Church was all he sought. 

But alas, alas ! while thus so gay, 

These reverend dancers frisk'd away, 

Nor Paul himself (not the saint, but he 

Of the Opera-house) could brisker be, 

There gather'd a gloom around their glee — 

A shadow, which came and went so fast, 

That ere one could say " 'Tis there," 'twr.s past — 

And, lo, when the scene again was clear'd, 

Ten of the dancers had disappear'd ! 

Ten able-bodied quadrillers swept 

From the hallow'd floor where late they stepp'd, 

While twelve was all that footed it still, 

On the Irish side of that grand Quadrille ! 

Nor this the worst : — still danced they on, 

But the pomp was sadden'd, the smile was gone ; 

And again, from time to time, the same 

Ill-omen'd darkness round them came — 

While still, as the light broke out anew, 

Their ranks look'd less by a dozen or two ; 

Till ah ! at last there were only found 

Just Bishops enough for a four-hands-round ; 

And when I awoke, impatient getting, 

I left the last holy pair poussetting ! 

N. B. — As ladies in years, it seems, 
Have the happiest knack at solving dreams, 
I shall leave to my ancient feminine friends 
Of the Standard to say what this portends. 



DICK 



A CHARACTER. 

Of various scraps and fragments built, 
Borrow'd alike from fools and wits, 

4 A description of the method of executing this step may 
be useful to future performers in the same line :— " Ce pas 
est compose de deux mouvemens differens, savoir, plier, et 
sauter sur un pied, et se rejeter sur V autre." — Dictionnaire 
de Danse, art. Contre-temps. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



597 



Dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt, 
Made up of new, old, motley bits — 

Where, if the Co. call'd in their shares, 
If petticoats their quota got, 

And gowns were all refunded theirs, 
The quilt would look but shy, God wot 

And thus he still, new plagiaries seeking, 

Reversed ventriloquism's trick, 
For,* 'stead of Dick through others speaking, 

'Twas others we heard speak through Dick. 
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding, 

Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats ; 
One day, with Malthus, foe to breeding, 

The next, with Sadler, all for brats. 

Poor Dick ! — and how else could it be ? 

With notions all at random caught, 
A sort of mental fricassee, 

Made up of legs and wings of thought — 
The leavings of the last Debate, or 

A dinner, yesterday, of wits, 
Where Dick sat by, and, like a waiter, 

Had the scraps for perquisites. 



f A CORRECTED REPORT OF SOME LATE 
SPEECHES. 

" Then I heard one saint speaking, and another saint said 
unto that saint," 

1834. 

St. S — nci. — r rose and declared in sooth, 
That he wouldn't, give sixpence to Maynooth. 
He had hated priests the whole of his life, 
For a priest was a man who had no wife, 1 
And, having no wife, the Church was his mother, 
The Church was his father, sister, and brother. 
This being the case, he was sorry to say, 
That a gulf 'twixt Papist and Protestant lay, 2 
So deep and wide, scarce possible was it 
To say even " how d'ye do?" across it : 

1 "He objected to the maintenance and education of a 
clergy bound by the particular vows of celibacy, which, as it 
were, gave them the church as their only family, making- it fill 
the places of father and mother and brother.'''' — Debate on the 
Grant to Maynooth College, The Times, April 19. 

s " It had always appeared to him that between the Catholic 
and Protestant a great gulf intervened, which rendered it 
impossible," &c. 

3 "The Baptist might acceptably extend the offices of 
religion to the Presl yterian and the Independent, or the 



And though your Liberals, nimble as fleas, 

Could clear such gulfs with perfect ease, 

'Twas a jump that naught on earth- could make 

Your proper, heavy rbui't Christian take. 

No, no, — if a Dance of Sects must be, 

He would set to the Baptist willingly, 3 

At the Independent deign to smirk, 

And rigadoon with old Mother Kirk ; 

Nay even, for once, if needs must be, 

He'd take hands round with all the three ; 

But, as to a jig with Popery, no, — 

To the Harlot ne'er would he point his toe. 

St. M — n — d — v — le was the next that use, — 

A Saint who round, as pedler, goes, 

With his pack of piety and prose, 

Heavy and hot enough, God knows, — 

And he said that Papists were much inclined 

To extirpate all of Protestant kind, 

Which he couldn't, in truth, so much condemn, 

Having lather a wish to extirpate them ; 

That is, — to guard against mistake, — 

To extirpate them for their doctrine's sake ; 

A distinction Churchmen always make, — 

Insomuch that, when they've prime control, 

Though sometimes roasting heretics whole. 

They but cook the body for sake of the soul. 

Next jump'd St. J — hnst — n jollily forth, 
The spiritual Dogberry of the North, 4 
A right " wise fellow, and, what's more, 
An officer," 5 like his type of yore ; 
And he ask'd, if we grant such toleration, 
Pray, what's the use of our Reformation ? 6 
What is the use of our Church and State ? 
Our Bishops, Articles, Tithe, and Rate ? 
And, still as he yell'd out " what's the use ?" 
Old Echoes, from their cells recluse 
Where they'd for centuries slept, broke loose, 
Yelling responsive, " What's the use ?" 



member of the Church of England to any of the other three; 
but the Catholic," &c. 

4 "Could he then, holding as he did a spiritual office in 
the Church of Scotland, (cries of hear, and laughter,) with 
any consistency give his consent to a grant of money !" &c. 

5 "I am a wise fellow, and, which is more, an officer." 
Much JJdo about Nothing. 

6 " What, he asked, was the use of the Reformation 'j 
What was the use of the Articles of the Church of England, 
or of the Church of Scotland ?" &c. 



598 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



MORAL POSITIONS. 

A DREAM. 

" His Lordship said that it took a long time for a moral 
position to find its way across- the Atlantic. He was very 
sorry that its voyage had been so long," &c. — Speech of 
Lord Dudley and Ward on Colonial Slavery, March 8. 

T'other night, after hearing Lord Dudley's oration, 
(A treat that comes once a-year as May-day does,) 

I dreamt that I saw — what a strange operation ! 
A " moral position" shipp'd off for Barbadoes. 

The whole Bench of Bishops stood by in grave at- 
titudes, 

Packing the article tidy and neat ; — 
As then- Rev'rences know, that in southerly latitudes 

" Moral positions" don't keep very sweet 

There was B — th — st arranging the custom-house 

pass ; [routing, 

And, to guard the frail package from tousing and 

There stood my Lord Eld — n, endorsing it " Glass," 

Though as to which side should lie uppermost, 

doubting. 

The freight was, however, stow'd safe in the hold ; 

The winds were polite, and the moon look'd ro- 
mantic, [roll'd, 
While off in the good ship " The Truth" we were 

With our ethical cargo, across the Atlantic. 

Long, dolefully long, seem'd the voyage we made ; 
For " The Truth," at all times but a very slow 
sailer, 
By friends, near as much as by foes, is delay'd, 
And few come aboard her, though so many hail 
her. 

At length safe arrived, I went through " tare and 
tret," 
Deliver'd my goods in the primest condition," 
And next morning read, in the Bridgetown Gazette, 
" Just arrived by ' The Truth,' a new moral po- 
sition." 

" The Captain" — here, startled to find myself named 

As "the Captain" — (a thing which, I own it 

with pain, [ashamed, 

I through life have avoided,) I woke — look'd 
Pound I wasn't a captain, and dozed off again. 

i Eclipses and comets have been always looked to as great 
changers of administrations. Thus Milton, speaking of the 
former : — 

«' With fear of change 
Perplexing monarchs." 



THE MAD TORY AND THE COMET. 



FOUNDED ON A LATE DISTRESSING INCIDENT. 



'Matantem regna cometem. 



1832-3 

LUCAN. 1 



" Though all the pet mischiefs we count upon 
fail, 
" Though Cholera, hurricanes, Wellington leave 
us, 
" We've still in reserve, mighty Comet, thy tail ; — 
" Last hope of the Tories, wilt thou too deceive 
us? 

" No — 'tis coming, 'tis coming, th' avenger is nigh ; 
' Heed, heed not, ye placemen, how Herapath 
flatters ; 
" One whisk from that tail, as it passes us by, 
" Will settle, at once, all political matters; — 

" The East-India Question, the Bank, the Five 
Powers, 
(" Now turn'd into two) with their rigmarole 
Protocols f — 
" Ha ! ha ! ye gods, how this new friend of ours 
" Will knock, right and left, all diplomacy's 
what-d'ye-calls ! 

" Yes, rather than Whigs at our downfall should 
mock, 
" Meet planets, and suns, in one general hustle ! 
" While, happy in vengeance, we welcome the 
shock 
" That shall jerk from their places, Grey, Althorp, 
and Russell." 

Thus spoke a mad Lord, as, with telescope raised, 

His wild Tory eye on the heavens he set ; 
And, though nothing destructive appear'd as he 



Much hoped that there would, before Parliament 
met. 

And still, as odd shapes seem'd to flit through his 

glass, 

" Ha ! there it is now," the poor maniac cries ; 

While his fancy with forms but too monstrous, 

alas! 

From his own Tory zodiac, peoples the skies : — 

And in Statius we find, 

"Mutant quse sceptra cometav' 
a See, for some of these Protocols, the Annual Register, 
for the year 1832. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



599 



" Now 1 spy a big body, good heavens, how big ! 

" Whether Bucky 1 or Taurus I cannot well 
say : — 
" And, yonder, there's Eld — n's old Chancery-wig, 

" In its dusty aphelion fast fading away. 

" I see, 'mong those fatuous meteors behind, 
" L — nd — nd — ry, in vacuo, flaring about ; — 

" While that dim double star, of the nebulous kind, 
" Is the Gemini, R — den and L — rt — n, no 
doubt. 

« Ah, El— b'r— h ! 'faith, I first thought 'twas the 

Comet ; 

" So like that in Milton, it made me quite pale ; 

"The head with the same 'horrid hair' 2 coming 

from it, 

" And plenty of vapor, but — where is the tail ?" 

Just then, up aloft jump'd the gazer elated — 
For, lo, his bright glass a phenomenon show'd, 

Which he took to be C — mb — rl — d, upwards 
translated, 
Instead of his natural course, t'other road ! 

But too awful that sight for a spirit so shaken, — 
Down dropp'd the poor Tory in fits and 
grimaces, [taken, 

Then off to the Bedlam in Charles Street was 
And is now one of Halford's most favorite cases. 



FROM THE HON. HENRY 
TO LADY EMMA 



Paris, March 30, 1832. 

You bid me explain, my dear angiy Ma'amselle, 
How I came thus to bolt without saying farewell ; 
And the truth is, — as truth you will have, my sweet 
railer, — 
There are two worthy persons I always feel loath 
To take leave of at starting, — my mistress and 
tailor, — 
As somehow one always has scenes with them 
both ; 
The Snip in ill-humor, the Syren in tears, 

She calling on Heaven, and he on th' attorney, — 
Till sometimes, in short, 'twixt his duns and his 
dears, 
A young gentleman risks being stopp'd in his 
journey. 

The D— e of B— ck— m. 

" And from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war." 



But, to come to the point, — though you think, I 

dare say, 
Tha; 'tis debt or the Cholera drives me away, 
Ton honor you're wrong ; — such a mere baga- 
telle 
As a pestilence, nobody, now-a-days, fears ; 
And the fact is, my love, I'm thus bolting, pell- 
mell, 
To get out of the way of these horrid new 
Peers ; 3 
This deluge of coronets, frightful to think of, 
Which England is now, for her sins, on the brink of; 
This coinage of nobles, — coin'd, all of 'em, badly, 
And sure to bring Counts to a discount most sadly. 

Only think, to have Lords overrunning the nation, 
As plenty £.s frogs in a Dutch inundation ; 
No shelter from Barons, from Earls no protection, 
And tadpole young Lords, too, in every direction, — 
Things created in haste, just to make a Court list 

of, 
Two legs and a coronet all they consist of ! 
The prospect's quite frightful, and what Sir George 

R— se 
(My particular friend) says is perfectly true, 
That, so dire the alternative, nobody knows, 

'Twixt the Peers and the Pestilence, what he's to 

do; 
And Sir George even doubts, — could he choose his 

disorder, — 
'Twixt coffin and coronet, which, he would order 

This being the case, why, I thought, my dear Emma, 
'Twere best to fight shy of so cursed a dilemma ; 
And though I confess myself somewhat a villain, 

To've left idol mio without an addio, 
Console your sweet heart, and, a week hence, from 
Milan 

I'll send you — some news of Bellini's last trio. 

N. B. — Have just pack'd up my travelling set-out, 

Things a tourist in Italy can't go without — 

Viz., a pair of gants gras, from old Houbigant's 

shop, 
Good for hands that the air of Mont Cenis might 

chap. 
Small presents for ladies, — and nothing so wheedles 
The creatures abroad as your golden-eyed needles. 
A neat pocket Horace, by which folks are cozen'd 
To think one knows Latin, when — one, perhaps, 

doesn't ; 
With some little book about heathen mythology, 
Just large enough to refresh one's theology ; 

s A new creation of Peers was generally expected at fhis 
time. 



600 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



and 



Nothing on earth being half such a bore as 
Not knowing the difference 'twixt Virgins 

Floras. 
Once more, love, farewell, best regards to the girls, 
And mind you beware of damp feet anl new Earls. 

Henry. 



TRIUMPH OF BIGOTRY. 

" College. — We announced, in our last, that Lefroy and 
Shaw were returned. They were chaired yesterday; the 
Students of the College determined, it would seem, to imi- 
tate the mob in all things, harnessing themselves to the car, 
and the Masters of Arts bearing Orange flags and bludgeons 
before, beside, and behind the car." 

Dublin Evening Post, Dec. 20, 1832. 

Ay, yoke ye to the bigots' car, 

Ye chosen of Alma Mater's scions ; — 
Fleet chargers drew the God of War, 

Great Cybele was drawn by lions, 
And Sylvan Pan, as Poets dream, 
Drove four young panthers in hit; team. 
Thus classical L — fr — y, for once, is, 

Thus, studious of a like turn-out, 
He harnesses young sucking dunces, 

To draw him, as their Chief, about, 
And let the world a picture see 
Of Dulness yoked to Bigotry : 
Showing us how young College hacks 
Can pace with bigots at their backs, 
As though the cubs were born to draw 
Such luggage as L — fr — y and Sh — w. 

Oh shade of Goldsmith, shade of Swift, 

Bright spirits whom, in days of yore, 
This Queen of Dulness sent adrift, 

As aliens to her foggy shore ;* — 
Shade of our glorious Grattan, too, 

Whose very name her shame recalls ; 
Whose effigy her bigot crew 

Reversed upon their monkish walls, 2 — 
Bear witness (lest the world should doubt) 

To your mute Mother's dull renown, 
Then famous but for Wit turn'd out, 

And Eloquence turn'd upside down ; 
But now ordain'd new wreaths to win, 

Beyond all fame of former days, 



i See the lives of these two poets for the circumstances 
under which they left Dublin College. 

a In the year 1799, the Board of Trinity College, Dublin, 
thought proper, as a mode of expressing their disapprobation 
of Mr. Grattan's public conduct, to order his portrait, in the 



By breaking thus young donkeys m 
To draw M. P.s, amid the brays 
Alike of donkeys and M. A.s ; — 
Defying Oxford to surpass 'em 
In this new " Gradus ad Parnassum." 



TRANSLATION FROM THE GULL 
LANGUAGE. 

Scripta manet. 

183 
'Twas graved on the Stone of Destiny, 3 
In letters four, and letters three ; 
And ne'er did the King of the Gulls go by 
But those awful letters scared his eye ; 
For he knew that a Prophet Voice had said, 
" As long as those words by man were read, 
" The ancient race of the Gulls should ne'er 
" One hour of peace or plenty share." 
But years on years successive flew, 
And the letters still more legible grew, — 
At top, a T, an H, an E, 
And underneath, D. E. B. T. 

Some thought them Hebrew, — such as Jews, 
More skill'd in Scrip than Scripture, use ; 
While some surmised 'twas an ancient way 
Of keeping accounts, (well known Ln the day 
Of the famed Didlerius Jeremias, 
Who had thereto a wonderful bias,) 
And proved in books most learnedly boring, 
'Twas call'd the Yontick way of scoring. 

Howe'er this be, there never were yet 

Seven letters of the alphabet, 

That, 'twixt them form'd so grim a spell, 

Or scared a Land of Gulls so well, 

As did this awful riddle-me-ree 

Of T. H. E. D. E. B. T. 



Hark ! — it is struggling Freedom's cry ; 

" Help, help, ye nations, or I die ; 

" 'Tis freedom's fight, and, on the field 

" Where I expire, your doom is seal'd." 

The Gull-King hears the awakening call, 

He hath summon'd his Peers and Patriots all, 



Great Hall of the University, to be turned upside down, tad 
n\ this position it remained for some time. 

3 Liafail, or the Stone of Destiny— for which, see West- 
minster Abbey 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



601 



And he asks, •" Ye noble Gulls, shall we 

" Stand basely by at the fall of the Free, 

" Nor utter a curse, nor deal a blow V 

And they answer, with voice of thunder, " No; 

Out fly their flashing swords in the air ! — 
But, — why do they rest suspended there? 
What sudden blight, what baleful charm, 
Hath chill'd each eye, and check'd each arm ? 
Alas ! some withering hand hath thrown 
The veil from off that fatal stone, 
And pointing now, with sapless finger, 
Showeth where dark those letters linger, — 
Letters four, and letters three, 
T. H. E. D. E. B. T. 

At sight thereof, each lifted brand 

Powerless falls from eveiy hand ; 

In vain the Patriot knits his brow, — 

Er?n talk, his staple, fails him now. 

In vain the King like a hero treads, 

His Lords of the Treasury shake their heads ; 

And to all his talk of " brave and free," 

No answer getteth His Majesty 

But«T. H. E. D. E. B. T" 

In short, the whole Gull nation feels 
They're fairly spell-bound, neck and heels ; 
And so, in the face of the laughing world, 
Must e'en sit down, with banners furl'd, 
Adjourning all their dreams sublime 
Of glory and war to— some other time. 



NOTIONS ON REFORM. 

BY A MODERN REFORMER. 

Of all the misfortunes as yet brought to pass 

By this comet-like Bill, with its long tail of 
speeches, 
The saddest and worst is the schism which, alas ! 
It has caused between W — th — r — l's waistcoat 
and breeches. 

Some symptoms of this Anti-Union propensity 
Had oft broken out in that quarter before ; 

But the breach, since the Bill, has attain'd such im- 
mensity, 
Daniel himself could have scarce wish'd it more. 



1 It will be recollected that the learned gentleman himself 
boasted one night in the House of Commons, of having sat 
in the very chair which this allegorical lady had occu- 
pied. 

* Lucan's description of the effects of the tripod on the 



Oh ! haste to repair it, ye friends of good order, 
Ye Atw — ds and W — nns, ere the moment is past ; 

Who can doubt that we tread upon Anarchy's border, 
When the ties that should hold men are loosening 
so fast ? 

Make W— th— -r— 1 yield to " some sort of Reform," 
(As we all must, God help us ! with very wry 
faces,) 

And loud as he likes let him bluster and storm 
About Corporate Rights, so he'll only wear braces. 

Should those he now sports have been long in pos- 



And, like his own borough, the worse for ii« 
wear, 
Advise him, at least, as a prudent concession 
To Intellect's progress, to buy a new pair. 

Oh ! who that e'er saw him, when vocal he stands 
With a look something midway 'twixt Filch's 
and Lockit's, 
While still, to inspire him, his deeply thrust hands 
Keep jingling the rhino in both breeches-pock- 
ets— 

Who that ever has listen'd, through groan and 
through cough, 
To the speeches inspired by this music of pence, — 
But must grieve that there's any thing like falling 
off 
In that great nether source of his wit and his 
? 



Who that knows how he look'd when, with grace 
debonair, 
He began first to court — rather late in the season — 
Or when, less fastidious, he sat in the chair 

Of his old friend, the Nottingham Goddess of 
Reason ;* 

That Goddess, whose borough-like virtue attracted 
All mongers in both wares to proffer their love ; 

Whose chair like the stool of the Pythoness acted, 
As W— th — r — l's rants, ever since, go to prove f 

Who, in short, would not grieve, if a man of his 
graces 

Should go on rejecting, unwarn'd by the past, 
The " moderate Reform" of a pair of new braces, 

Till, some day, — he'll all fall to pieces at last. 

appearance and voice of the sitter, shows that the symptoms 
are, at least, very similar: 

Spumea tunc primum rabies vesana per ora 

EfBuit 

tunc mcestus vastis ululntus in antris. 



602 MOORE'S WORKS. 




From the Anti-Tory, Colonel J — es, 


TORY PLEDGES. 


To the Anti-Suttee, Mr P— ynd— r. 


I fledge myself through thick and thin, 


Such are the Pledges I propose ; 


To labor still, with zeal devout, 


And though I can't now offer gold, 


To get the Outs, poor devils, in, 


There's many a way of buying those 


And turn the Inns, the wretches, out. 


Who've but the taste for being sold. 


I pledge myself, though much bereft 


So here's, with three times three hurrahs, 


Of ways and means of ruling ill, 


A toast, of which you'll not complain, — 


To make the most of what are left, 


" Long !:*e to jobbing : may the days 


And stick to all that's rotten still. 


" Of Peculation shine again !" 


Though gone the days of place and pelf, 




And drones no more take all the honey, 
I pledge myself to cram myself 






With all I can of public money ; 




To quarter on that social purse 


ST. JEROME ON E,«RTH. 


My nephews, nieces, sisters, brothers, 




Nor, so we prosper, care a curse 


FIRST VISIT. 


How much 'tis at th' expense of others. 




I pledge myself, whenever Right 


1832. 

As St. Jerome, who died some ages ago, 


And Might on any point divide, 


Was sitting, one day, in the shades below, 


Not to ask which is black or white, 


" I've heard much of English bishops," quoth he, 


But take, at once, the strongest side. 


" And shall now take a trip to earth, to see 




" How far they agree, in their lives and ways, 


For instance, in all Tithe discussions, 


" With our good old bishops of ancient days." 


I'm for the Reverend encroachers : — 




I loathe the Poles, applaud the Russians, — 


He had learn'd — but Iearn'd without misgivings — 


Am for the Squires against the Poachers. 


Their love for good living, and eke good livings ; 




Not knowing (as ne'er having taken degrees) 


Betwixt the Corn-Lords and the Poor 


That good living means claret and fricassees, 


I've not the slightest hesitation, — 


While its plural means simply — pluralities. 


The people must be starved t' ensure 


" From all I hear," said the innocent man, 


The Land its due remuneration. 


"They are quite on the good old primitive plan. 




" For wealth and pomp they little can care, 


I pledge myself to be no more 

With Ireland's wrongs beprosed or shamm'd — 
I vote her grievances a bore, 


" As they all say < No' to th' Episcopal chair ; 

" And their vestal virtue it well denotes, 

" That they all, good men, wear petticoats." 


So she may suffer, and be d — d. 






Thus saying, post-haste to earth he hurries, 




And knocks at th' Archbishop of Canterbury's. 


Or if she kick, let it console us, 


The door was oped by a lackey in lace, 


We still have plenty of red coats, 


Saying, " What's your business with his Grace ?" 


To cram the Church, that general bolus, 


" His grace !" quoth Jerome — for posed was he, 


Down any giv'n amount of throats. 


Not knowing what sort this Grace could be ; 




Whether Grace preventing, Grace particular, 


I dearly love the Frankfort Diet, — 


Grace of that breed called Quinquarticular 1 — 


Think newspapers the worst of crimes ; 


In short, he rummaged his holy mind, 


And would, to give some chance of quiet, 


Th' exact description of Grace to find, 


Hang all the writers of The Times ; 


Which thus could represented be 




By a footman in full livery. 


Break all their correspondents' bones, 




All authors of " Reply," « Rejoinder," 


1 So called from the proceedings of the Synod of Dort. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



603 



At last, out loud in a laugh he broke, 

(For dearly the good saint loved his joke, 1 ) 

And said — surveying, as sly he spoke, 

The costly palace from roof to base — 

".Well, it isn't, at least, a saving Grace !" 

" Umph," said the lackey, a man of few words, 

" Th' Archbishop is gone to the House of Lords." 

- 11 To the House of the Lord, you mean, my son, 

" For in my time, at least, there was but one ; 

" Unless such many-jfoZd priests as these 

" Seek, ev'n in their Lord, pluralities !" 2 

" No time for gab," quoth the man in lace : 

Then, slamming the door in St. Jerome's face, 

With a curse to the single knockers all, 

Went to finish his port in the servants' hall, 

And propose a toast (humanely meant 

To include even Curates in its extent) 

" To all as serves th' Establishment." 



ST. JEROME ON EARTH. 



SECOND VISIT. , 

" This much I dare say, that, since lording and loitering 
hath come up, preaching hath come down, contrary to the 
Apostles' times. For they preached and lorded not: and 
now they lord and preach not Ever since the Pre- 
lates were made Lords and Nobles, the plough standeth; 
there is no work -done, the people starve." — Latimer-, Ser- 
mon of the Plough. 

" Once more," said Jerome, " I'll run up and see 

" How the Church goes on," — and off set he. 

Just then the packet-boat, which trades 

Betwixt our planet and the shades, 

Had arrived below, with a freight so queer, 

" My eyes !" said Jerome, " what have we here ?" — 

For he saw, when nearer he explored, 

They'd a cargo of Bishops' wigs aboard. 

" They are ghosts of wigs," said Charon, " all, 

" Once worn by nobs Episcopal. 3 

" For folks on earth, who've got a store 

" Of cast off things they'll want no more, 

" Oft send them down, as gifts, you know, 

" To a certain Gentleman here below." 



* Witness his well-known pun on the name of his adver- 
sary, Vigilantius, whom he calls facetiously Dormitantius. 

2 The suspicion attached to some of the early Fathers of 
being Arians in their doctrine would appear to derive some 
confirmation from this passage. 

8 The wig, which had so long formed an essential part of 
the dress of an English bishop, was at this time beginning 
tc be dispensed with. 



" A sign of the times, I plainly see," 
Said the Saint to himself as, pondering, he 
Sail'd off in the death-boat gallantly. 

Arrived on earth, quoth he, " No more 
" I'll affect a body, as before ; 
" For I think I'd best, in the company 
" Of Spiritual Lords, a spirit be, 
" And glide, unseen, from See to See." 
But oh ! to tell what scenes he saw, — 
It was more than Rabelais' pen could draw 
For instance, he found Ex — t — r, 
Soul, body, inkstand, all in a stir, — 
For love of God ? for sake of King ? 
For good of people ? — no such thing ; 
But to get for himself, by some new trick, 
A shove to a better bishoprick. 

He found that pious soul, Van M — Id — t, 

Much with his money-bags bewilder'd ; 

Snubbing the Clerks of the Diocese, 4 

Because the rogues show'd restlessness 

At having too little cash to touch, 

While he so Christianly bears too much. 

He found old Sarum's wits as gone 

As his own beloved text in John, 5 — 

Text he hath prosed so long upon, 

That 'tis thought when ask'd, at the gate of heaven, 

His name, he'll answer " John, v. 7." 

" But enough of Bishops I've had to-day," 

Said the weary Saint, — " I must away. 

" Though I own I should like, before I go, 

" To see for once (as I'm ask'd below 

" If really such odd sights exist) 

" A regular six-fold Pluralist." 

Just then he heard a general cry— * 

" There's Doctor Hodgson galloping by !" 

" Ay, that's the man," says the Saint, " to follow," 

And off he sets, with a loud view-hollo, 

At Hodgson's heels, to catch, if he can, 

A glimpse of this singular plural man. 

But,— talk of Sir Boyle. Roche's bird ! 6 

To compare him with Hodgson is absurd. 

" Which way, sir, pray, is the doctor gone ?" — 

" He is now at his living at Hillingdon." — 

" No, no, — you're out, by many a mile, 

" He's away at his Deanery, in Carlisle." — 



4 See the Bishop'.? Letter to Clergy of his Diocese. 

s 1 John, v. 7. A text which, though long given up by all 
the rest of the orthodox world, is still pertinaciously adhered 
to by this Right Reverend scholar. 

6 It was a saying of the well-known Sir Boyle, that "a 
man could not be in two places at o.ice, anless lie wai a 
bird." 



604 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" Pardon me, sir ; but I understand 

" He's gone to his living in Cumberland." — 

" God bless me, no, — he can't be there ; 

" You must try St. George's, Hanover Square." 

Thus all in vain the Saint inquired, 

From living to living, mock'd and tired ; — 

'Twas Hodgson here, 'twas Hodgson there, 

'Twas Hodgson nowhere, everywhere ; 

Till, fairly beat, the Saint gave o'er, 

And flitted away to the Stygian shore, 

To astonish the natives under ground 

With the comical things he on earth had found. 



THOUGHTS ON TAR BARRELS. 

(Vide Description of a late Fete. 1 ) 



1832. 



Vv *,AT a pleasing contrivance ! how aptly devised 
'Twixt tar and magnolias to puzzle one's noses ! 

And how the tar-barrels must all be surprised 
To find themselves seated like "Love among 



What a pity we can't, by precautions like these, 
Clear the air of that other still viler infection ; 

1 hat radical pest, that old whiggish disease, 

Of which cases, true-blue, are in every direction. 

'Stead of barrels, let's light up an Auto da Fe 

Of a few good combustible Lords of " the Club;" 
They would fume, in a trice, the Whig cholera 
away. 
And there's B — cky would burn like a barrel of 
bub. ' 

How R— d — n would blaze! and what rubbish 
throw out ! 
A volcano of nonsense, in active display ; 
While V— ne, as a butt, amidst laughter, would 
spout 
The hot nothings he's full of, all night and all day. 

And then, for a finish, there's C — mb — d's Duke, — 
Good Lord, how his chin-tuft would crackle in 
air! 

Unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his look) 
He's already bespoke for combustion elsewhere. 

» The M s of H— tf— d's Fete.— From dread of cholera 

his Lordship had ordered tar-barrels to be burned in Ivery 
direction. 

2 These verses, as well as some others that follow, (p. 608,) 
were extorted from me by that lamentable measure of the 
Whig ministry, the Irish Coercion Act. 



THE CONSULTATION; 



"When they do agree, their unanimity is wonderful." 

The Critic 

1833. 

Scene discovers Dr. Whig and Dr. Tory in consultation. 
Patient on thefioor between them. 

Dr. Whig. — This wild Irish patient does pester me 

so, 
That what to do with him, I'm cursed if I know ; 

I've promised him anodynes 

Dr. Tory. Anodynes! — Stuff. 

Tie him down — gag him well — he'll be tranouil 

enough. 
That's my mode of practice. 

Dr. Whig. True, quite in your lin« 

But unluckily not much, till lately, in mine. 

'Tis so painful 

Dr. Tory. — Pooh* nonsense — ask Ude how he 

feels, 
When, for Epicure feasts, he prepares his live eels, 
By flinging them in, 'twixt the bars of the fire, 
And letting them wriggle on there till they tire. 
He, too, says " 'tis painful"— " quite makes his heart 

bleed" — 
But " your eels are a vile, oleaginous breed." — 
He would fain use them gently, but Cookery says 

" No," 
And — in short — eels were born to be treated just 

so. 3 
'Tis the same with these Irish, — who're odder fish 

still,— 
Your tender Whig heart shrinks from using them 

ill; 
I, myself, in my youth, ere I came to get wise, 
Used, at some operations, to blush to the eyes ; — 
But, in fact, my dear brother, — if I may make bold 
To style you, as Peachum did Lockit, of old, — 
We, Doctors, must act with the firmness of Ude, 
And, indifferent like him, — so the fish is but 

stevv'd, — 
Must torture live Pats for the general good. 

[Here patient groans and kicks a little. 
Dr. Whig. — But what, if one's patient's so devilish 

perverse, 
That he wo'n't be thus tortured? 

Dr. Tory. Coerce, sir, coerce. 

3 This eminent artist, in the second edition of the work 
wherein he propounds this mode of purifying his eels, pro- 
fesses himself much concerned at the charge of inhumanity 
brought against his practice, but still begs leave respectfully 
to repeat that it is the only proper mode of preparing eels 
for the table. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



605 



You're a juvenile performer, but once you begin, 
You cant think how fast you may train your 

hand in : 
And (smiling) who knows but old Tory may take 

to the shelf, 
"With the comforting thought that, in place and in 

pelf, 
He's succeeded by one jast as — bad as himself? 
Dr. Whig, {looking flattered.) — Why, to tell you 

the truth, I've a small matter here, 
Which you help'd me to make for my patient last 

year, — 

[Goes-lo a cupboard and brings out 
a -strait icaistcoat and gag. 
And suck -est I've enjoy'd from his raving since 

then. 
That I have made up my mind he shall wear it 

again. 
Dr. Tory, (embracing him.) — Oh, charming ! 

Jly dear Doctor Whig, you're a treasure. 
Next to torturing myself, to help you is a pleasure. 
[Assisting Dr. Whig. 
Give me leave — I've some practice in these mad 

machines : 
There — tighter — the gag in the mouth, by all 

means. 
Delightful! — all's snug — not a squeak need you 

fear, — 
You may now put your anodynes off till next year. 

[Scene closes. 



TO THE REV. CH— RL— S OV— RT— N. 

CURATE OF ROMALDKIRK. 

AUTHOR OF THE POETICAL PORTRAITURE OF THE CHURCH. 1 

1833. 

Sweet singer of Romaldkirk, thou who at? eck- 

on'd, 
By critics Episcopal, David the Second, 2 
If thus, as a Curate, so lofty your flight, 
Only think, in a Rectory, how you would write ! 
Once fairly inspired by the " Tithe-crown'd Apollo," 
(Who beats, I confess it, our lay Phoebus hollow, 

i See Edinburgh Review, No. 117. 

' "Your Lordship." says Mr. Ov — rt — n, in the Dedication 
of his Poem to the Bishop of Chester, "has kindly expressed 
your persuasion that my ' Muse will always be a Muse of 
sacred song, and that it will be tuned as DaviiFs was.' " 

3 Sophocles. 

4 album mutor in alitem 

Superne : nascunturque laeves 

Per digitos, humerosque plums. 



Having gotten, besides the old Nine's inspiration, 
The Tenth of all eatable things in creation,) 
There's nothing, in fact, that a poet like you, 
So be-7iined and he-tenth' d, couldn't easily do. 
Round the lips of the sweet-tongued Athenian, 3 

they say, 
While yet but a babe in his cradle he lay, 
Wild honey-bees swarm'd, as a presage to tell 
Of the sweet-flowing words that thence afterwards 

fell. 
Just so round our Ov — rt — n's cradle, no doubt, 
Tenth ducklings and chicks were seen flitting about ; 
Goose embryos, waiting their doom'd decimation, 
Came, shadowing forth his adidt destination, 
And small, sucking tithe-pigs, in musical droves, 
Announced the Church poet whom Chester ap- 
proves. 

O Horace ! when thou, in thy vision ex. ^or*. 
Didst dream that a snowy-white plumage came o'er 
Thy etherealized limbs, stealing downily on, 
Till, by Fancy's strong spell, thou wert turnd to a 



Little thought'st thou such fate could a poet befall, 

Without any effort of fancy, at all ; 

Little thought'st thou the world would in Ov — rt — n 

find 
A bird, ready-made, somewhat different in kind, 
But as perfect as Michaelmas' self could produce, 
By gods yclept anser, by mortals a goose. 



SCENE 



FROM A PLAY, ACTED AT OXFORD, CALLED 



MATRICULATION. 



1S34. 



[Boy discovered at a table, with the Thirty-nine Articles 
before him.— Enter the Rt. Rev. Doctor Ph— Up— ts.] 

Doctor P. — There, my lad, lie the Articles — (Boy 
begins to count them) — just thirty-nine — 

No occasion to count — you've now only to sign. 

At Cambridge, where folks are less High-church 
than we, 

The whole Nine-and-Thirty are Iump'd into Three. 



5 " It appears that when a youth of fiAeen goes to be ma- 
triculated at Oxford, and is required first to subscribe Thirty- 
nine Articles of Religious Belief, this only means that he 
engages himself afterwards to understand what is now 
above his comprehension ; that he expresses no assent at all 
to what he signs; and that he is (or, ought to be) at full 
liberty, when he has studied the subject, to withdraw his 
provisional assent." — Edinburgh Review, No ISO. 



606 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Let's run o'er the items ; — there's Justification, 
Predestination, and Supererogation, — 
Not forgetting Salvation and Creed Athanasian, 
Till we reach, at last, Queen Bess's Ratification. 
That's sufficient — now, sign — having read quite 

enough, 
You " believe in the full and true meaning thereof?" 

{Boy stares.) 
Oh, a mere form of words, to make things smooth 

and brief, — 
A commodious and short make-believe of belief, 
Which our Church has drawn up, in a form thus 

articular, 
To keep out, in general, all who're particular. 
iJut what's the boy doing ? what ! reading all 

through, 
And my luncheon fast cooling ! — this never will do. 
Boy, {'poring over the Articles.) — Here are points 

which — pray, Doctor, what's "Grace of 

Congruity?" 
Dr. P. {sharply.) — You'll find out, young sir, 

when you've more ingenuity. 
At present, by signing, you pledge yourself merely, 
Whate'er it may be, to believe it sincerely. 
Both in dining and signing we take the same plan — 
First, swallow all down, then digest — as we can. 
Boy, {still reading.) — I've to gulp, I see, St. 

Athanasius's Creed, 
Which, I'm told, is a very tough morsel, indeed ; 

As he damns 

Dr. P. {aside.) — Ay, and so would /, willingly, 

too, 
All confounded particular young boobies, like you. 
This comes of Reforming ! — all's o'er with our land, 
When people won't stand what they can't under- 
stand ; 
Nor perceive that our ever-revered Thirty-Nine 
Were made, not for men to believe, but to sign. 

[Exit Dr. P. in a passion. 



LATE TITHE CASE. 



3ic vos non vobis.' 



1833. 



" The Vicar of B— mh— m desires me to state that, in con- 
sequence of the passing of a recent Act of Parliament, he is 
compelled to adopt measures which may by some be con- 
sidered harsh or precipitate ; but, in duty to what he owes to 
his successors, he feels bound to preserve the rights of the 
vicarage." — Letter from. Mr. S. Powell. August 6. 

No, not for yourselves, ye reverend men, 
Do you take one pig in every ten, 

1 Fourteen agricultural laborers (one of whom received 
so little as six guineas for yearly wages, one eight, one nine, 
another ten guineas, and the best paid of the whole not more 
than 18/. annually) were all, in the course of the autumn of 
1832, served with demands of tithe at the rate of 4d. in the 



But for Holy Church's future heirs, 

Who've an abstract right to that pig, as theirs ;— 

The law supposing that such heirs wale 

Are already seised of the pig, in tail 

No, not for himself hath B — mh — m's priest 

His " well-beloved" of their pennies fleeced : 

But it is that, before his prescient eyes, 

All future Vicars of B — mh — m rise, 

With their embryo daughters, nephews, nieces, 

And 'tis for them the poor he fleeces. 

He heareth their voices, ages hence, 

Saying, " Take the pig" — " oh take the pence ;' : 

The cries of little Vicarial dears, 

The unborn B — mh — mites, reach his ears ; 

And, did he resist that soft appeal, 

He would not like a true-born Vicar feel. 

Thou, too, L — ndy of . ^ — ck — ngt — n '. 

A Rector true, if e'er there was one, 

Who, for sake of the L — ndies of coming ages, 

Gripest the tenth of laborers' wages. 1 

'Tis true, in the pockets of thy small-clothes 

The claim'd " obvention" 2 of four-pence goes ; 

But its abstract spirit, unconfined, 

Spreads to all future Rector-kind, 

Warning them all to their rights to wake, 

And rather to face the block, the stake, 

Than give up their darling right to take 

One grain of musk, it is said, perfumes 
(So subtle its spirit) a thousand rooms, 
And a single four-pence, pocketed well, 
Through a thousand rectors' lives will tell. 
Then still continue, ye reverend souls, 
And still as your rich Pactolus rolls, 
Grasp eveiy penny on every side, 
From every wretch, to swell its tide : 
Remembering still what the Law lays down, 
In that pure poetic style of its own, 
" If the parson in esse submits to loss, he 
" Inflicts the same on the parson in posse." 



FOOL'S PARADISE. 

DREAM THE FIRST 

I have been, like Puck, I have been, in a trice, 
To a realm they call Fool's Paradise, 

1/. sterling, on behalf of the Re 1 ". F. T.~ dy, Rector of — , 

&c. &c— The Times, August, 1833 

2 One of the various general terms under which oblations, 
tithes, &c, are comprised. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



607 



Lying N. N. E. of the Land of Sense, 

And seldom bless'd with a glimmer thence. 

But they want it not in this happy place, 

Where a light of its own gilds every face ; 

Or, if some wear a shadowy brow, 

'Tis the wish to look wise, — not knowing how. 

Self-glory glistens o'er all that's there, 

The trees, the flowers have a jaunty air ; 

The well-bred wind in a whisper blows, 

The snow, if it snows, is couleur de rose, 

The falling founts in a titter fall, 

And the sun looks simpering down on all. 

Oh, 'tisn't in tongue or pen to trace 

The scenes I saw in that joyous place. 

There were Lords and Ladies sitting together, 

In converse sweet, " What charming weather !- 

" You'll all rejoice to hear, I'm sure, 

" Lord Charles has got a good sinecure ; 

" And the Premier says, my youngest brother 

" (Him in the Guards) shall have another. 

" Isn't this very, very gallant ! — 

" As for my poor old virgin aunt, 

" Who has lost her all, poor thing, at whist, 

" We must quarter her on the Pension List." 

Thus smoothly time in that Eden roll'd ; 

It seem'd like an Age of real gold, 

Where all who liked might have a slice, 

So rich was that Fool's Paradise. 

But the sport at which most time they spent, 

Was a puppet-show, call'd Parliament, 

Perform'd by wooden Ciceros, 

As large as life, who rose to prose, 

While, hid behind them, lords and squires, 

Who own'd the puppets, pull'd the wires ; 

And thought it the very best device 

Of that most prosperous Paradise, 

To make the vulgar pay through the nose 

For them and their wooden Ciceros. 

And many more such things I saw 

In this Eden of Church, and State, and Law ; 

Nor e'er were known such pleasant folk 

As those who had the best of the joke. 

There were Irish Rectors, such as resort 

To Cheltenham yearly, to drink — port, 

And bumper, " Long may the Church endure, 

" May her cure of souls be a sinecure, 

" And a score of Parsons to every soul — 

" A moderate allowance on the whole." 

There were Heads of Colleges, lying about, 

From which the sense had all run out, 

Even to the lowest classic lees, 

Till nothing was left but quantities; 



Which made them heads most fit to be 
Stuck up on a University, 
Which yearly hatches, in its schools, 
Such flights of young Elysian fools. 

Thus all went on, so snug and nice, 

In this happiest possible Paradise. 

But plain it was to see, alas ! 

That a downfall soon must come to pass. 

For grief is a lot the good and wise 

Don't quite so much monopolize, 

But that (" lapt in Elysium" as they are) 

Even blessed fools must have their share. 

And so it happen'd :— but what befell, 

In Dream the Second I mean to tell. 



THE RECTOR AND HIS CURATE 



OR, ONE POUND TWO. 

" I trust we shall part, as we met, in peace and charity. 
My last payment to you paid your salary up to the 1st of this 
month. Since that, I owe you for one month, which, being 
a long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as near as I can 
calculate, to six pounds eight shillings. My steward returns 
you as a debtor to the amount of seven pounds ten shil- 
lings for con-acre-ground, which leaves some trifling 
balance in my favor." — Letter of Dismissal from the Rev. 
Marcus Beresford to his Curate, the Rev. T. A. Lyons. 

The account is balanced — the bill drawn out, — 
The debit and credit all right, no doubt — 
The Rector, rolling in wealth and state, 
Owes to his Curate six pound eight ; 
The Curate, that least well-fed of men, 
Owes to his Rector seven pound ten, 
Which maketh the balance clearly due 
From Curate to Rector, one pound two. 

Ah balance, on earth unfair, uneven ! 
But sure to be all set right in heaven, 
Where bills like these will be check'd, some day, 
And the balance settled the other way : 
Where Lyons the curate's hard-wrung sum 
Will back to his shade with interest come ; 
And Marcus, the rector, deep may rue 
This tot, in his favor, of one pound two. 



«l 



608 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



PADDY'S METAMORPHOSIS. 1 



1833. 



About fifty years since, in the days of our daddies, 
That plan was commenced which the wise now 



Of shipping off Ireland's most turbulent Paddies, 
As good raw materials for settlers, abroad. 

Some West-Indian island, whose name I forget, 
Was the region then chosen for this scheme so 
romantic ; 
And such the success the first colony met, 

That a second, soon after, set sail o'er th' 
Atlantic. 

Behold them now safe at the long-look'd for shore, 
Sailing in between banks that the Shannon might 
greet, 
And thinking of friends whom, but two years 
before, 
They had sorrow'd to lose, but would soon again 
meet. 

And, hark ! from the shore a glad welcome there 
came — 
" Arrah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, my sweet 
boy?" 
While Pat stood astounded, to hear his own name 
Thus hail'd by black devils, who caper'd for joy ! 

Can it possibly be ? — half amazement — half doubt, 
Pat listens again — rubs his eyes and looks 
steady ; 
Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror yells out, 
" Good Lord ! only think — black and curly 
already !" 

Deceived by that well-mimick'd brogue in his ears, 
Pat read his own doom in these wool-headed 
figures, 
And thought, what a climate, in less than two 
years, 
To turn a whole cargo of Pats into niggers ! 

MORAL. 

'Tis thus, — but alas ! — by a marvel more true 
Than is told in this rival of Ovid's best stories, — 

Your Whigs, when in office a short year or two, 
By a lusus natures, all turn into Tories. 



J 1 have already in a preceding page referred to this squib, 
as being one of those wrung from me by the Irish Coercion 
Act of my friends, the Whigs. 



And thus, when I hear them " strong measures" 
advise, [steady, 

Ere the seats that they sit on have time to get 
I say, while I listen, with tears in my eyes, 

" Good Lord ! — only think, — black and curly 
already I" 



COCKER, ON CHURCH REFORM. 

FOUNDED UPON SOME LATE CALCULATIONS. 

1833. 

Fine figures of speech let your orators follow, 
Old Cocker has figures that beat them all hollow ; 
Though famed for* his rules Aristotle may be, 
In but half of this Sage any merit I see, 
For, as honest Joe Hume says, the " toitle"' for me ! 

For instance, while others discuss and debate, 
It is thus about Bishops / ratiocinate. 

In England, where, spite of the- infidel's laughter, 
'Tis certain our souls are look'd very well after, 
Two Bishops can weii (if judiciously sunder'd) 
Of parishes manage two thousand two hundred, — 
Said number of parishes, under said teachers, 
Containing three millions of Protestant creatures, — 
So that each of said Bishops full ably controls 
One million and five hundred thousands of souls. 
And now comes old Cocker. In Ireland we're told, 
Half a million includes the whole Protestant fold ; 
If, therefore, for three million souls 'tis conceded 
Two proper-sized Bishops are all that is needed, 
'Tis plain, for the Irish half million who want 'em, 
One third of one Bishop is just the right quantum. 
And thus, by old Cocker's sublime Rule of Three, 
The Irish Church question's resolved to a T ; 
Keeping always that excellent maxim in view, 
That, in saving men's souls, we must save money too. 

Nay, if — as St. Roden complains is the case — 
The half million of soul is decreasing apace, 
The demand, too, for bishop will also fall off, 
Till the tithe of one, taken in kind, be enough. 
But, as fractions imply that we'd have to dissect, 
And to cutting up Bishops I strongly object, 
We've a small, fractious prelate whom well we could 

spare, 
Who has just the same decimal worth, to a hair ; 
And, not to leave Ireland too much in the lurch, 
We'll let her have Ex — t — r, joZe, 3 as her Church. 



••* The total,— so pronounced by this industrious senator. 
3 Corporation sole. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



609 



LES HOMMES AUTOMATES. 

1834. 

" We are persuaded that this our artificial man will not 
only walk and speak, and perform most of the outward func- 
tions of animal life, but (being wound up once a week) will 
perhaps reason as well as most of your country parsons."— 
Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus, chap. xii. 

It being an object now to meet 
With Parsons that don't want to eat. 
Fit men to fill those Irish rectories, 
Which soon will have but scant refectories, 
It has been suggested, — lest that Church 
Should, all at once, be left in the lurch, 
For want of reverend men endued 
With this gift of ne'er requiring food, — 
To try, by way of experiment, whether 
There couldn't be made, of wood and leather/ 
(Howe'er the notion may sound chimerical,) 
Jointed figures not lay, 2 but clerical, 
Which, wound up carefully once a week, 
Might just like parsons look and speak, 
Nay even, if requisite, reason too, 
As well as most Irish parsons do. 

Th' experiment having succeeded quite, 

(Whereat those Lords must much delight, 

Who've shown, by stopping the Church's food, 

They think it isn't for her spiritual good 

To be served by parsons of flesh and blood, 

The Patentees of this new invention 

Beg leave respectfully to mention, 

They now are enabled to produce 

An ample supply, for present use, 

Of these reverend pieces of machinery, 

Ready for vicarage, rectory, deanery, 

Or any such-like post of skill 

That wood and leather are fit to fill. 

N. B. — In places addicted to arson, 

We can't recommend a wooden parson : 

But, if the Church any such appoints, 

They'd better, at least, have iron joints. 

In parts, not much by Protestants haunted, 

A figure to look afs all that's wanted — 

A block in black, to eat and sleep, 

Which (now that the eating's o'er) comes cheap. 

P. S. — Should the Lords, by .way of a treat, 
Permit the clergy again to eat, 
The Church will, of course, no longer need 
Imitation-parsons that never feed ; 

i The materials of which those Nuremberg Savans, men- 
tioned by Scriblerus, constructed their artificial man. 

a The wooden models used by painters are, it is well 
known, " lay figures." 



And these wood creatures of ours will sell 
For secular purposes just as well — 
Our Beresfords, turn'd to bludgeons stout, 
May, 'stead of beating their own about, 
Be knocking the brains of Papists out ; 
While our smooth O'Sullivans, by all means, 
Should transmigrate into turning machines. 



HOW TO MAKE ONE'S SELF A PEER, 

ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST RECEIPT, AS DISCLOSED 
IN A LATE HERALDIC WORK. 3 

1834. 

Choose some title that's dormant — the Peerage hath 

many — 
Lord Baron of Shamdos sounds nobly as any. 
Next, catch a dead cousin of said defunct Peer, 
And marry him off-hand, in some given year, 
To the daughter of somebody, — no matter who, — 
Fig, the grocer himself, if you're hard run, will do ; 
For, the Medici pills still in heraldry tell, 
And why shouldn't lollypops quarter as well ? 
Thus, having your couple, r^d one a lord's cousin, 
Young materials for peers may be had by the dozen ; 
And 'tis hard if, inventing each small mother's son 

of 'em, 
You can't somehow manage to prove yourself one 

of 'em. 
Should registers, deeds, and such matters refractory, 
Stand in the way of this lord-manufactory, 
I've merely to hint, as a secret auricular, 
One grand rule of enterprise, — don't be particular. 
A man who once takes such a jump at nobility, 
Must not mince the matter, like folks of nihility,* 
But clear thick and thin with true lordly agility. 

'Tis true, to a would-be descendant from Kings, 
Parish -registers sometimes are troublesome things ; 
As oft, when the vision is near brought about, 
Some goblin, in shape of a grocer, grins out ; 
Or some barber, perhaps, with my Lord mingles 

bloods, 
And one's patent of peerage is left in the suds. 

But there are ways — when folks are resolved to be 

lords — 
Of expurging ev'n troublesome parish records : 

3 The Claim to the barony of Chandos (if I recollect right) 
advanced by the late Sir Eg— r— t— n Br— d— s. 

* " This we call pure nihility, or mere nothing."— JVattt'a 
Logic 



610 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



What think ye of scissors ? depend on't no heir 
Of a Shamdos should go unsupplied with a pair, 
As, whate'er else the learn'd in such lore may invent, 
Your scissors does wonders in proving descent. 
Yes, poets may sing of those terrible shears 
With which Atropos snips off both bumpkins and 

peers, 
But they're naught to that weapon which shines in 

the hands 
Of some would-be Patrician, when proudly he stands 
O'er the careless churchwarden's baptismal array, 
And sweeps at each cut generations away. 
By some babe of old times is his peerage resisted? 
One snip, — and the urchin hath never existed ! 
Does some marriage, in days near the Flood, inter- 
fere 
With his one sublime object of being a Peer ? 
Quick the shears at once nullify bridegroom and 

bride, — 
No such people have ever lived, married, or died ! 

Such the newest receipt for those high-minded elves, 
Who've a fancy for making great lords of themselves. 
Follow this, young aspirer, who pant'st for a peerage, 
Take S — m for thy model and B — z for thy steerage, 
Do all and much worse than old Nicholas Flam does, 
And — who knows but you'll be Lord Baron of 
Shamdos ? 



THE DUKE IS THE LAD. 

Mr. — " A master I have, and I am his man, 
Galloping dreary dun." 

Castle of Jlndalusia. 

The Duke is ttv> lad to frighten a lass, 
Galloping, dreary duke ; 
The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, 
He's an ogre to meet, and the d — 1 to pass, 
With his charger prancing, 4 
Grim eye glancing, 
Chin, like a Mufti, 
Grizzled and tufty, 
Galloping, dreary Duke. 

Ye misses, beware of the neighborhood 
Of this galloping dreary Duke ; 
Avoid him, all who see no good 
In being run o'er by a Prince of the Blood. 

i See his Letters to Friends, lib. ix. epist. 19, 20, &c. 



For, surely, no nymph is 
Fond of a grim phiz, 
And of the married, 
Whole crowds have miscarried 
At sight of this dreary Duke. 



EPISTLE 



FROM . RASMUS ON EARTH TO CICERO IN THE 
SHADES. 

Southampton. 
As 'tis now, my dear Tully, some weeks since I 

started 
By rail-road, for earth, having vow'd, ere we parted, 
To drop you a line, by the Dead-Letter post, 
Just to say how I thrive, in my new line of ghost, 
And how deucedly odd this live world all appears, 
To a man who's been dead now for three hundred 

years, 
I take up my pen, and, with news of this earth, 
Hope to waken, by turns, both your spleen and your 

mirth. 

In my way to these shores, taking Italy first, 

Lest the change from Elysium too sudden should 

burst, 
I forgot not to visit those haunts where, of yore, 
You took lessons from Pcetus in cookery's lore, 1 
Turn'd aside from the calls of the rostrum and Muse, 
To discuss the rich merits of rotis and stews, 
And preferr'd to all honors of triumph or trophy, 
A supper on prawns with that rogue, little Sophy. 2 

Having dwelt on such classical musings awhile, 

I set-off, by a steamboat, for this happy isle, 

(A conveyance you ne'er, I think, sail'd by, my 

Tully, 
And therefore, per next, I'll describe it more fully,) 
Having heard, on the way, what distresses me 

greatly, 
That England's o'errun by idolaters lately, 
Stark, staring adorers of wood and of stone, 
Who will let neither stick, stock, or statue alone. 
Such the sad news I heard from a tall man in black, 
Who from sports continental was hurrying back, 
To look after his tithes ; — seeing, doubtless, 'twould 

follow, 
That, just as, of old, your great idol, Apollo, 



2 Ingentium squillarum cum Sophia Septiraiae. — Lib. ix. 
epist. 10. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



611 



DevourM all the Tenths, 1 so the idols in question, 

These wood and stone gods, may have equal diges- 
tion, 

And th' idolatrous crew, whom this Rector de- 
spises, 

May eat up the tithe-pig which he idolizes. 

London. 
'Tis all but too true — grim Idolatry reigns, 
In full pomp, over England's lost cities and plains ! 
On arriving just now, as my first thought and care 
Was, as usual, to seek out some near House of 

Prayer, 
Some calm, holy spot, fit for Christians to pray on, 
I was shown to — what think you? — a downright 

Pantheon ! 
A grand, pillar'd temple, with niches and halls, 2 
Full of idols and gods, which they nickname St. 

Paul's ; — 
Though 'tis clearly the place where the idolatrous 

crew, 
Whom the Rector complain'd of, their dark rites 

pursue ; 
And, 'mong all the " strange gods" Abraham's fath- 
er carved out, 3 
That he ever carved stranger than these I much 

doubt. 

Were it even, my dear Tolly, your Hebes and 
Graces, 

And such pretty things, that usurp'd the Saints' 
places, 

I shouldn't much mind, — for, in this classic dome, 

Such folks from Olympus would feel quite at home. 

But the gods they've got here ! — such a queer om- 
nium gatherum 

Of misbegot things, that no poet would father 'em ; — 

Britannias, in light, summer-wear for the skies, — 

Old Thames, turn'd to stone, to his no small sur- 
prise, — 

Father Nile, too, — a portrait, (in spite of what's 
said, 

That no mortal e'er yet got a glimpse of his head, 4 ) 

And a Ganges, which India would think somewhat 
fat for't, 

Unless 'twas some full-grown Director had sat 
for't ;— 

Not to mention th' et cceteras of Genii and 
Sphinxes, 

Fame, Victory, and other such semi-clad minxes ; — 



i Tithes were paid to the Pythian Apollo. 

2 See Dr. Wiseman's learned and able letter to Mr. Poynder. 

3 Joshua, xxiv. 2. 

4 " Nee contigit ulli 

Hoc vidisse caput." Claudian. 

6 Captains Mosse, Riou, &x. &c. 



Sea Captains, 6 — the idols here most idolized ; 

And of whom some, alas, might too well be com- 
prised 

Among ready-made Saints, as they died cannon- 
ized ; — 

With a multitude more of odd cockneyfied deities, 

Shrined in such pomp that quite shocking to see it 
'tis ; 

Nor know I what better the Rector could do 

Than to shrine there his own beloved quadruped too ; 

As most surely a tithe-pig, whate'er the world 
thinks, is 

A much fitter beast for a church than a Sphinx is. 

But I'm call'd off to dinner — grace just has been 

said, 
And my host waits for nobody, living or dead. 



LINES 6 

ON THE DEPARTURE OF LORDS C ST R GH AND 

ST W RT FOR THE CONTINENT. 

JJt Paris'' et Fratres, et qui rapuere sub illis, 
Vix tenuere manus (scis hoc, Menelae) nefandas. 

Ovid, Metam. lib. xiii. v. 202. 

Go, Brothers in wisdom — go, bright pair of Peers, 
And may Cupid and Fame fan you both with 
their pinions ! 

The one, the best lover we have — of his years, 
And the other Prime Statesman of Britain's .do- 



Go, Hero of Chancery, blest with the smile 

Of the Misses that love, and the monarchs that 
prize thee ; 
Forget Mrs. Ang — lo T — yl — r awhile, 

And all tailors but him who so' well dandifies 
thee. 

Never mind how thy juniors in gallantry scoff, 
Never heed how perverse affidavits may thwart 
thee, 

But show the young Misses thou'rt scholar enough 
To translate " Amor Fortis" a love, about forty ! 



6 This and the following squib, which must have been 
written about the year 1815-16, have been by some over- 
sight misplaced. 

7 Ovid is mistaken in 3aying that it was " at Paris" these 
rapacious transactions took place — we should read "at 
Vienna." 



612 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And sure 'tis no wonder, when, fresh as young 
Mars, 
From the battle you came, with the Orders you'd 
earn'd in't, 
That sweet Lady Fanny should cry out " My stars / 
And forget that the Moon, too, was some way 
concern'd in't. 

For not the great R — g — t himself has endured 
(Though I've seen him with badges and orders 
all shine, 

Till he look'd like a house that was over insured) 
A much heavier burden of glories than thine. 

And 'tis plain, when a wealthy young lady so 
mad is, 
Or any young ladies can so go astray, 
As to marry old Dandies that might be their dad- 
dies, 
The stars 1 are in fault, my Lord St — w — rt, not 
they! 

Thou, too, t'other brother, thou Tully of Tories, 

Thou Malaprop Cicero, over whose lips 
Such a smooth rigmarole about " monarchs," and 
" glories," 
And " nullidge, m and " features," like syllabub 
slips. 

Go, haste, at the Congress pursue thy vocation 
Of adding fresh sums to this National Debt of 
ours, 
Leaguing with Kings, who, for mere recreation, 
Break promises, fast as your Lordship breaks met- 
aphors. 

Fare ye well, fare ye well, bright Pair of Peers, 
And may Cupid and Fame fan you both with 
their pinions ! 
The one, the best lover we have — of his years, 
And the other, Prime Statesman of Britain's do- 
minions. 



1 " When weak women go astray, 

The stars are more in fault than tney." 

a It is thus the noble lord pronounces the word " know- 
ledge"— deriving it, as far as his own share is concerned, 
from the Latin, " nullus." 

3 Sic te Diva potens Cypri, 

Sic fratres Helena, lucida sidera, 
Ventorumque regat pater. 

4 See a description of the olgkoi, or Bags of Eolus, in the 
Odyssey, lib. 10. 

6 Navis, quae tibi creditum 

Debes Virgilium. 
6 Animse dimidium meum. 



TO THE SHIP 

IN WHICH LORD C ST R GH SAILED FOR THS 

CONTINENT. 

Imitated from Horace, lib. i., ode 3. 

So may my Lady's prayers prevail, 3 

And C — nn — g's too, and lucid Br — gge's, 
And Eld — n beg a favoring gale 

From Eolus, that older Bags,* 
To speed thee on thy destined way, 
Oh ship, that bear'st our C — st — r — gh,* 
Our gracious R — g — t's better half, 6 

And, therefore, quarter of a King — 
(As Van, or any other calf, 

May find, without much figuring.) 
Waft him, oh ye kindly breezes, 

Waft this Lord of place and pelf, 
Anywhere his Lordship pleases, 

Though 'twere to Old Nick himself ! 

Oh, what a face of brass was his, 7 
Who first at Congress show'd his phiz — 
To sign away the Rights of Man 

To Russian threats and Austrian juggle ; 
And leave the sinking African 8 

To fall without one saving struggle — 
'Mong ministers from North and South, 

To show his lack of shame and sense, 
And hoist the Sign of " Bull and Mouth" 

For blunders and for eloquence ! 

In vain we wish our Sees, at home 9 

To mind their papers, desks, and shelves, 

If silly Sees, abroad will roam, 

And make such noodles of themselves. 

But such hath always been the case — 

For matchless impudence of face, 

There's nothing like your Tory race ! 10 

First, Pitt, 11 the chosen of England, taught her 

A taste for famine, fire, and slaughter. 

7 Illi robur et aes triplex 

Circa pectus erat, qui, &c. 

• praecipitem Africum 

Decertantem Aquilonibus. 

• Nequicquam Deus abscidit 

Prudens oceano dissociabili 
Terras, si tainen impiae 

Non tangenda Rates transiliunt vada. 
This last line, we may suppose, alludes to some distin- 
guished Rats that attended the voyager. 
io Audax omnia perpeti 

Gens ruit per vetitum nefas. 
M Audax Japeti genus 

Ignem fraude mala gentibus intulit. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



613 



-b — s, 



Then came the Doctor, 1 for our ease, 
With E— d— ns, Ch— th— ras, H— wk- 
And other deadly maladies. 
When each, in turn, had run their rigs, 
Necessity brought in the Whigs : 2 
And oh, I blush, I blush to say, 

When these, in turn, were put to flight, too, 
Illustrious T — mp — e flew away 

With lots of pens he had no right to ,' 3 
In short, what will not mortal man do? 4 

And now, that — strife and bloodshed past — 
We've done on earth what harm we can do, 

We gravely take to Heaven at last, 5 
And think its favorite smile to purchase 
(Oh Lord, good Lord !) by — building churches ! 



True, true," said the hag, looking arch at her 



SKETCH OF THE FIRST ACT OF A 
NEW ROMANTIC DRAMA. 

" And now," quoth the goddess, in accents jocose, 
" Having got good materials, I'll brew such a dose 
" Of Double X mischief as, mortals shall say, 
" They've not known its equal for many a long day." 
Here she wink'd to her subaltern imps to be steady, 
And all wagg'd their fire-tipp'd tails and stood ready. 

" So, now for th' ingredients : — first, hand me that 

bishop ;" 
Whereon, a whole bevy of imps run to fish up, 
From cut a large reservoir, wherein they pen 'em, 
The blackest of all its black dabblers hi venom ; 
And wrapping him up (lest the virus should ooze, 
And one " drop of th' immortal" 6 Right Rev. 7 they 

might lose) 
In the sheets of his own speeches, charges, reviews, 
Pop him into the caldron, while loudly a burst 
From the by-standers welcomes ingredient the first ! 

" Now fetch the Ex-Chancellor," mutter'd the 

dame — 
" He who's call'd after Harry the Older, by name." 
" The Ex-Chancellor !" echo'd her imps, the whole 

crew of 'em — 
" Why talk of one Ex, when your Mischief has two 

of 'em ?" 



Post 

. . . macies, et nova febrium 
Terris incubit cohors. 



tarda necessitas 

Lethi corripuit gradum. 

Expertus vacuum Daedalus aera 
Pennis non homini datis. 



" And a double-.E:E dose they compose, in them- 
selves." 
This joke, the sly meaning of which was seen lucidly, 
Set all the devils a laughing most deucedly, 
So, in went the pair, and (what none thought 

surprising) 
Show'd talents for sinking as great as for rising ; 
While not a grim phiz hi that realm but was 

lighted 
With joy to see spirits so twin-like united — 
Or (plainly to speak) two such birds of a feather, 
In one mess of venom thus spitted together. 
Here a flashy imp rose — some connection, no doubt, 
Of the young lord in question — and, scowling 

about, 
" Hoped his fiery friend. St — nl — y, would not be left 

out ; 
" As no schoolboy unwhipp'd, the whole world must 

agree, 
" Loved mischief, pure mischief, more dearly than 

he." 

But, no — the wise hag wouldn't hear of the 

whipster ; 
Not merely because, as a shrew, he eclipsed her, ' 
And nature had given him, to keep him still young, 
Much tongue in his head and no head in his tongue ; 
But because she well knew that, for change ever 

ready, 
He'd not even to mischief keep properly steady ; 
That soon even the wro?ig side would cease to delight, 
And, for want of a change, he must swerve to the 

right; 
While, on each, so at random his missiles he threw, 
That the side he attack'd was most safe of the two. — 
This ingredient was therefore put by on the shelf, 
There to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by itself. 
" And now," quoth the hag, as her caldron she eyed, 
And the titbits so friendlily rankling inside, 
" There wants bvit some seasoning ; — so, come, ere 

I stew 'em, 
" By way of a relish, we'll throw in ' + John Tuam.' 
" In cooking up mischief, there's no flesh or fish 
" Like your meddling High Priest, to add zest to the 

dish." 
Thus saying, she pops in the Irish Grand Lama — 
Which great event ends the First Act of the Drama. 

This alludes to the 1200J. worth of stationery, which his 
Lordship is said to have ordered, when on the point of vaca- 
ting his place. 

4 Nil mortalibus arduum est. 

6 Coelum ipsum petimus stultitia. 

6 " To lose no drop of the immortal man." 

7 The present Bishop of Ex— t— r. 



614 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 

Though famed was Mesmer, in his day, 

Nor less so, in ours, is Dupotet, 

To say nothing of all the wonders done 

By that wizard, Dr. Elliotson, 

When, standing as if the gods to invoke, he 

Up waves his arm, and — down drops Okey I 1 

Though strange these things, to mind and sense, 
If you wish still stranger things to see — 

If you wish to know the power immense 

Of the true magnetic influence, 
Just go to her Majesty's Treasury, 

And learn the wonders working there — 

And I'll be hang'd if you don't stare ! 

Talk of your animal magnetists, 

And that wave of the hand no soul resists, 

Not all its witcheries can compete 

With the friendly beckon towards Downing Street, 

Which a Premier gives to one who wishes 

To taste of the Treasury loaves and fishes. 

It actually lifts the lucky elf, 

Thus acted upon, above himself; — 

He jumps to a state of clairvoyance, 

And is placeman, statesman, all, at once ! 

These effects observe, (with which I begin,) 
Take place when the patient's motion'd in ; 
Far different, of course, the mode of affection, 
When the wave of the hand's in the out direction ; 
The effects being then extremely unpleasant, 

As is seen in the case of Lord B m, at present ; 

In whom this sort of manipulation 

Has lately produced such inflammation, 

Attended with constant irritation, 

That, in short — not to mince his situation — 

It has work'd in the man a transformation 

That puzzles all human calculation ! 

Ever since the fatal day which saw 

That " pass" 2 perform'd on this Lord of Law — 

A pass potential, none can doubt, 

As it sent Harry B m to the right about — 

The condition in which the patient has been 
Is a thing quite awful to be seen. 
Not that a casual eye could scan 

This wondrous change by outward survey ; 
It being, in fact, th' interior man 

That's turn'd completely topsy-turvy : — 
Like a case that lately, in reading o'er 'em, 
I found in the Acta Eruditorum, 

i The name of the heroine of the performances at the 
North London Hospital. 

2 The technical term for the movements of the magnetizer's 
hand. 



Of a man in whose inside, when disclosed, 

The whole order of things was found transposed ;• 

By a lusus natures, strange to see, 

The liver placed where the heart should be, 

And the spleen (like B m's, since laid on the 

shelf) 
As diseased and as much out of place as himself. 

In short, 'tis a case for consultation, 

If e'er there was one, in this thinking nation j 

And therefore I humbly beg to propose, 

That those savans who mean, as the rumor goes, 

To sit on Miss Okey's wonderful case, 

Should also Lord Harry's case embrace ; 

And inform us, in both these patients' states, 

Which ism it is that predominates, 

Whether magnetism and somnambulism, 

Or, simply and solely, mountebankism. 



THE SONG OF THE BOX. 

Let History boast of her Romans and Spartans, 
And tell how they stood against tyranny's shocks ; 

They were all, I confess, in my eye, Betty Martins, 
Compared to George Gr — te and his wonderful 
Box. 

Ask, where Liberty now has her seat? — Oh, it isn't 
By Delaware's banks or on Switzerland's rocks ; — 

Like an imp in some conjuror's bottle imprison'd, 
She's slyly shut up in Gr — te's wonderful Box. 

How snug ! — 'stead of floating through ether's do- 
minions, 

Blown this way and that, by the "populi vox," 
To fold thus in silence her sinecure pinions, 

And go fast asleep in Gr — te's wonderful Box. 

Time was, when free speech was the life-breath of 
freedom — 
So thought once the Seldens, the Hampdens, the 
Lockes ; 
But mute be our troops, when to ambush we lead 
'em, 
For " Mum" is the word with us Knights of the 
Box. 

Pure, exquisite Box ! no corruption can soil it ; 
There's Otto of Rose, in each breath it unlocks ; 

a Omnes fere internas corporis partes inverso ordine sitas. 
—Act. Erudit. 1G90. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



615 



While Gr— te is the " Betty," that serves at the toilet, 
And breathes all Arabia around from his Box. 1 

'Tis a singular fact, that the famed Hugo Grotius, 2 
(A namesake of Gr — te's — being both of Dutch 
stocks,) 

Like Gr — te, too, a genius profound as precocious, 
Was also, like him, much renown'd for a Box ; — 

An immortal old clothes-box, in which the great 
Grotius 

When suffering, in prison, for views heterodox, 
Was pack'd up incog., spite of jailers ferocious, 3 

And sent to his wife, 4 carriage free, in a Box ! 

But the fame of old Hugo now rests on the shelf, 
Since a rival hath risen that all parallel mocks ; — 

That Grotius ingloriously saved but himself, 
While ours saves the whole British realm by a 
Box! 

And oh when, at last, even this greatest of Gr — tes 
Must bend to the Power that at every door 
knocks, 5 
May he drop in the urn like his own "silent 
votes," 
And the tomb of his rest be a large Ballot-Box. 



While long at his shrine, both from county and city, 

Shall pilgrims triennially gather in flocks, 
And sing, while they whimper, th' appropriate 
ditty, 
" Oh breathe not his name, let it sleep — in the 
Box." 



ANNOUNCEMENT OF A NEW THALABA. 

ADDRESSED TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. 

When erst, my Southey, thy tuneful tongue 
The terrible tale of Thalaba sung — 
Of him, the Destroyer, doom'd to rout 
That grim divan of conjurors out, 



i And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. 

Pope's Rape of the Lock. 

> Gfroot, or Grote, Latinized into Grotius. 

3 For the particulars of this escape of Grotius from the 
Castle of Louvenstein, by means of a box (only three feet 
and a half long, it is said) in which books used to be occa- 
sionally sent to him and foul linen returned, see any of the 
Biographical Dictionaries. 



Whose dwelling dark, as legends say, 
Beneath the roots of the ocean lay, 
(Fit place for deep ones, such as they,) 
How little thou knew'st, dear Dr. Southey, 
Although bright genius all allow thee, 
That, some years thence, thy wond'ring eyes 
Should see a second Thalaba rise — 
As ripe for ruinous rigs as thine, 
Though his havoc lie in a different line, 
And should find this new, improved Destroyer 
Beneath the wig of a Yankee lawyer ; 
A sort of an " alien," alias man, 
Whose country or party guess who can, 
Being Cockney h& jf, half Jonathan ; 
And his life, to make the thing completer, 
Being all in the genuine Thalaba metre, 
Loose and irregular as thy feet are ; — 
First, into Whig Pindarics rambling, 
Then in low Tory doggrel scrambling ; 
Now love his theme, now Church his glory, 
(At once both Tory and ama-tory,) 
Now in th' Old Bailey-Zay meandering, 
Now in soft couplet style philandering ; 
And, lastly, in lame Alexandrine, 
Dragging his wounded length along, 6 
When scourged by Holland's silken thong. 

In short, dear Bob, Destroyer the Second 

May fairly a match for the First be reckon'd ; 

Save that your Thalaba's talent lay 

In sweeping old conjurors clean away, 

While ours at aldermen deals his blows, 

(Who no great conjurors are, God knows,) 

Lays Corporations, by wholesale, level, 

Sends Acts of Parliament to the devil, 

Bullies the whole Milesian race — 

Seven millions of Paddies, face to face ; 

And, seizing that magic wand, himself, 

Which erst thy conjurors left on the shelf, 

Transforms the boys of the Boyne and Liffey 

All into foreigners, in a jiffey — 

Aliens, outcasts, every soul of 'em, 

Born but for whips and chains, the whole of 'em ! 

Never, in short, did parallel 
Betwixt two heroes gee so well ; 
And, among the points in which they fit, 
There's one, dear Bob, I can't omit. 



4 This is not quite according to the facts of the case ; his 
wife having been the contriver of the stratagem, and re- 
mained in the prison herself to give him time for escape. 

5 Pallida Mors aequo pulsat pede, &c. — Horat 

6 " A needless Alexandrine ends the song 

That, like a wounded snake, drags its slipw length 
along." 



616 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



That hacking', hectoring blade of thine 
Dealt much in the Domdaniel line ;* 
And 'tis but rendering justice due, 
To say that ours and his Tory crew 
Damn Daniel most devoutly too. 



RIVAL TOPICS. 8 

AN EXTRAVAGANZA. 

Oh W — II — ngt — n and Stephenson, 

Oh morn and evening papers, 
Times, Herald, Courier, Globe, and Sun, 
When will ye cease our ears to stun 

With these two heroes' capers ? 
Still " Stephenson" and " W— 11— ngt— n," 

The everlasting two ! — 
Still doom'd, from rise to set of sun, 
To hear what mischief one has done, 

And t'other means to do : — 
What bills the banker pass'd to friends, 

But never meant to pay ; 
What Bills the other wight intends, 

As honest, in their way ; — 
Bills, payable at distant sight, 

Beyond the Grecian kalends, 
When all good deeds will come to light, 
When W — 11 — ngt — n will do what's right, 

And Rowland pay his balance. 

To catch the banker all have sought, 

But still the rogue unhurt is ; 
While t'other juggler — who'd have thought? 
Though slippery long, has just been caught 

By old Archbishop Curtis ; — 
And, such the power of papal crook, 

The crosier scarce had quiver'd 
About his ears, when, lo, the Duke 

Was of a Bull deliver'd ! 

Sir Richard Birnie doth decide 

That Rowland " must be mad," 
In private coach, with crest, to ride, 

When chaises could be had. 
And t'other hero, all agree, 

St. Luke's will soon arrive at, 
If thus he shows off publicly, 

When he might pass in private. 

Oh W — 11 — ngt — n, oh Stephenson, 
Ye ever -boring pair, 

"Vain are the spells, the Destroyer 
Treads the Domdaniel floor." 

Thalaba, a Metrical Romance. 



Where'er I sit, or stand, or run, 

Ye haunt me everywhere. 
Though Job had patience tough enough, 

Such duplicates would try it ; 
Till one's turn'd out and t'other off, 

We shan't have peace or quiet 
But small's the chance that Law affords — 

Some folks are daily let off; 
And, 'twixt th' Old Bailey and the Lords, 

They both, I fear, will get off. 



THE BOY STATESMAN. 

BY A TORY. 

"That boy will be the death of me." Mathews at Home. 

Ah, Tories dear, our ruin is near, 

With St — nl — y to help us, we can't but fall ; 
Already a warning voice I hear, 
Like the late Charles Mathews' croak in my ear, 

" That boy— that boy'll be the death of you all." 

He will, God help us ! — not even Scriblerius 
In the " Art of Sinking" his match could be ; 

And our case is growing exceeding serious, 
For, all being in the same boat as he, 
If down my Lord goes, down go we, 
Lord Baron St — nl — y and Company, 

As deep in Oblivion's swamp below 

As such " Masters Shallow" well could go ; 

And where we shall all, both low. and high, 

Embalm'd in mud, as forgotten lie 

As already doth Gr — h — m of Netherby ! 

But that boy, that boy ! — there's a tale I know, 

Which in talking of him comes a propos. 

Sir Thomas More had an only son, 

And a foolish lad was that only one, 

And Sir Thomas said, one day, to his wife, 

" My dear, I can't but wish you joy, 

" For you pray'd for a boy, and you now have a boy, 
" Who'll continue a boy to the end of his life." 

Even such is our own distressing lot, 

With the ever-young statesman we have got ; — 

Nay even still worse ; for Master More 

Wasn't more a youth than he'd been before, 

While ours such power of boyhood shows, 

That, the older he gets, the more juvenile he grows, 



2 The date of this squib must have been, I think, tbout 
1828-9. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



617 



And, at what extreme old age he'll close 
His schoolboy course, heaven only knows ; — 
Some century hence, should he reach so far, 

And ourselves to witness it heaven condemn, 
We shall find him a sort of cub Old Parr, 

A whipper-snapper Methusalem ; 
Nay, ev'n should he make still longer stay of it, 
The boy'll want judgment, ev'n to the day of it ! 
Meanwhile, 'tis a serious, sad infliction ; 

And, day and night, with awe I recall 
The late Mr. Mathews' solemn prediction, 

" That boy'll be the death, the death of you all." 



LETTER 



from larry o'branigan to the rev. murtagh 
o'mulligan. 

Arrah, where were you, Murthagh, that beautiful 
day?— 
Or, how came it your riverence was laid on the 
shelf, 
When that poor craythur, Bobby — as you were 
away — 
Had to make twice as big a Tom-fool of himself. 

Throth, it wasn't at all civil to lave in the lurch 
A boy so desarving your tindh'rest affection ; — 

Two such iligant Siamase twins of the Church, 
As Bob and yourself, ne'er should cut the con- 
nection. 

If thus in two different directions you pull, 

'Faith, they'll swear that yourself and your 
riverend brother 
Are like those quare foxes, in Gregory's Bull, 

Whose tails were join'd one way, while they 
look'd another I 1 

Och bless' d be he, whosomdever he be, 

That help'd soft Magee to that Bull of a Letther! 
Not ov'n my own self, though I sometimes make 
free 
At such bull -manufacture, could make him a 
betther. 



i " You will increase the enmity with which they are re- 
garded by their associates in heresy, thus tying these foxes 
by the tails, that their faces may tend in opposite directions.' 
—Bob's Bull, read at Exeter Hall, July 14. 

2 " An ingenious device of my learned friend." — Bob's 
Letter to Standard. 

3 Had I consulted only my own wishes, I should not have 
allowed thi5 hasty attack on Dr. Todd to have made its ap- 



To be sure, when a lad takes to for girt, this way, 
'Tisathriekhe'smuch timpted to carry on gayly; 

Till, at last, his " injanious devices," 2 some day, 
Show him up, not at Exether Hall, but th' Ould 

Bailey. 

That parsons should forge thus appears mighty odd, 
And (as if somethin' " odd" in their names, too, 
must be,) 

One forger, of ould, was a riverend Dod, 

While a riverend Todd's now his match, to a T. 9 

But, no matther who did it — all blessins betide him, 

For dishin' up Bob, in a manner so nate ; 
And there wanted but you, Murthagh 'vourneen, 
beside him, 
To make the whole grand dish of bull-cCi com- 
plate. 



MUSINGS OF AN UNREFORMED PEER. 

Of all the odd plans ■ of this monstrously queer age, 
The oddest is that of reforming the peerage ; — 
Just as if we, great dons, with a title and star, 
Did not get on exceedingly well, as we are, 
And perform all the functions of noodles, by birth, 
As completely as any born noodles on earth. 

How acres descend, is in law-books display'd, 
But we as wiseacres descend, ready made ; 
And, by right of our rank in Debrett's nomen- 
clature, 
Are, all of us, born legislators by nature ; — 
Like ducklings, to water instinctively taking, 
So we, with like quackery, take to law-making ; 
And God forbid any reform should come o'er us, 
To make us more wise than our sires were before us. 

Th' Egyptians of old the same policy knew — 
If your sire was a cook, you must be a cook too : 
Thus making, from father to son, a good trade 

of it, 
Poisoners by right, (so no more could be said of it,) 
The cooks, like our lordships, a pretty mess made 

of it ; 



pearance in this Collection ; being now fully convinced that 
the charge brought against that reverend gentleman of in- 
tending to pass off as genuine his famous mock Papal Letter 
was altogether unfounded. Finding it to be the wish, how- 
ever, of my reverend friend — as lam now glad to be permitted 
to call him— that both the wrong and the reparation, the Ode 
and the Palinode, should be thus placed in juxtaposition, l 
have thought it but due to him to comply with his request. 



618 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



While, famed for conservative stomachs, th' Egyp- 
tians 
Without a wry face bolted all the prescriptions. 

It is true, we've among us some peers of the past, 
Who keep pace with the present most awfully fast — 
Fruits, that ripen beneath the new light now arising 
With speed that to us, old conserves, is surprising, 
Conserves, in whom — potted, for grandmamma 

uses — 
'Twould puzzle a sunbeam to find any juices. 
'Tis true, too, I fear, midst the general movement, 
Ev'n our House, God help it, is doom'd to im- 
provement, 
And all its live furniture, nobly descended, 
But sadly worn out, must be sent to be mended. 

With moveables 'mong us, like Br m and like 

D— rh— m, 
No wonder ev'n fixtures should learn to bestir 'em ; 
And, distant, ye gods, be that terrible day, 
When — as playful Old Nick, for his pastime, 

they say, 
Flies off with old houses, sometimes, in a storm — 
So ours may be whipp'd off, some night, by Reform ; 
And, as up, like Loretto's famed house, 1 through 

the air, 
Not angels, but devils, our lordships shall bear, 
Grim, radical phizzes, unused to the sky, 
Shall flit round, like cherubs, to wish us " good-by," 
While, perch'd up on clouds, little imps of ple- 
beians, 
Small Grotes and O'Connells, shall sing Io Paeans. 



THE REVEREND PAMPHLETEER. 

A ROMANTIC BALLAD. 

Oh, have you heard what happ'd of late ? 

If not, come len; an ear, 
While sad I state the piteous fate 

Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

All praised his skilful jockeyship, 

Loud rung the Tory cheer, 
While away, away, with spur and whip, 

Went the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

The nag he rode — how could it err? 
'Twas the same that took, last year, 



i The Casa Santa, supposed to have been carried by angels 
through the air from Galilee to Italy. 



That wonderful jump to Exeter 
With the Reverend Pamphleteer 

Set a beggar on horseback, wise men say, 
The course he will take is clear ; 

And in that direction lay the way 
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

" Stop, stop," said Truth, but vain her cry — 

Left far away in the rear, 
She heard but the usual gay " Good-by" 

From her faithless Pamphleteer. 

You may talk of the jumps of Homer's gods, 
When cantering o'er our sphere — 

I'd back for a bounce, 'gainst any odds, 
This Reverend Pamphleteer. 

But ah, what tumbles s jockey hath ! 

In the midst of his career, 
A file of the Times lay right in the path 

Of the headlong Pamphleteer. 

Whether he tripp'd or shy'd thereat, 

Doth not so clear appear : 
But down he came, as his sermons flat— 

This Reverend Pamphleteer ! 

Lord King himself could scarce desire 

To see a spiritual Peer 
Fall much more dead, in the dirt and mire, 

Than did this Pamphleteer. 

Yet pitying parsons, many a day, 

Shall visit his silent bier, 
And, thinking the while of Stanhope, say, 

" Poor dear old Pamphleteer ! 

" He has finish'd, at last, his busy span, 

" And now lies coolly here — 
" As often he did in life, good man, 

" Good, Reverend Pamphleteer !" 



A RECENT DIALOGUE. 

A Bishop and a bold dragoon, 

Both heroes in their way, 
Did thus, of late, one afternoon, 

Unto each other say ; — 
" Dear bishop," quoth the brave hursar, 

" As nobody denies 



1825. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



619 



" That you a wise logician are, 

" And I am — otherwise, 
" 'Tis fit that in this question, we 

" Stick each to his own art — ■ 
" That yours should be the sophistry, 

" And mine the fighting part. 
" My creed, I need not tell you, is 

" Like that of W n, 

" To whom no harlot comes amiss, 

" Save her of Babylon ; J 
" And when we're at a loss for words, 

" If laughing reasoners flout us, 
« For lack of sense we'll draw our sworas— 

" The sole thing sharp about us." — 
" Dear bold dragoon," the bishop said, 

" 'Tis true for war thou art meant ; 
" And reasoning — bless that dandy head ! 

" Is not in thy department. 
" So leave the argument to me — 

" And, when my holy labor 
" Hath lit the fires of bigotry, 

" Thou'lt poke them with thy sabre. 
" From pulpit and from sentry-box, 

" We'll make our joint attacks, 
" I at the head of my Cassocks, 

" And you of your Cossacks. 
" So here's your health, my brave hussar, 

" My exquisite old fighter — 
" Success to bigotry and war, 

" The musket and the mitre !" 
Thus pray'd the minister of heaven — 

While Y — k, just entering then, 
Snored out, (as if some Clerk had given 

His nose the cue,) " Amen." 

* T. B. 



THE WELLINGTON SPA. 

" And drink oblivion to our woes." — Anna Matilda. 

1829. 
Talk no more of your Cheltenham and Harrowgate 
springs, 
'Tis from Lethe we now our potations must draw ; 
Your Lethe's a cure for — all possible things, 

And the doctors have named it the Wellington 



Other physical waters but cure you in part ; 

One cobbles your gout — f other mends your di- 
gestion — 

1 Cni nulla meretrix displicuit prater Babylonicam. 



Some settle your stomach, but this — bless your 
heart ! — 
It will settle, forever, your Catholic Question. 

Unlike, too, the potions in fashion at present, 
This Wellington nostrum, restoring by stealth, 

So purges the mem'ry of all that's unpleasant, 
That patients forget themselves into rude health. 

For instance, th' inventor — his having once said 
" He should think himself mad, if, at any one's 
call, 
" He became what he is" — is so purged from his 
head, 
That he now doesn't think he's a madman at all. 

Of course, for your mem'ries of very long stand- 
ing- 
Old chronic diseases, that date back, undaunted, 

To Brian Boroo and Fitz-Stephens' first landing — 
A dev'l of a dose of the Let he is wanted. 

But ev'n Irish patients can hardly regret 

An oblivion, so much in their own native style, 

So conveniently plann'd, that, whate'er they forget, 
They may go on rememb'ring it still, all the 
while ! 2 



A CHARACTER. 



1834. 



Half Whig, half Tory, like those midway things, 
'Twixt bird and beast, that by mistake have wings ; 
A mongrel Statesman, 'twixt two factions nursed, 
Who, of the faults of each, combines the worst — 
The Tory's loftiness, the Whigling's sneer, 
The leveller's rashness, and the bigot's fear ; 
The thirst for meddling, restless still to show 
How Freedom's clock, repair'd by Whigs, will go ; 
Th' alarm when others, more sincere than they, 
Advance the hands to the true time of day. 

By Mother Church, high-fed and haughty dame, 
The boy was dandled, in his dawn of fame ; 
List'ning, she smiled, and bless'd the flippant 

tongue 
On which the fate of unborn tithe-pigs hung. 
Ah, who shall paint the grandam's grim dismay, 
When loose Reform enticed her boy away ; 
When, shock'd, she heard him ape the rabble's tone, 
And, in Old Sarum's fate, foredoom her own ! 



2 The only parallel I know to this sort of oblivion is to be 
found in a line of the late Mr. R. P. Knight. 

" The pleasiN< «i'«f i > of things forgot." 



620 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Groaning she cried, while tears roll'd down her 

cheeks, ;, 

" Poor, glib-tongued youth, he means not what he 

speaks. 
" Like oil at top, these Whig professions flow, 
" But, pure as lymph, runs Toryism below. 
" Alas, that tongue should start thus, in the race, 
" Ere mind can reach and regulate its pace ! — 
" For, once outstripp'd by tongue, poor, lagging 

mind, 
" At eveiy step, still further limps behind. 
" But, bless the boy ! — whate'er his wandering be, 
" Still turns his heart to 1 oryism and me. 
" Like those odd shapes, portray'd in Dante's lay, 1 
"With heads fix'd on, the wrong and backward 

way, 
"His feet and eyes pursue a diverse track, 
" While those march onward, these look fondly 

back." 
And well she knew him — well foresaw the day, 
Which now hath come, when snatch' d from Whigs 

away, 
The self-same changeling drops the mask he wore, 
And rests, restored, in granny's arm? once more. 

But whither now, mix'd brood of modern light 
And ancient darkness, canst thou bend thy flight ? 
Tried by both factions, and to neither true, 
Fear'd by the old school, laugh'd at by the new ; 
For this too feeble, and for that too rash, 
This wanting more of fire, that less of flash ; 
Lone shalt thou stand, in isolation cold, 
Betwixt two worlds, the new one and the old, 
A small and " vex'd Bermoothes," which the eye 
Of venturous seaman sees — and passes by. 



A GHOST STORY. 



TO THE AIR OF " UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY. 



1835. 



Not long in bed had L — ndh — rst lain, 

When, as his lamp burn'd dimly, 
The ghosts of corporate bodies slain, 3 

Stood by his bedside grimly. 
Dead aldermen, who once could feast, 

But now, themselves, are fed on, 
And skeletons of mayors deceased, 

This doleful chorus led on : — 



" Che dalle reni era tomato '1 volto, 
E indietro venir li convenia, 
Perche '1 veder dinanzi era lor tolto." 
a Referring to the line taken by Lord L— ndh— rst, on the 
question of Municipal Reform. 



" Oh, Lord L — ndh — rst, 
" Unmerciful Lord L — ndh — rst, 

" Corpses we, 

" All burk'd by thee, 
" Unmerciful Lord L — ndh — rst !" 

" Avaunt, ye frights !" his Lordship cried, 

" Ye look most glum and whitely." 
" Ah, L — ndh — rst, dear !" the frights replied, 

" You've used us impolitely, 
" And now, ungrateful man ! to drive 

" Dead bodies from your door so, 
" Who quite corrupt enough, alive, 

" You've made, by death, still more so. 
" Oh, Ex-Chancellor, 
" Destructive Ex-Chancellor 
" See thy work, 
" Thou second Burke, 
" Destructive Ex-Chancellor !" 

Bold L — ndh — rst then, whom naught could keep 

Awake, or surely that would, 
Cried " Curse you all" — fell fast asleep — 

And dreamt of " Small v. Attwood." 
While, shock'd, the bodies flew down stairs, 

But, courteous in their panic, 
Precedence gave to ghosts of mayors, 
And corpses aldermanic, 

Crying, "Oh, Lord L — ndh — rst, 
" That terrible Lord L — ndh — rst, 
" Not Old Scratch 
" Himself could match 
" That terrible Lord L— ndh— rst." 



THOUGHTS 

ON THE LATE 

DESTRUCTIVE PROPOSITIONS OF THE TORIES s 
BY A COMMON-COUNCILMAN. 

1835. 
I sat me down in my easy chair, 

To read, as usual, the morning papers ; 
But — -who shall describe my look of despair, 

When I came to Lefroy's " destructive" capers ! 
That he — that, of all live men, Lefroy 
Should join in the cry, " Destroy, destroy !" 
Who, ev'n when a babe, as I've heard said, 
On Orange conserve was chiefly fed, 

3 These verses were written in reference to the Bill 
brought in at this time, for the reform of Corporations, and 
the sweeping amendments proposed by Lord Lyndhurst and 
other Tory Peers, in order to obstruct the measure. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



621 



And never, till now., a movement made 
That wasn't most manfully retrograde ! 
Only think — to sweep from the light of day 
Mayors, maces, criers, and wigs away ; 
To annihilate — never to rise again — 
A whole generation of aldermen, 
Nor leave them ewn th' accustom'd tolls, 
To keep together their bodies and souls ! — 
At a time, too, when snug posts and places 

Are falling away from us one by one, 
Crash — crash — -like the mummy-cases 

Belzoni, in Egypt, sat upon, 
Wherein lay pickled, iu state sublime, 
Conservatives of the ancient time ; — 
To choose such a moment to overset 
The few snug nuisances left us yet : 
To add to the rain that rouud us reigns, 
By knocking out mayors' and town-clerks' brains ; 
By dooming l corporate bodies to fall, 
Till they leave, at last, no bodies at all — 
Naught but the ghosts of by-gone glory, 
Wrecks of a world that once was Tory ! 
Where pensive criers, like owls unblest, 

Robb'd of their roosts, shall still hoot o'er them ! 
Nor mayors shall know where to seek a nest, 

Till Gaily Knight shall find one for them; — 
Till mayors and kings, with none to rue 'em, 

Shall perish all in one common plague : 
And the sovereigns of Belfast and Tuam 

Must join their brother, Charles Dix, at Prague. 

Thus mused I, hi my chair, alone, 

(As above described.) till dozy grown, 

And nodding assent to my own opinions, 

I found myself borne to sleep's dominions, 

Where, lo, before my dreaming eyes, 

A new House of Commons appear'd to rise. 

Whose living contents, to fancy's survey, 

Seem'd to me all turn'd topsy-turvy — 

A jumble of polypi — nobody knew 

Which was the head or which the queue. 

Here, IngUs, turn'd to a sans-culotte, 

Was dancing the hays with Hume and Grote ; 

There, ripe for riot, Recorder Shaw 

Was learning from Roebuck " Ca-ira ;" 

While Stanley and Graham, as poissarde wenches, 

Scream'd " a has .'" from the Tory benches ; 

And Peel and O'Connell, cheek by jowl, 

Were dancing an Irish carmagnole. 

Tho Lord preserve us ! — if dreams come true, 
What is this hapless realm to do ? 



i A term formed on the model of the Mastodon, &c. 



ANTICIPATED MEETING 

OF THE 

BRITISH ASSOCIATION L\ THE YEAR 2336. 

1836. 

After some observations from Dr. M'Grig 

On that fossile reliquum call'd Petrified Wig, 

Or Perruquolithus — a specimen rare 

Of those wigs, made for antediluvian wear, 

Which, it seems, stood the Flood without turning a 

hair — 
Mr. Tomkins rose up, ..nd requested attention 
To facts no less wondrous which he had to mention. 

Some large fossil creatures had lately been found 
Of a species no longer now seen above ground, 
But the same (as to Tomkins most clearly appears) 
With those animals, lost now for hundreds of years. 
Which our ancestors used to call " Bishops" and 
" Peers," [stow'd on, 

But which Tomkins more erudite names has be- 
Having call'd the Peer fossil th' Amtocratodon, 1 
And, finding much food under t'other one's thorax, 
Has christen'd that creature th' Episcopus Vorax. 

\ 
Lest the savantes and dandies should think this all 

fable, 
Mr. Tomkins most kindly produced on the table, 
A sample of each of these species of creatures, 
Both tol'rably human, in structure and features, 
Except that th' Episcopus seems, Lord deliver us ! 
To've been carnivorous as well as granivorous ; 
And Tomkins, on searching its stomach, found there 
Large lumps, such as no modern stomach could bear, 
Of a substance call'd Tithe, upon which, as 'tis said, 
The whole Genus Clericum formerly fed : 
And which having lately himself decompounded, 
Just to see what 'twas made of, he actually found it 
Composed of all possible cookable things 
That e'er tripp'd upon trotters or soard upon 

wings — 
All products of earth, both gramineous, herbaceous, 
Hordeaceous, fabaceous, and eke farinaceous, 
All clubbing their quotas to glut the oesophagus 
Of this ever greedy and grasping Tithophagus. 2 
" Admire," exclaim'd Tomkins, " the kind dispensa- 
tion 
" By Providence shed on this much-favor'd nation, 
" In sweeping so ravenous a race from the earth, 
" That might else have occasion'd a general 

dearth — 
" And thus burying 'em, deep as even Joe Hume 

would sink 'era, 
" With the Ichthyosaurus and Palaeorynchum, 

2 The zoological term for a tithe-eater. 



622 



MOORE'S WORKS, 



" And other queer ci-devant things, under ground — 
" Not forgetting that fossilized youth, 1 so renown'd, 
" Who lived just to witness the Deluge — was grati- 
fied 
" Much by the sight, and has since been found 
stratified .'" 

This picturesque touch — quite in Tomkins's way — 
Call'd forth from the savantes a general hurrah ; 
While inquiries among them went rapidly round, 
As to where this young stratified man could be 

found. 
The " learn'd Theban's" discourse next as livelily 

fiow'd on, 
To sketch t'other wonder, th' Amtocratodon — 
An animal, differing from most human creatures 
No so much in speech, inward structure, or features, 
As in having a certain excrescence, T. said, 
Which in form of a coronet grew from its head, 
And devolved to its heirs, when the creature was 

dead ; 
Nor matter'd it, while this heir-loom was trans- 
mitted, 
How unfit were the heads, so the coronet fitted. 

He then mention'd a strange zoological fact, 
Whose announcement appear'd much applause to 

attract. 
In France, said the learned professor, this race 
Had so noxious become, in some centuries' space, 
From their numbers and strength, that the land was 

o'errun with 'em, 
Every one's question being, "What's to be done 

with 'em ?" 
When, lo ! certain knowing ones — savans, mayhap, 
Who, like Buckland's deep followers, understood 

traj\ 2 
Slyly hintea that naught upon earth was so good, 
For Anstocratodons, when rampant and rude, 
As to stop, or curtail, their allowance of food. 
This expedient was tried, and a proof it affords 
Of th' effect that short commons will have upon 

lords ; 
For this whole race of bipeds, one fine summer's 

morn, 
Shed their coronets, just as a deer sheds his horn, 
And the moment these gewgaws fell off, they became 
Quite a new sort of creature — so harmless and tame, 
That zoologists might, for the first time, maintain 'em 
To be near akin to the genus humanum, 
And th' experiment, tried so successfully then, 
Should be kept in remembrance, when wanted again. 
***** 



1 The man found by Scheuchzer, and supposed by him to 
have witnessed the Deluge, (" homodiluvii testis,") but who 
turned out, I am sorry to say, to be merely a great lizard. 



SONGS OF THE CHURCH. 

No. 1. 

LEAVE ME ALONE. 

A TASTORAL BALLAD. 

" We are ever standing on the defensive. All that we say 
to them is, ' leave us alone.' The Established Church is part 
and parcel of the constitution of this country. You are bound 
to conform to this constitution. We ask of you nothing 
more ;— let us alone.'''' — Letter in The Times, Nov. 1838. 

1838. 
Come, list to my pastoral tones, 

In clover my shepherds I keep ; 
My stalls are all fumish'd with drones, 

Whose preaching invites one to sleep. 
At my spirit let infidels scoff, 

So they leave but the substance my own ; 
For, in sooth, I'm extremely well off, 

If the world will but let me alone. 

Dissenters are grumblers, we know ; — 

Though excellent men, in their way, 
They never like things to be so, 

Let things be however they may. 
But dissenting's a trick I detest ; 

And, besides, 'tis an axiom well known, 
The creed that's best paid is the best, 

If the unpaid would let it alone 

To me, I own, very surprising 

Your Newmans and Puseys all seem, 
Who start first with rationalizing, 

Then jump to the other extreme. 
Far better, 'twixt nonsense and sense, 

A nice half-way concern, like our own, 
Where piety's mix'd up with pence, 

And the latter are ne'er left alone. 

Of all our tormentors, the Press is 

The one that most tears us to bits ; 
And, now, Mrs. Woolfrey's " excesses" 

Have thrown all its imps into fits. 
The dev'ls have been at us, for weeks, 

And there's no saying when they'll have done ; — 
Oh dear, how I wish Mr. Breeks 

Had left Mrs. Woolfrey alone ! 

If any need pray for the dead, 

'Tis those to whom post-obits fall ; 
Since wisely hath Solomon said, 

'Tis " money that answereth all." 

2 Particularly the formation called Transition Trap. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS 



623 



But ours be the patrons who live ; — 

For, once in their glebe they are thrown, 

The dead have no living to give, 
And therefore we leave them alone. 

Though in morals we may not excel, 

Such perfection is rare to be had ; 
A good life is, of course, very well, 

But good living is also — not bad. 
And when, to feed earth-worms, I go, 

Let this epitaph stare from my stone, 
" Here lies the Right Rev. so and so ; 

" Pass, stranger, and — leave him alone." 



EPISTLE FROM HENRY OF EX 
TO JOHN OF TUAM. 



-T— R 



Dear John, as I know, like our brother of London, 
You've sipp'd of all knowledge, both sacred and 

mundane, 
No doubt, in some ancient Joe Miller, you've read 
What Cato, that .cunning old Roman, once said — 
That he ne'er saw two rev'rend soothsayers meet, 
Let it be where it might, in the shrine or the street, 
Without wondering the rogues, 'mid their solemn 

grimaces, 
Didn't burst out a laughing in each other's faces. 1 
What Cato then meant, though 'tis so long ago, 
Even we in the present times pretty well know ; 
Having soothsayers also, who — sooth to say, John — 
Are no better in some points than those of days gone, 
And a pair of whom, meeting, (between you and me,) 
Might laugh in their sleeves, too — all lawn though 

they be. 
But this, by the way — my intention being chiefly 
In this, my first letter, to hint to you briefly, 
That, seeing how fond you of Tuum? must be, 
While Meum's at all times the main point with me, 
We scarce could do better than form an alliance, 
To set these sad Anti-Church times at defiance : 
You, John, recollect, being still to embark, 
With no share in the firm but your title 8 and mark ; 
Or ev'n should you feel in your grandeur inclined 
To call yourself Pope, why, I shouldn't much mind ; 
While my church as usual holds fast by your Tuum, 
And every one else's, to make it all Suum. 

Thus allied, I've no doubt we shall nicely agree, 
As no twins can be liker, in most points, than we ; 



1 Mirari se,si augur augurem aspiciens sibi tempcraret a risu. 
a So spelled in those ancient versicles which John, we 
understand, frequently chants :— 

" Had every one Suum, 
You wouldn't have Tuum, 



Both specimens choice of that mix'd sort of beast, 
(See Rev. xiii. 1.) apolitical priest ; 
Both mettlesome chargers, both brisk pamphleteers, 
Ripe and ready for all that sets men by the ears ; 
And I, at least one, who would scorn to stick longer 
By any giv'n cause than I found it the stronger, 
And who, smooth in my turnings as if on a swivel, 
When the tone ecclesiastic wo'n't do, try the civil. 

In short (not to bore you, ev'n. jure divino) 

We've the same cause in common, John — all but 

the rhino ; 
And that vulgar surplus, whate'er it may be, 
As you're not used to cash, John, you'd best leave 

to me. 
And so, without form — as the postman wo'n't 

tarry — 
I'm, dear Jack of Tuam, 

Yours, 

Exeter Harry. 



Dream, 



SONG OF OLD PUCK. 

" And those things do best please me, 
That befall preposterously." 

Puck Junior, Midsummer Nighf, 

Who wants old Puck ? for here am I, 
A mongrel imp, 'twixt earth and sky, 
Ready alike to crawl or fly ; 
Now in the mud, now in the air, 
And, so 'tis for mischief, reckless where. 

As to my knowledge, there's no end to't, 
For where I haven't it, I pretend to't ; 
And, 'stead of taking a learn'd degree 
At some dull university, 
Puck found it handier to commence 
With a certain share of impudence, 
Which passes one off as learn'd and clever, 
Beyond all other degrees whatever ; 
And enables a man of lively sconce 
To be Master of all the Arts at once. 
No matter what the science may be — 
Ethics, Physics, Theology, 
Mathematics, Hydrostatics, 
Aerostatics or Pneumatics — 
Whatever it be, I take my luck, 
'Tis all the same to ancient Puck ; 



But I should have Meum, 

And sing Te Deum." 
3 For his keeping the title he may quote classical autho- 
rity, as Horace expressly says, " Poteris servare Tuum."— 
Be Art. Poet. v. 329.— Chronicle. • 



624 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Whose head's so full of all sorts of wares, 
That a brother imp, old Smugden, swears 
If I had but of law a little smatt'ring, 
I'd then be perfect 1 — which is flatt'ring. 

My skill as a linguist all must know 
Who met me abroad some months ago ; 
(And heard me abroad exceedingly, too, 
In the moods and tenses of parlez-vous,) 
When, as old Chambaud's shade stood mute, 
I spoke such French to the Institute 
As puzzled those learned Thebans much, 
To know if 'twas Sanscrit or High Dutch, 
And might have pass'd with th' unobserving 
As one of the unknown tongues of Irving. 
As to my talent for ubiquity, 
There's nothing like it in all antiquity. 
Like Mungo, (my peculiar care,) 
" I'm here, I'm dere, I'm ebery where." 2 
If any one's wanted to take the chair, 
Upon any subject, anywhere, 
Just look around, and — Fuck is there ! 
When slaughter's at hand, your bird of prey 
Is never known to be out of the way ; 
And wherever mischief's to be got, 
There's Puck instanter, on the spot. 

Only find me in negus and applause, 

And I'm your man for any cause. 

If wrong the cause, the more my delight ; 

But I don't object to it, ev'n when right, 

If I only can vex some old friend by't ; 

There's D — rh — m, for instance ; — to worry him 

Fills up my cup of bliss to the brim ! 

(note by the editor.) 
Those who are anxious to run a muck 
Can't do better than join with Puck ; 
They'll find him bon diable — spite of his phiz — 
And, in fact, his great ambition is, 
While playing old Puck in first-rate style, 
To be thought Robin Goodfellow all the while. 



POLICE REPORTS. 



CASE OP IMPOSTURE. 



Among other stray flashmen, disposed of, this week, 
Was a youngster, named St — nl — y, genteelly 
connected, 

i Verbatim, as said. This tribute is only equalled by that 

of Talleyrand to his medical friend, Dr. : "II se connoit 

en tout; et mfime un peuen medecine." 

2 Song in "The Padlock." 



Who has lately been passing off coins, as antique, 
Which have proved to be sham ones, though long 
unsuspected. 

The ancients, our readers need hardly be told, 
Had a coin they call'd " Talents," for wholesale 
demands ; 3 
And 'twas some of said coinage this youth was so 
bold 
As to fancy he'd got, God knows how, in his 
hands. 

People took him, however, like fools, at his word ; 

And these talents (all prized at his own valuation) 
Were bid for, with eagerness ev'n more absurd 

Than has often distinguish'd this great thinking 
nation. 

Talk of wonders one now and then sees advertised, 
" Black swans" — " Queen Anne farthings" — or 
ev'n " a child's Caul" — 
Much and justly as all these rare objects are prized, 
" St — nl — y's talents" outdid them — swans, 
farthings, and all ! 

At length, some mistrust of this coin got abroad ; 
Even quondam believers began much to doubt 
of it ; 
Some rung it, some rubb'd it, suspecting a fraud — 
And the hard rubs it got rather took, the shine 
out of it. 

Others, wishing to break the poor prodigy's fall, 
Said 'twas known well to all who had studied 
the matter, 
That the Greeks had not only great talents but 



And those found on the youngster were clearly 
the latter. 



While others, who view'd the grave farce with a 
grin- 
Seeing counterfeits pass thus for coinage so 
massy, 
By way of a hint to the dolts taken in. 
Appropriately quoted Budoeus de Asse. 

In short, the whole sham by degrees was found out, 
And this coin, which they chose by such fine 
names to call, 

Proved a mere lacker'd article — showy, no doubt, 
But, ye gods, not the true Attic Talent at all. 

3 For an account of the coin called Talents by the ancients, 
see Budteus de Asse, and the other writers de Re Nummaria. 

4 The Talentum Magnum and the Talentum Atticum ap- 
pear to have been the same coin. 



SATIRICAL ANb HUMOROUS POEMS. 



625 



As th' impostor was still young enough to repent, 
And, besides, had some claims to a grandee con- 
nection, 
Their Worships — considerate for once — only sent 
The young Thimblerig off to the House of Cor- 
rection. 



REFLECTIONS. 

ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ARTICLE OF THE 
CHURCH, IN THE LAST NUMBER OF THE 

QUARTERLY REVIEW. 

I'm quite of your mind ; — though these Pats cry 
aloud 
That they've got " too much Church," 'tis all 
nonsense and stuff; 
For Church is like Love, of which Figaro vow'd 
That even too much of it's not quite enough. 1 

Ay, dose them with parsons, 'twill cure all their 
ills ;— 
Copy Morison's mode when from pill-box un- 
daunted he 
Pours through the patient his black-coated pills, 
Nor cares what their quality, so there's but quan- 
tity. 

I verily think, 'twould be worth England's while 
To consider, for Paddy's own benefit, whether 

'Twould not be as well to give up the green isle 
To the care, wear and tear of the Church alto- 
gether. 

The Irish are well used to treatment so pleasant ; 
The harlot Church gave them to Henry Planta- 
genet, 3 
And now, if King William would make them a 
present 
To t'other chaste lady — ye Saints, just imagine 
it! 

Chief Sees., Lord-Lieutenants, Commanders-in- 
chief, 
Might then all be cull'd from th' episcopal 
benches ; 
While colonels in black would afford some relief 
From the hue that reminds one of th' old scarlet 
wench's. 



i En fait d'amour, trop meme n'est pas assez. — Barhier it 
Seville. 



Think how fierce at a charge (being practised 
therein) 
The Right Reverend Brigadier Ph — 11 — tts would 
slash on ! 
How General Bl — mf — d, through thick and through 
thin, 
To the end of the chapter (or chapters) would 
dash on ! 

For, in one point alone do the amply fed race 
Of bishops to beggars similitude bear — 

That, set them on horseback, in full steeple chase, 
And they'll ride, if not pull'd up in time — you 
know where. 

But, bless you, in Ireland, that matters not much, 
Where affairs have for centuries gone the same 
way; 
And a good stanch Conservative's system is such 
That he'd back even Beelzebub's long-founded 
sway. 

I am therefore, dear Quarterly, quite of your 
mind ; — 
Church, Church, in all shapes, into Erin let's 
pour ; 
And the more she rejecteth our med'eine so kind, 
The more let's repeat it — " Black dose, as be- 
fore." 

Let Coercion, that peace-maker, go hand in hand 
With demure-eyed Conversion, fit sister and bro- 
ther ; 

And, covering with prisons and churches the land, 
All that won't go to one, we'll put into the other. 

For the sole, leading maxim of us who're inclined 
To rule over Ireland, not well, but religiously, 
Is to treat her like ladies, who've just been con- 
fined, 
(Or who ought to be so) and to church her pro- 
digiously. 



NEW GRAND EXHIBITION OF MODELS 

OF THE 
TWO HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 

Come, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may view 
An exact and nat'ral representation 

a Grant of Ireland to Henry II. by Pope Adrian. 



626 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



(Like Siburn's Model of Waterloo 1 ) 

Of the Lords and Commons of this here nation. 

There they are — all cut out in cork — 

The " Collective Wisdom" wondrous to see ; 

My eyes ! when all them heads are at work, 
What a vastly weighty consarn it must be. 

As for the " wisdom," — that may come anon ; 

Though, to say truth, we sometimes see 
(And find the phenomenon no uncommon 'un) 

A man who's M. P. with a head that's M. T. 

Our Lords are rather too small, 'tis true ; 

But they do well enough for Cabinet shelves ; 
And, besides, — what's a man with creeturs to do 

That make such werry small figures themselves ? 

There — don't touch those lords, my pretty dears — 
(Aside.) 
Curse the children ! — this comes of reforming a 
nation : 
Those meddling young brats have so damaged my 
peers, 
I must lay in more cork for a new creation. 

Them yonder's our bishops — " to whom much is 
given," 
And who're ready to take as much more as you 
please : 
The seers of old times saw visions of heaven, 
But these holy seers see nothing but Sees. 

Like old Atlas, 2 (the chap, in Cheapside, there be- 
low,) 
'Tis for so much per cent, they take heaven on 
their shoulders ; 
And joy 'tis to know that old High Church and 
Co., 
Though not capital priests, are such capital- 
holders. 

There's one on 'em, Ph — Up— ts, wno now is away, 
As we're having him fill'd with bumbustible 
stuff, 

Small crackers and squibs, for a great gala-day, 
When we annually fire his Right Reverence off. 

'Twould do your heart good, ma'am, then to be by, 

When, bursting with gunpowder, 'stead of with 

bile, 

Crack, crack, goes the bishop, while dowagers cry, 

" How like the dear man, both in matter and 

style !" 

i One of the most interesting and curious of all the exhi- 
bitions of the day. 



Should you want a few Peers and M. P.s, to bestow, 
As presents to friends, we can recommend 
these : 3 — 
Our nobles are come down to nine-pence, you 
know, 
And we charge but a penny a piece for M. P.s. 

Those of bottle-corks made take most with the trade, 
(At least, 'mong such as my Irish writ summons,) 
Of old whiskey corks our O'Connells are made, 
But those we make Shaws and Lefroys of, are 
rum 'uns. 
So, step in, gentlefolks, &c. &c. 

Da Capo. 



ANNOUNCEMENT 

OF 

A NEW GRAND ACCELERATION COMPANY 

FOR THE PROMOTION OF 

THE SPEED OF LITERATURE. 

Loud complaints being made, in these quick-reading 

times, 
Of too slack a supply, both of prose works and 

rhymes, 
A new Company, form'd on the keep-moving plan, 
First proposed by the great firm of Catch-'em-who- 

can, 
Beg to say they've now ready, in full wind and speed, 
Some fast-going authors, of quite a new breed — 
Such as not he who runs but who gallops may 

read — 
And who, if well curried and fed, they've no doubt, 
Will beat ev'n Bentley's swift stud out and out. 
It is true, in these days, such a drug is renown, 
We've " Immortals" as rife as M. P.s about town ; 
And not a Blue's rout but can off-hand supply 
Some invalid bard who's insured " not to die." 
Still, let England but once try our authors, she'll 

find 
How fast they'll leave ev'n these Immortals behind ; 
And how truly the toils of Alcides were light, 
Compared with his toil who can read all they write. 

In fact, there's no saying, so gainful the trade, 
How fast immortalities now may be made ; 
Since Helicon never will want an " Undying One," 
As long as the public continues a Buying One ; 

2 The sign of the Insurance Office in Cheapside. 
s Producing a bag full of lords and gentlemen. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



627 



And the Company hope yet to witness the hour, 
When, by strongly applying the mare-motive 1 

power, 
A three-decker novel, 'mid oceans of praise, 
May be written, launch'd, read, and — forgot, in 

three days ! 

In addition to all this stupendous celerity, 

Which — to the no small relief of posterity — 

Pays off at sight the whole debit of fame, 

Nor troubles futurity ev'n with a name, 

(A project that wo'n't as much tickle Tom Tegg as 

us, 
Since twill rob him of his second-priced Pegasus ;) 
We, iae Company — still more to show how im- 
mense 
Is the power o'er the mind of pounds, shillings, and 

pence ; 
And that not even Phoebus himself, in our day, 
Could get up a lay without first an outlay — 
Beg to add, as our literature soon may compare, 
In its quick make and vent, with our Birmingham 

ware, 
And it doesn't at all matter in either of these lines, 
How sham is the article, so it but shines, — 
We. keep authors ready, all perch'd, pen in hand, 
To write off*, in any given style, at command. 
No matter what bard, be he living or dead, 2 
Ask a work from his pen, and 'tis done soon as said : 
There being, on th' establishment, six Walter Scotts, 
One capital Wordsworth, and Southeys in lots : — 
Three choice Mrs. Nortons, all singing like syrens, 
While most of our pallid young clerks are Lord 

Byrons. 
Then we've ***s and ***s, (for whom there's small 

call,) 
^d *** s anc i *** Sj (f or w hom no call at all.) 

In short, whosoe'er the last " Lion" may be, 
We've a Bottom who'll copy his roar 3 to a T, 
And so well, that not one of the buyers who've got 

'em 
Can tell which is lion, and which only Bottom. 

N. B. — The company, since they set up in this line, 
Have moved their concern, and are now at the sign 
Of the Muse's Velocipede, Fleet Street, where all 
Who wish well to the scheme are invited to call. 



1 " 'Tis money makes the mare to go." 
a We have lodgings apart, for our posthumous people, 
As we find that, if left with the live ones, they keep ill. 



SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LATE DINNER 
TO DAN. 

From tongue to tongue the rumor flew ; 
All ask'd, aghast, " Is't true? is't true?" 

But none knew whether 'twas fact or fable: 
And still the unholy rumor ran, 
From Tory woman to Tory man, 

Though none to come at the truth was able — 
Till, lo, at last, the fact came out, 
The horrible fact, beyond all doubt, 

That Dan had dined at the Viceroy's table ; 
Had flesh'd his Popish knife and fork 
In the heart of th' Establish'd mutton and pork ! 

Who can forget the deep sensation 

That news produced in this orthodox nation ? 

Deans, rectors, curates, all agreed, 

If Dan was allow'd at the Castle to feed, 

'Twas clearly all up with the Protestant creed ! 

There hadn't, indeed, such an apparition 

Been heard of, in Dublin, since that day 
When, during the first grand exhibition 

Of Don Giovanni, that naughty play, 
There appcar'd, as if raised by necromancers, 
An extra devil among the dancers ! 
Yes — ev'ry one saw, with fearful thrill, 
That a devil too much had join'd the quadrille : 
And sulphur was smelt, and the lamps let fall 
A grim, green light o'er the ghastly ball, 
And the poor sham devils didn't like it at all ; 
For, they knew from whence th' intruder had come, 
Though he left, that night, his tail at home. 

This fact, we see, is a parallel case 

To the dinner that, some weeks since, took place. 

With the difference slight of fiend and man, 

It shows what a nest of Popish sinners 
That city must be, where the devil and Dan 

May thus drop in, at quadrilles and dinners ! 

But, mark the end of these foul proceedings, 
These demon hops and Popish feedings. 
Some comfort 'twill be — to those, at least, 

Who've studied this awful dinner question — 
To know that Dan, on the night of that feast, 

Was seized with a dreadful indigestion ; 
That envoys were sent, post-haste, to his priest, 
To come and absolve the suffering sinner, 
For eating so much at a heretic dinner ; 
And some good people were even afraid 
That Peel's old confectioner— still at the trade — 
Had poison'd the Papist with orangeade. 

3 " Bottom : Let me play the lion ; I will roar you as 
'twere any nightingale." 

4 History of the Irish stage. 



628 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



NEW HOSPITAL FOR SICK LITERATI. 

With all humility we beg 

To inform the public, that Tom Tegg — 

Known for his spunky speculations, 

In buying up dead reputations, 

And, by a mode of galvanizing 

Which, all must own, is quite surprising, 

Making dead authors move again, 

As though they still were living men ; — 

All this, too, managed, in a trice, 

By those two magic words, " Half Price," 

Which brings the charm so quick about, 

That worn-out poets, left without 

A second foot whereon to stand, 

Are made to go at second hand; — 

'Twill please the public, we repeat, 

To learn that Tegg, who works this feat, 

And, therefore, knows what care it needs 

To keep alive Fame's invalids, 

^las oped an Hospital, in town, 

For cases of knock'd-up renown — 

Falls, fractures, dangerous Jbpic fits, 

(By some call'd Cantos,) stab? from wits ; 

And, of all wounds for which they're nursed, 

Dead cuts from publishers, the worst ; — 

All these, and other such fatalities, 

That happen to frail immortalities, 

By Tegg are so expertly treated, 

That oft-times, when the cure's completed, # 

The patient's made robust enough 

To stand a few more rounds of puff ', 

Till, like the ghosts of Dante's lay, 

He's' puff 'd into thin air away ! 

As titled poets (being phenomenons) 

Don't like to mix with low and common 'uns, 

Tegg's Hospital has separate wards, 

Express for literary lords, 

Where prose-peers, of immoderate length, 

Are nursed, when they've outgrown their strength, 

And poets, whom then friends despair of, 

Are — put to bed and taken care of. 

Tegg begs to contradict a story, 
Now current both with Whig and Tory, 
That Doctor W— rb— t— n, M. P., 
Well known for his antipathy, 
His deadly hate, good man, to all 
The race of poets, great and small — 
So much, that he's been heard to own, 
He would most willingly cut down 
The holiest groves on Pindus' mount, 
To turn the timber to account ! — 
The story actually goes, that he 
Prescribes at Tegg's Infirmary ; 



And oft, not only stints, for spite. 
The patients in their copy -right, 
But that, on being call'd in lately 
To two sick poets, suffering greatly, 
This vaticidal Doctor sent them 
So strong a dose of Jeremy Bentham, 
That one of the poor bards but cried, 
" Oh, Jerry, Jerry !" and then died ; 
While t'other, though less stuff was given, 
Is on his road, 'tis fear'd, to heaven ! 

Of this event, howe'er unpleasant, 
Tegg means to say no more at present, — 
Intending shortly to prepare 
A statement of the whole affair, 
With full accounts, at the same time, 
Of some late cases, (prose and rhyme,) 
Subscribed with every author's name, 
That's now on the Sick List of Fame. 



RELIGION AND TRADE. 

" Sir Robert Peel believed it was necessary to originate all 
respecting religion and trade in a Committee of the House." 
—Church Extension, May 22, 1830. 

Say, who was the wag, indecorously witty, 
Who, first in a statute, this libel convey'd ; 

Ancrthus slyly referr'd to the self-same committee, 
As matters congenial, Religion and Trade ? 

Oh surely, my Ph — Up — ts, 'twas thou didst the 
deed ; 
For none but thyself, or some pluralist brother, 
Accustom'd to mix up the craft with the creed, 
Could bring such a pair thus to twin with each 
other. 



And yet, when one thinks of times present and 
gone, 
One is forced to confess, on maturer reflection, 
That 'tisn't in the eyes of committees alone, 

That the shrine and the shop seem to have some 
connection. 

Not to mention those monarchs of Asia's iCt land, 
Whose civil list all is in " god-money" paid ; 

And where the whole people, by royal command, 
Buy their gods at the government mart, ready 
made ; l — 



» The Birmans may not buy the sacred marble in mass, but 
must purchase figures of the deity already made.— Symis. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



629 



There was also (as mention'd, in rhyme and in 
prose, is) 
Gold heap'd, throughout Egypt, on every shrine, 
To make rings for right reverend crocodiles' 
noses — 
Just such as, my Ph — lip — ts, would look well in 
thine. 

bat one needn't fly off, hi this erudite mood ; 

And 'tis clear, without going to regions so sunny, 
That priests love to do the least possible good, 

For «,he largest most possible quantum of money. 

" Of him," saith the text, '•' unto whom much is 
given, 
" Of him much, in turn, will be also required :" — 
"By me" quoth the sleek and obese man of 
heaven — 
" Give as much as you will — more will still be 
desired." 

More money ! more churches ! — oh Nhnrod, hadst 
thou 
'Stead of Tower-extension, some shorter way 
gone — 
Hadst thou known by what methods we mount to 
heaven now, 
And tried Church-extension, the feat had been 
done ! 



MUSINGS, 



SUGGESTED BY THE LATE PROMOTION OF MRS. NETH- 
ERCOAT. 

" The widow Nethercoat is appointed jailer of Loughrea, in 
the room of her deceased husband." — Limerick Chronicle. 

Whether as queen? or subjects, in these days, 
Women seem form'd to grace alike each station ; — 

As Captain Flaherty gallantly says, 

" You, ladies, are the lords of the creation !" 

Thus o'er my mind did prescient visions float 
Of all that matchless woman yet may be ; 

When, hark, in rumors less and less remote, 
Came the glad news o'er Erin's ambient sea, 

The important news — that Mrs. Nethercoat 
Had been appointed jailer of Loughrea ; 

Yes, mark it, History — Nethercoat is dead, 

And Mrs. N. now rales his realm instead ; 

Hers the high task to wield th' uplocking keys, 

To rivet rogues and reign o'er Rupparees ! 



Thus, while your blust'rers of the Tory school 
Find Ireland's sanest sons so hard to rule, 
One meek-eyed matron, in Whig doctrines nursed, 
Is all that's ask'd to curb the maddest, worst ! 

Show me the man that dares, with blushless brow, 

Prate about Erin's rage and riot now ; — 

Now, when her temperance forms her sole excess ; 

When long-loved whiskey, fading from her sight, 
" Small by degrees, and beautifully less," 

Will soon, like other spirits, vanish quite ; 
When of red coats the number's grown so small, 

That soon, to cheer the warlike parson's eyes, 
No glimpse of scarlet will be seen at all, 

Save that which she of Babylon supplies ,-— 
Or, at .he most, a corporal's guard will be, 

Of Ireland's red defence the sole remains ; 
While of its jails bright woman keeps the key, 

And captive Paddies languish in her chains ! 

Long may such lot be Erin's, long be mine ! 

Oh yes — if ev'n this world, though bright it shine 
In Wisdom's eyes a prison-house must be, 

At least let woman's hand our fetters twine, 
And blithe I'll sing, more joyous than if free, 
The Nethercoats, the Nethercoats for me ! 



INTENDED TRIBUTE 



author of an article in the last number %f r«iE 

QUARTERLY REVIEW, 
ENTITLED 

"ROMANISM IN IRELAND." 

It glads us much to be able to say, 

That a meeting is fix'd, for some early day, 

Of all such dowagers — he or she — 

(No matter the sex, so they dowagers be,) 

Whose opinions, concerning Church and State, 

From about the time of the Curfew date — 

Stanch sticklers still for days bygone, 

And admiring them for their rust alone — 

To whom if we would a leader give, 

Worthy their tastes conservative, 

We need but some mummy -statesman raise, 

Who was pickled and potted in Ptolemy's days ; 

For that's the man, if waked from his shelf, 

To conserve and swaddle this world, like himself 

Such, we're happy to state, are the old Ae-dames 
Who've met in committee, and given their names, 



630 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



(In good hieroglyphics,) with kind intent 

To pay some handsome compliment 

To their sister-author, the nameless he, 

Who wrote, in the last new Quarterly, 

That charming assault upon Popery ; 

An article justly prized by them, 

As a perfect antediluvian gem — 

The work, as Sir Sampson Legend would say, 

Of some " fellow the Flood couldn't wash away." 1 

The fund being raised, there remain'd but to see 
What the dowager-author's gift was to be. 
And here, I must say, the Sisters Blue 
Show'd delicate taste and judgment too. 
For, finding the poor man suffering greatly 
From the awful stuff he has thrown up lately — 
So much so, indeed, to the alarm of all, 
As to bring on a fit of what doctors call 
The Antipapistico-monomania, 
(I'm sorry with such a long word to detain ye,) 
They've acted the part of a kind physician, 
By suiting their gift to the patient's condition ; 
And, as soon as 'tis ready for presentation, 
We shall publish the facts, for the gratification 
Of this highly -favor' d and Protestant nation. 

Meanwhile, to the great alarm of his neighbors, 
He still continues his Quarterly labors ; 
And often has strong No -Popery fits, 
Which frighten his old nurse out of her wits. 
Sometimes he screams, like Scrub in the play, 2 
" Thieves ! Jesuits ! Popery !" night and day ; 
Takes the Printer's Devil for Doctor Dens, 3 
And sffles at him heaps of High-church pens ;'' 
Which the Devil (himself a touchy Dissenter) 
Feels all in his hide, like arrows, enter. 
'Stead of swallowing wholesome stuff from the drug- 
gist's, 
He will keep raving of " Irish Thuggists ;" 5 
Tells us they all go murd'ring, for fun, 
From rise of morn till set of sun, 
Pop, pop, as fast as a minute-gun ! 6 
If ask'd, how comes it the gown and cassock are 
Safe and fat, 'mid this general massacre — 
How haps it that Pat's own population 
But swarms the more for this trucidation — 



i See Congreve's Love for Love. 

» Beaux Stratagem. 

8 The writer of the article has groped about, with much 
success, in what he calls " the dark recesses of Dr. Dens's 
disquisitions." — Quarterly Review. 

* "Pray, may we ask, has there been any rebellious move- 
ment of Popery in Ireland, since the planting of the Ulster 
colonies, in which something of the kind was not visible 
among the Presbyterians of the North V'—Ibid. 



He refers you, for all such memoranda, 
To the " archives of the Propaganda .'" T 

This is all we've got, for the present, to say — 
But shall take up the subject some future day. 



GRAND DINNER OF TYPE AND CO 

A POOR POET'S DREAM. 8 

As I sate in my study, lone and still, 
Thinking of Sergeant Talfourd's Bill, 
And the speech by Lawyer Sugden made, 
In spirit congenial, for " the Trade," 
Sudden I sunk to sleep, and, lo, 

Upon Fancy's reinless night-mare flitting, 
I found myself, in a second or so, 
At the table of Messrs. Type and Co. 
With a goodly group of diners sitting ; — 
All in the printing and publishing line, 
Dress'd, I thought, extremely fine, 
And sipping, like lords, their rosy wine ; 
While I, in a state near inanition, 

With coat that hadn't much nap to spare, 
(Having just gone into its second edition,) 

Was the only wretch of an author there. 
But think, how great was my surprise, 
When I saw, in casting round my eyes, 
That the dishes, sent up by Type's she-cooks, 
Bore all, in appearance, the shape of books ; 
Large folios — God knows where they got 'em, 
In these small times — at top and bottom ; 
And quartos (such as the Press provides 
For no one to read them) down the sides. 
Then flash'd a horrible thought on my brain, 
And I said to myself, " 'Tis all too plain ; 
" Like those, well known in school quotations, 
" Who ate up for dinner their own relations, 
" I see now, before me, smoking here, 
" The bodies and bones of my brethren dear ; — 
" Bright sons of the lyric and epic Muse, 
" All cut up in cutlets, or hash'd in stews ; 



6 " Lord Lorton, for instance, who, for clearing his estate 
of a village of Irish Thuggists," &c, &c— Quarterly Re- 
view. 

6 " Observe how murder after murder is committed like 
minute-guns." — Ibid. 

» " Might not the archives of the Propaganda possibly 
supply the key V 

8 Written during the late agitation of the question of 
Copyright. , 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



631 



" Their works, a light through ages to go, 
" Themselves, eaten up by Type and Co I" 

While thus I moralized, on they went, 

Finding the fare most excellent ; 

And all so kindly, brother to brother, 

Helping the titbits to each other ; 

" A slice of Southey let me send you" — 

" This cut of Campbell I recommend you"- — 

" And here, my friends, is a treat indeed, 

" The immortal Wordsworth fricasseed !" 

Thus having, the cormorants, fed some time, 

Upon joints of poetry — all of the prime — 

With also (as Type in a whisper averr'd it) 

" Cold prose on the sideboard, for such as pre- 

ferr'd it"— 
They rested awhile, to recruit their force, 
Then pounced, like kites, on the second course, 
Which was singing-birds merely — Moore and 

others — 
Who all went the way of their larger brothers ; 
And, num'rous now though such songsters be, 
'Twas really quite distressing to see 
A whole dishful of Toms — Moore, Dibdin, Bayly, — 
Bolted by Type and Co. so gayly ! 

Nor was this the worst — I shudder to think 
What a scene was disclosed when they came to drink 
The warriors of Odin, as every one knows, 
Used to drink out of skulls of slaughter'd foes : 
And Type's old port, to my horror I found, 
Was in skulls of bards sent merrily round. 
And still as each well-fiU'd cranium came, 
A health was pledged to its owner's name ; 
While Type said slyly, 'midst general laughter, 
" We eat them up first, then drink to them after." 

There was no standing this — incensed I broke 
From my bonds of sleep, and indignant woke, 
Exclaiming, " Oh shades of other times, 
" Whose voices still sound, like deathless chimes, 
" Could you e'er have foretold a day would be, 
" When a dreamer of dreams should live to see 
" A party of sleek and honest John Bulls 
" Hobnobbing each other in poets' skulls !" 



i " For a certain man named Demetrius, a silversmith, 
which made shrines for Diana, brought no small gain unto 
the craftsmen ; whom he called together with the workmen 
ot like occupation, and said, Sirs, ye know that by this craft 
we have our wealth." — Acts, xix. 



CHURCH EXTENSION. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE. 

Sir, — A well-known classical traveller, while employed in 
exploring, some time since, the supposed site of the Temple 
of Diana of Ephesus, was so fortunate, in the course of his 
researches, as to light upon a very ancient bark manuscript, 
which has turned out, on examination, to be part of an old 
Ephesian newspaper :— a newspaper published, as you will 
see, so far back as the time when Demetrius, the great 
Shrine-Extender,i nourished. I am, Sir, yours, &c. 

EPHESIAN GAZETTE. 

Second edition. 
Important event for the rich and religious ! 

Great Meeting of Silversmiths held in Queen 
Square ; — 
Church Extension, their object, — th' excitement 
prodigious ; — 
Demetrius, head man of the craft, takes the chair ! 

Third edition. 

The Chairman still up, when our der came away ; 

Having prefaced his speech with tie usual state 

prayer, [day, 

That the Three-headed Dian 2 would kindly, this 

Take the Silversmiths' Company under her care. 

Being ask'd by some low, unestablish'd divines, 
" When your churches are up, where are flocks 
to be got?" 
He manfully answer'd, " Let us build the shrines, 9 
" And we care not if flocks are found for them 
or not." 

He then added — to show that the Silversmiths' 
Guild 
Were above all confined and intolerant views — 
" Only pay through the nose to the altars we build, 
" You may pray through the nose to what altars 
you choose." 

This tolerance, rare from a shrine-dealer's lip, 
(Though a tolerance mix'd with due taste for the 
till,)— 
So much charm'd all the holders of scriptural scrip, 
That their shouts of " Hear !" " Hear !" are re- 
echoing still. 

Fourth edition. 
Great stir in the Shrine Market ! altars to Phoebus 
Are going dog-cheap — may be had for a rebus. 
Old Dian's, as .usual, outsell all the rest ; — 
But Venus's also are much in request. 

2 Tria Virginis ora Dianae. 

3 The " shrines" are supposed to have been sical. 
churches, or chapels, adjoining to the great temples;— 
" sediculae, in quiius statute reponebantur." — Erasm. 



632 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



LATEST ACCOUNTS FROM OLYMPUS. 

As news from Olympus has grown rather rare, 
Since bards, in their cruises, have ceased to touch 

there, 
We extract for our readers th' intelligence given, 
In our latest accounts from that ci-devant heaven — 
That realm of the By-gones, where still sit, in state, 
Old god-heads and nod-heads, now long out of date. 

Jove himself, it appears, since his love-days are o'er, 

Seems to find immortality rather a bore ; 

Though he still asks for news of earth's capers and 

crimes, 
And reads daily his old fellow-Thund'rer, the 

Times. [peck'd are, 

He and Vulcan, it seems, by their wives still hen- 
And kept on a stinted allowance of nectar. 

Old Phoebus, poor lad, has given up inspiration, 
And pack'd off to earth on a pwjf-speculation. 
The fact is, he found his old shrines had grown dim, 
Since bards look'd to Bentley and Colburn, not him. 
So, he sold off his stud of ambrosia fed nags, 
Came incog, down to earth," and now writes for the 

Mags ; 
Taking care that his work not a gleam hath to 

linger in't, [finger in't. 

From which men could guess that the god had a 

There are other small facts, well deserving attention, 
Of which our Olympic dispatches make mention. 
Poor Bacchus is still very ill, they allege, 
Having never recover'd the Temperance Pledge. 
" What, the Irish !" he cried — " those I look'd to 

the most ! 
" If they give up the spirit, I give up the ghost :" 
While Momus, who used of the gods to make fun, 
Is turn'd Socialist now, and declares there are none ! 

But these changes, though curious, are ai a mere 

farce, 
Compared to the new " casus belli" of Mars, 
Who, for years, has been suffering the horrors of 

quiet, 
Uncheer'd by one glimmer of bloodshed or riot ! 
In vain from the clouds his belligerent brow 
Did he pop forth, in hopes that somewhere or 

somehow, 
Like Pat at a fair, he might " coax up a row :" 
But the joke wouldn't take — the whole world had 

got wiser ; 
Men liked not to take a Great Gun for adviser ; 
And, still less, to march in fine clothes to be shot, 
Without very well knowing for whom or for what. 



The French, who of slaughter had had their full 

swing, 
Were content with a shot, now and then, at their 

King; 
While, in England, good fighting's a pastime so hard 

to gain, 
Nobody's left to fight with, but Lord C — rd — g — n. 

'Tis needless to say, then, how monstrously happy 
Old Mars has been made by what's now on the tapis 
How much it delights him to see the French rally, 
In Liberty's name, around Mehemet Ali ; 
Well knowing that Satan himself could not find 
A confection of mischief much more to his mind 
Than the old Bonnet Rouge and the Bashaw com- 
bined. 
Right well, too, he knows, that there ne'er were 

attackers, 
Whatever their cause, that they didn't find backers ; 
While any slight care for Humanity's woes 
May be sooth'd by that " Art Diplomatique," which 

shows 
How to come, in the most approved method, to blows. 

This is all, for to-day — whether Mars is much vex'd 
At his friend Thiers's exit, we'll know by our next 



THE TRIUMPHS OF FARCE. 

Our earth, as it rolls through the regions of space, 
Wears always two faces, the dark and the sunny ; 

And poor human life runs the same sort of race, 
Being sad, on one side — on the other side, funny. 

Thus oft we, at eve, to the Haymarket hie, 

To weep o'er the woes of Macready ; — but scarce 

Hath the tear-drop of Tragedy pass'd from the eye, 
When, lo, we're all laughing in fits at the Farce. 

And still let us laugh — preach the world as it may — 
Where the cream of the joke is, the swarm will 
soon follow ; 

Heroics are very grand things, in their way, 

But the laugh at the long run will carry it hollow. 

For instance, what sermon on human affairs 

Could equal the scene that took place t'other day 

'Twixt Romeo and Louis Philippe, on the stairs— 
The Sublime and Ridiculous meeting half-way ! 

Yes, Jocus ! gay god, whom the Gentiles supplied, 
And whose worship not ev'n among Christians 
declines, 






SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



633 



In our senate thou'st languished since Sheridan died, 
But S) 7 dney still keeps thee alive in our shrines. 

Rare Sydney ! thrice honor d the stall where he sits, 
And be his every honor he deigneth to climb at ! 

Had England a hierarchy form'd all of wits, 

Who but Sydney would England proclaim as its 
primate ? 

And long may he flourish, frank, merry, and brave — 

A Horace to hear, and a Paschal to read j 1 
While he laughs, all is safe, but, when Sydney 
grows grave, 
We shall then think the Church is in danger in- 
deed. 

Meanwhile, it much glads us to find he's preparing 
To teach other bishops to " seek the right way ;" 2 

And means shortly to treat the whole bench to an 
airing, 
Just such as he gave to Charles James t'other day. 

For our parts, though gravity's good for the soul, 
Such a fancy have we for the side that there's fun on, 

We'd rather with Sydney southwest take a "stroll," 
Than coach it northeast with his Lordship of 
Lunnun. 



THOUGHTS ON PATRONS, PUFFS ; AND 
OTHER MATTERS. 

IN AN EPISTLE FROM T. M. TO S. R. 

What, thou, my friend ! a man of rhymes, 
And, better still, a man of guineas, 

To talk of " patrons," in these times, 

When authors thrive, like spinning jennies, 

And Arkwright's twist and Bulwer's page 

Alike may laugh at patronage ! 

No, no — those times are pass'd away, 

When, doom'd in upper floors to star it, 
The bard inscribed to lords his lay, — 

Himself, the while, my Lord Mountgarret 
No more he begs, with air dependent, 
His " little bark may sail attendant" 

Under some lordly skipper's steerage ; 
But launch'd triumphant in the Row, 
Or ta'en by Murray's self in tow, 

Cuts both Star Chamber and the peerage. 

Patrons, indeed ! when scarce a sail 
Is whisk'd from England by the gale, 

i Some parts of the Provinciates may be said to be of the 
highest order ofjeuz d'esprit, or squibs. 
» "This stroll in the metropolis is extremely well con- 



But bears on board some authors, shipp'd 
For foreign shores, all well-equipp'd 
With proper book-making machinery, 
To sketch the morals, manners, scenery, 
Of all such lands as they shall see, 
Or not see, as the case may be : — 
It being enjoin'd on all who go 
To study first Miss M********, 
And learn from her the method true, 
To do one's books — and readers, too. 
For so this nymph of nous and nerve 
Teaches mankind " How to Observe ;" 
Vnd, lest mankind at all should swerve, 
Teaches them also " What to Observe." 

No, no, my friend — it can't be blink d— 
The Patron is a race extinct ; 
As dead as any Megatherion 
That ever Buckland built a theory on. 
Instead of bartering, in this age, 
Our praise for pence and patronage, 
We authors, now, more prosperous elves, 
Have learn'd to patronize ourselves ; 
And since all-potent Puffing's made 
The life of song, the soul of trade, 
More frugal of our praises grown, 
We puff no merits-^-t-oia u -own. 

Unlike those feeble gales of praise 

Which critics blew in former days, 

Our modern puffs are of a kind 

That truly, really raise the wind; 

And since they've fairly set in blowing, 

We find them the best trade-winds going. 

'Stead of frequenting paths so slippy 

As her old haunts near Aganippe, 

The Muse, now, taking to the till, 

Has open'd shop on Ludgate Hill, 

(Far handier than the Hill of Pindus, 

As seen from bard's back attic windows ;) 

And swallowing there without cessation 

Large draughts (at sight) of inspiration, 

Touches the notes for each new theme, 

While still fresh " change comes o'er her dream." 

What Steam is on the deep — and more — 
Is the vast power of Puff on shore ; 
Which jumps to glory's future tenses 
Before the present even commences ; 
And makes "immortal" and " divine" of us 
Before the world has read one line of us. 

In old times, when the God of Song 
Drove his own two-horse team along, 

trived for your Lordship's speech ; but suppose, my dear Lord t 
thatinstead of going E. and N. E. you had turned about," &c. 
&c— Sydney Smith's Last Letter to the Bishop of London. 



634 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Carrying inside a bard or two, 


Old Socrates, that pink of sages, 


Book'd for posterity " all through ;"— 


Kept a pet demon, on board wages 


Their luggage, a few close-pack'd rhymes, 


To go about with him incog., 


(Like yours, my friend,) for after-times — 


And sometimes give his wits a jog. 


* So slow the pull to Fame's abode, 


So L — nd — st, in our day, we know, 


That folks oft slept upon the road ; — 


Keeps fresh relays of imps below, 


And Homer's self, sometimes, they say, 


To forward, from that nameless spot, 


Took to his nightcap on the way. 1 


His inspirations, hot and hot. 


Ye Gods ! how different is the story 


But, neat as are old L — nd — st's doings — ■ 


With our new galloping sons of glory, 


Beyond even Hecate's " hell-broth" brewings — 


Who, scorning all such slack and slow time, 


Had I, Loul Stanley, but my will, 


Dash to posterity in no time ! 


I'd show you mischief prettier still ; 


Raise but one general blast of Puff 


Mischief, combining boyhood's tricks 


To start your author — that's enough. 


With age's sourest politics ; 


In vain the critics, set to watch him, 


The urchin's freaks, the veU pn's gall, 


Try at the starting post to catch him : 


Both duly mix'd, and matchless all ; 


He's off— the puffers carry it hollow — 


A compound naught in history reaches 


The critics, if they please, may follow. 


But Machiavel, when first in breeches ! 


Ere they've laid down their first positions, 




He's fairly blown through six editions ! 


Yes, Mischief, Goddess multiform, 


In vain doth Edinburgh dispense 


Whene'er thou, witch-like, rid'st the storm, 


Her blue and yellow pestilence ' 


Let Stanley ride cockhorse behind thee — 


(That plague so awful in my time 


No livelier lackey could they find thee. 


To young and touchy sons of rhyme) — 


And, Goddess, as I'm well aware, 


The Quarterly, at three months' date, 


So mischief's done, you care not where, 


To catch th' Unread One, comes too late ;• 


I own, 'twill most my fancy tickle 


And nonsense, litter'd in a hurry, 


In Paddyland to play the Pickle ; 


Becomes " immortal," spite of Murray. 


Having got credit for inventing 




A new, brisk method of tormenting — 


But. bless me ! — while I thus keep fooling, 


A way, they call the Stanley fashion, 


I hear a voice cry, " Dinner's cooling." 


Which puts all Ireland in a passion ; 


The postman, too, (who, truth to tell, 


So neat it hits the mixture due 


'Mong men of letters bears the bell,) 


Of injury and insult too ; 


Keeps ringing, ringing, so infernally 


So legibly it bears upon't 


That I must stop — 


The stamp of Stanley's brazen front. 


Yours sempiternally. 






Ireland, we're told, means land of Ire ; 




And why she's so, none need inquire, 
Who sees her millions, martial, manly, 






Spat upon thus by me, Lord St — nl — y. 


THOUGHTS ON MISCHIEF. 


Already in the breeze I scent 
The whiff of coming devilment ; 


BY LORD ST— NL— Y. 


Of strife, to me more stirring far 




Than th' Opium or the Sulphur war, 


(his first attempt in verse.) 


Or any such drug ferments are. 


" Evil, be thou my good." Milton. 


Yes — sweeter to this Tory soul 




Than all such pests, from pole to pole, 


How various are the inspirations 


Is the rich, " swelter'd venom" got 


Of different men, in different nations ! 


By stirring Ireland's " charmed pot ;" 9 


As genius prompts to good or evil, 


And, thanks to practice on that land, 


Some call the Muse, some raise the devil. 


I stir it with a master-hand. 


1 Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus.— Horat. 


8 " Swelter'd venom, sleeping got, 




Boil thou first i' the charmed pot." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



635 



Again thou'lt see, when forth hath gone 
The War-Church-cry, " On, Stanley, on L" 
How Caravats and Shanavests 
Shall swarm from out their mountain nests, 
With all their merry moonlight brothers, 
To whom the Church (step-dame to others) 
Hath been the best of nursing mothers. 
Again o'er Erin's rich domain 
Shall Rockites and right reverends reign ; 
And both, exempt from vulgar toil, 
Between them share that titheful soil ; 
Puzzling ambition which to climb at, 
The post of Captain, or of Primate. 

And so, long life to Church and Co.— 
Hurrah for mischief ! — here we go. 



EPISTLE FROM CAPTAIN ROCK TO 
LORD L— NDH— T. 

Dear L — ndh — t, — you'll pardon my making thus 
free, — 

But form is all fudge 'twixt such " comrogues" as we, 

Who, whate'er the smooth views we, in public, may 
drive at, 

Have both the same praiseworthy object, in pri- 
vate — 

Namely, never to let the old regions of riot, 

Where Rock hath long reign'd, have one instant of 
quiet, 

But keep Ireland still in that liquid we've taught 
her 

To love more than meat, drink, or clothing — hot 
water. 

All the difference betwixt you and me, as I take it, 

Is simply, that you make the law and / break it ; 

And never, of big- wigs and small, were there two 

Play'd so well into each other's hands as we do ; 

Insomuch, that the laws you and yours manufac- 
ture, 

Seem all made express for the Rock -boys to frac- 
ture. 

Not Birmingham's self — to her shame be it spo- 
ken — 

E'er made things more neatly contrived to be 
broken ; 

And hence, I confess, in this island religious, 

The breakage of laws — and of heads is prodigious. 

And long may it thrive, my Ex-Bigwig, say I, — 
Though, of late, much I fear'd all our fun was gono 
by; 



As, except when some tithe-hunting parson show'd 

sport, 
Some rector — a cool hand at pistols and port, 
Who " keeps dry" his powder, but never himself-— 
One who, leaving his Bible to rust on the shelf, 
Sends his pious texts home, in the shape of ball- 
cartridges, 
Shooting his " dearly beloved," like partridges ;— 
Except when some hero of this sort turn'd out, 
Or, th' Exchequer sent, flaming, its tithe-writs 1 

about — 
A contrivance more neat, I may say, without flat- 
tery, 
Than e'er yet was thought of for bloodshed and 

battery ; 
So neat, that even J might be proud, I allow, 
To have hit off so rich a receipt for a row ; — 
Except for such rigs turning up, now and then, 
I was actually growing the dullest of men ; 
And, had this blank fit been allow'd to increase, 
Might have snored myself down to a Justice of 

Peace. 
Like you, Reformation in Church and in State 
Is the thing of all things I most cordially hate ; 
If once these cursed Ministers do as they like, 
All's o'er, my good Lord, with your wig and my 

pike, 
And one may be hung up on t'other, henceforth, 
Just to show what such Captains and Chancellors 
were worth. 

But we must not despair — even already Hope sees 
You're about, my bold Baron, to kick up a breeze 
Of the true baffling sort, such as suits me and you, 
Who have box'd the whole compass of party right 

through, 
And care not one farthing, as all the world knows, 
So we but raise the wind, from what quarter it 

blows. 
Forgive me, dear Lord, that thus rudely I dare 
My own small resources with thine to compare : 
Not even Jerry Diddler, in " raising the wind," durst 
Compete, for one instant, with thee, my dear 

L— ndh— t. 

But, hark, there's a shot ! — some parsonic practi- 
tioner ? 
No — merely a bran-new Rebellion Commissioner; 
The Courts having now, with true law erudition, 
Put even Rebellion itself " in commission." 
As seldom, in this way, I'm any man's debtor, 
I'll just pay my shot, and then fold up this letter. 



1 Exchequer tithe processes, served under a commission 
of rebellion. — Chronicle. 



636 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



In the mean time, hurrah for the Tories and Rocks ! 
Hurrah for the parsons who fleece well their flocks ! 
Hurrah for all mischief in all ranks and spheres, 
And, above all, hurrah for that dear House of 
Peers ! 



CAPTAIN ROCK IN LONDON 

LETTER FROM THE CAPTAIN TO TERRY ALT, ESQ. 1 

Here I am, at head-quarters, dear Terry, once 

more, 
Deep in Tory designs, as I've oft been before : — 
For, bless them ! if 'twasn't for this wrong-headed 

crew, 
You and I, Terry Alt, would scarce know what to 

do ; 
So ready they're always, when dull we are growing, 
To set our old concert of discord a-going, 
While L— ndh— t's the lad, with his Tory-Whig 

face, 
To play, in such concert, the true double-base. 
I had fear'd this old prop of my realm was beginning 
To tire of his course of political sinning, 
And, like Mother Cole, when her heyday was past, 
Meant, by way of a change, to try virtue at last. 
But I wrong'd the old boy, who as stanchly derides 
All reform in himself as in most things besides ; 
And, by using two faces through life, all allow, 
Has acquired face sufficient for any thing now. 

In short, he's all right ; and, if mankind's old foe, 
My " Lord Harry" himself— who's the leader, we 

know, 
Of another red-hot Opposition, below — 

i The subordinate officer or lieutenant of Captain Rock. 



If that " Lord," in his well-known discernment, but 



Me and L — ndh — t, to look after Ireland's affairs, 
We shall soon such a region of devilment make it, 
That Old Nick himself for his own may mistake it. 

Even already — long life to such Big-wigs, say I, 
For, as long as they nourish, we Rocks cannot die — 
He has served our right riotous cause by a speech 
Whose perfection of mischief he only could reach ; 
As it shows off both his and my merits alike, 
Both the swell of the wig, and the point of the pike ; 
Mixes up, with a skill which one can't but ; admire, 
The lawyer's c\cl craft with th' incendiary's fire, 
And enlists, in the gravest, most plausible manner, 
Seven millions of souls under Rockery's banner ! 
Oh Terry, my man, let this speech never die ; 
Through the regions of Rockland, like flame, let it 

fly; 
Let each syllable dark the Law-Oracle utter'd 
By all Tipperary's wild echoes be mutter'd, 
Till naught shall be heard, over hill, dale, or flood, 
But " You're aliens in language, in creed, and in 

blood;" 
While voices, from sweet Connemara afar, 
Shall answer, like true Irish echoes, " We are !" 
And, though false be the cry, and though sense 

must abhor it, 
Still th' echoes may quote Law authority for it, 
And naught L — ndh — t cares for my spread of 

dominion, 
So he, in the end, touches cash " for th' opinion." 

But I've no time for more, my dear Terry, just now, 
Being busy in helping these Lords through their 

row : 
They're bad hands at mob-work, but, once they 

begin, 
They'll have plenty of practice to break them well 

in. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



637 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND; 

BEING A SEQUEL TO 

"THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS." 



PREFACE. 

The name of the country town, in England — a 
well-known fashionable watering-place — in which 
the events that gave rise to the following corre- 
spondence occurred, is, for obvious reasons, suppress- 
ed. The interest attached, however, to the facts 
and personages of the story, renders it independent 
of all time and place ; and when it is recollected 
that the whole train of romantic circumstances so 
fully unfolded in these Letters has passed during the 
short period which has now elapsed since the great 
Meetings in Exeter Hall, due credit will, it is hoped, 
be allowed to the Editor for the rapidity with which 
he has brought the details before the Public ; while, 
at the same time, any errors that may have been 
the result of such haste will, he trusts, with equal 
consideration, be pardoned. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



LETTER I. 

FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. RICHARD 
, CURATE OF , IN IRELAND. 

Who d'ye think we've got here? — quite reform'd 
from the giddy, 
Fantastic young thing, that once made such a 



Why, the famous Miss Fudge — that delectable 
Biddy, 
Whom you and I saw once at Paris, when boys, 
In the full blaze of bonnets, and ribands, and airs — 
Such a thing as no rainbow hath colors to 
paint ; 
Ere time had reduced her to wrinkles and prayers, 
And the Flirt found a decent retreat in the Saint. 



Poor " Pa" hath popp'd off— gone, as charity judges, 
To some choice Elysium reserved for the Fudges ; 
And Miss, with a fortune, besides expectations 
From some much revered and much-pals^ d rela- 
tions, 
Now wants but a husband, with requisites rr;ott, — 
Age thirty, or thereabouts — stature six feet, 
And warranted godly — to make all complete. 
Nota Bene — a Churchman would suit, if he's high, 
But Socinians or Catholics need not apply. 

What say you, Dick ? doesn't this tempt your am- 
bition ? 
The whole wealth of Fudge, that renown'd man 
of pith, 
All brought to the hammer, for Church competi- 
tion, — [with. 
Sole encumbrance, Miss Fudge to be taken there- 
Think, my boy, for a Curate how glorious a catch ! 
While, instead of the thousands of souls you now 

watch, 
To save Biddy Fudge's is all you need do ; 
And her purse will, meanwhile, be the saving of you. 

You may ask, Dick, how comes it that I, a poor elf, 
Wanting substance even more than your spiritual 
self, [shelf, 

Should thus generously lay my own claims on the 
When, God knows ! there ne'er was young gentle- 
man yet 
So much lack'd an old spinster to rid him fiom 

debt, 
Or had cogenter reasons than mine to assail her 
With tender love-suit — at the suit of his tailor. 

But thereby there hangs a soft secret, my friend, 
Which thus to your reverend breast I commend : 
Miss Fudge hath a niece — such a creature ! — with 

eyes 
Like those sparklers that peep out from iummer- 

night skies 
At astronomers-royal, and laugh with delight 
To see elderly gentlemen spying all night. 



638 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



While her figure — oh, bring all the gracefullest 

things 
That are borne through the light air by feet or by 

wings, 
Not a single new grace to that form could they teach, 
Which combines in itself the perfection of each ; 
While, rapid or slow, as her fairy feet fall, 
The mute music of symmetry modulates all. 

Ne'er, in short, was there creature more form'd to 
bewilder 
A gay youth like me, who of castles aerial 
(And only of such) am, God help me ! a builder ; 

Still peopling each mansion with lodgers ethereal, 
And now, to this nymph of the seraph-like eye, 
Letting out, as you see, my first floor next the 
sky. 1 

But, alas ! nothing's perfect on earth — even she, 
This divine little gipsy, does odd things some- 
times ; 
Talks learning — looks wise, (rather painful to see,) 
Prints already in two County papers her rhymes ; 
And raves — the sweet, charming, absurd little dear ! 
About Amulets, Bijous, and Keepsakes, next year, 
In a manner which plainly bad symptoms portends 
Of that Annual blue fit, so distressing to friends ; 
A fit which, though lasting but one short edition, 
Leaves the patient long after in sad inanition. 

However, let's hope for the best — and, meanwhile, 
Be it mine still to bask in the niece's warm smile ; 
While you, if you're wise, Dick, will play the gallant 
(Uphill work, I confess) to her Saint of an Aunt. 
Think, my boy, for a youngster like you, who've a 
lack, 
Not indeed of rupees, but of all other specie, 
What *uck thus to find a kind witch at your back, 
An o.d goose with gold eggs, from all debts to re- 
lease ye ; 
Never mind, tho' the spinster be reverend and thin, 
What are all the Three Graces to her Three per 
Gents.? 
While her acres ! — oh Dick, it don't matter one pin 
How she touches th' affections, so you touch the 
rents , 
And Love never Iooks half so pleased, as when, bless 

him! he 
Sings to an old lady's purse " Open, Sesame." 

i That floor which a facetious garreteer called " le pre- 
mier en descendant du ciel." 

2 See the Dublin Evening Post, of the 9th of this month, 
(July,) for an account of a scene which lately took place at 
a meeting of the Synod of Ulster, in which the performance 
of the above-mentioned part by the personage in question 
appears to have been worthy of all its former reputation in 
that line. 



By the way, I've just heard, in my walks, a report, 
Which, if true, will insure for your visit some sport. 
'Tis rumor'd our Manager means to bespeak 
The Church tumblers irom Exeter Hall for i»xt 

week ; 
And certainly ne'er did a queerer or rummer set 
Throw, for th' amusement of Christians, a summer- 
set. 
'Tis fear'd their chief " Merriman," C — ke, cannot 

come, 
Being called off, at present, to play Punch at home ; a 
And the loss of so practised a wag in divinity 
Will grieve much all lovers of jokes on the Trin- 
ity ;— 
His pun on the name Unigenitus, lately 
Having pleased Robert Taylor, the Revere:.<i,< 
greatly. 3 

'Twill prove a sad drawback, if absent he be, 
As a wag Presbyterian's a thing quite to see ; 
And, 'mong the Five Points of the Calvinists, none 

of 'em 
Ever yet reckon'd a point of wit one of 'em 
But even though deprived of this comical elf, 
We've a host of buffoni in Murtagh himself, 
Who of all the whole troop is chief mummer and 

mime, 
As C — ke takes the Ground Tumbling, he the Sub- 
lime ; 4 
And of him we're quite certain, so, pray, come in 
time. 



LETTER II. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MRS. 
ELIZABETH . 

Just in time for the post, dear, and monstrously 
busy, 
With godly concernments— and worldly ones, 
too; 
Things carnal and spiritual mix'd, my dear Lizzy, 
In this little brain till bewilder'd and dizzy, 

'Twixt heaven and earth, I scarce know what I 
do. 

3 " All are punsters if they have wit to be so ; and there- 
fore when an Irishman has to commence with a Bull, you 
will naturally pronounce it a bull. (A laugh.) Allow me to 
bring before you the famous Bull that is called Unigenitus, 
referring to the only-begotten Son of God."— Report of the 
Rev. Doctor's speech, June 20, in the Record Newspaper. 

4 In the language of the play-bills, " Ground and Lofty 
Tumbling." 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND 



639 



First, I've been to see all the gay fashions from 

Town, 
Which our favorite Miss Gimp for the spring has 

had down. 
Sleeves still worn (which /think is wise) a la folle, 
Charming hats, pou de soie — though the shape 

rather droll. 
But you can't think how nicely the caps of tulle lace, 
"With the mentonnieres, look on this poor sinful face ; 
And I mean, if the Lord in his mercy thinks right, 
To wear one at Mrs. Fitz-wigram's to-night. 
The silks are quite heavenly : — I'm glad, too, to 

say, 
Gimp herself grows more godly and good every day ; 
Hath had sweet experience — yea, even doth begin 
To turn from the Gentiles, and put away sin — 
And all since her last stock of goods was laid in. 
What a blessing one's milliner, careless of pelf, 
Should thus " walk in newness" as well as one's self! 

So much for the blessings, the comforts of Spirit 
I've had since we met, and they're more than I 

merit ! — 
Poor, sinful, weak creature in every respect ; 
Though ordain'd (God knows why) to be one of th' 

Elect. 
But now for the picture's reverse. — You remember 
That footman and cook -maid I hired last December ; 
He, a Baptist Particular — she, of some sect 
Not particular, I fancy, in any respect ; 
But desirous, poor thing, to be fed with the Word, 
And " to wait," as she said, " on Miss Fudge and 

the Lord." 

Well, my dear, of all men, that Particular Baptist 
At preaching a sermon, off hand, was the aptest ; 
And, long as he stay'd, do him justice, more rich in 
Sweet savors of doctrine, there never was kitchen. 
He preach'd in the parlor, he preach'd in the hall, 
He preach'd to the chambermaids, scullions, and 
all. 

All heard with delight his reprovings of sin, 
But above all, the cook -maid ; — oh, ne'er would she 

tire — 
Though, in learning to save sinful souls from the fire, 

She would oft let the soles she was frying fall in. 



i " Morning Manna, or British Verse-book, neatly done up 
for the pocket," and chiefly intended to assist the members 
of the British Verse Association, whose design is, we are 
told, " to induce the inhabitants of Great Britain and Ireland 
to commit one and the same verse of Scripture to memory 
every morning. Already, it is known, several thousand per- 
sons in Scotland, besides tens of thousands in America and 
Africa, are every morning' learning the same verse." 

2 The Evangelical Magazine. — A few specimens taken at 
random from the wrapper of this highly esteemed periodical 
will fully justify the character which Miss Fudge has here 



(God forgive me for punning on points thus of 

piety .' — 
A sad trick I've learn'd in Bob's heathen society.) 
But ah ! there remains still the worst of my tale ; 
Come, Asterisks, and help me the sad truth to veil — 
Conscious stars, that at even your own secret turn 

pale ! 
***** 
***** 
In short, dear, this preaching and psalm-singing pair, 
Chosen " vessels of mercy," as / thought they were, 
Have together this last week eloped ; making bold 
To whip off as much goods as both vessels could 

hold- 
Not forgetting some scores of sweet tracts from my 

shelves, 
Two Family Bibles as large as themselves, 
And besides, from the drawer — I neglecting to k;k 

it— 
My neat " Morning Manna, done up for the 

pocket." 1 
Was there e'er known a case so distressing, dear 

Liz? 
It has made me quite ill : — and the worst of it is, 
When rogues are all pious, 'tis hard to detect 
Which rogues are the reprobate, which the elect. 
This man " had a call," he said — impudent mockery ! 
What call had he to my linen and crockery ? 

I'm now, and have been for this week past, in chase 
Of some godly young couple this pair to replace. 
The enclosed two announcements have just met my 

eyes, 
In that venerable Monthly where Saints advertise 
For such temporal comforts as this world supplies ; 2 
And the fruits of the Spirit are properly made 
An essential in every craft, calling, and trade. 
Where th' attorney requires for his 'prentice some 

'•outh [truth ;" 

Wht has " learn'd to fear God, and to walk in the 
Whe:^ the sempstress, in search of employment, 

declares, 
That pay is no object, so she can have prayers ; 
And th' Establish'd Wine Company proudly gives 

out, 
That the whole of the firm, Co. and all, are devout. 



given of it. " Wanted, in a pious pawnbroker's family, an 
active lad as an apprentice." " Wanted, as housemaid, a 
young female who has been brought to a saving knowledge 
of the truth." "Wanted immediately, a man of decided 
piety, to assist in the baking business." " A gentleman who 
understands the Wine Trade is desirous of entering into 
partnership, &c, &c. He is not desirous of being connected 
with any one whose system of business is not of the strict- 
est integrity as in the sight of God, and seeks connection only 
with a truly pious man, either Chun hman or Dissenter." 



640 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Happy London, one feels, as one reads o'er the pages, 
Where Saints are so much more abundant than sages ; 
Where Parsons may soon be all laid on the shelf, 
As each Cit can cite chapter and verse for himself, 
And the serious frequenters of market and dock 
All lay in religion as part of their stock. 1 
Who can tell to what lengths we may go on im- 
proving, 
When thus through all London the Spirit keeps 

moving, 
And heaven's so in vogue, that each shop advertise- 
ment 
Is now not so much for the earth as the skies meant ? 

P. S. 
Have mislaid the two paragraphs — can't stop to 

look, 
But both describe charming — both Footman and 

Cook, 
She, " decidedly pious" — with pathos deplores 
Th' increase of French cookery and sin on our 

shores ; 
And adds — (while for further accounts she refers 
To a great Gospel preacher, a cousin of hers,) 
That " though some make their Sabbaths mere 

matter-of-fun days, 
She asks but for tea and the Gospel, on Sundays." 
The footman, too, full of the true saving knowl- 
edge ;— 
Has late been to Cambridge — to Trinity College ; 
Served last a young gentleman, studying divinity, 
But left — not approving the morals of Trinity. 

P. S. 

I enclose, too, according to promise, some scraps 
Of my Journal — that Day-book I keep of my 
heart ; 
Where, at some little item, (partaking, perhaps, 
More of earth than of heaven,) thy prudery may 

start, 
And suspect something tender, sly girl as thou 
art. 
For the present, I'm mute — but, whate'er may 

befall, 
Recollect, dear, (in Hebrews, xiii. 4,) St. Paul 
Hath himself declared, " Marriage is honorable in 
all." 



i According to the late Mr. Irving, there is even a peculiar 
form of theology got up expressly for the money-market. " I 
know how far wide," he says, " of the mark my views of 
Christ's work in the flesh will be viewed by those who are 
working with the stock-jobbing theology of the religious 
world." " Let these preachers," he adds, (" for I will not 
call them theologians,) cry up, broker-like, their article." 

Morning Watch. — No. Hi., 442, 443. 

From the statement of another writer, in the same publi- 
cation, it would appear that the stock-brokers have even set 



EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 

Monday. 
Tried a new Chale gown on — pretty. 
No one to see me in it — pity ! 
Flew in a passion with Friz, my maid ; — 
The Lord forgive me ! — she look'd dismay'd ; 
But got her to sing the 100th Psalm, 
While she curl'd my hair, which made me calm 
Nothing so sooths a Christian heart 
As sacred music — heavenly art .' . 



Tuesday. 
At two, a visit from Mr. Magan — 
A remarkably handsome, nice young man ; 
And, all Hibernian though he be, 
As civilized, strange to say, as we ! 

I own this young man's spiritual state 
Hath much engross'd my thoughts of late ; 
And I mean, as soon as my niece is gonf» 
To have some talk with him thereupon. 
At present, I naught can do or say, 
But that troublesome child is in the way ■ 
Nor is there, I think, a doubt that he 

Would also her absence much prefer, 
As oft, while list'ning intent to me, 

He's forced, from politeness, to look at her- 

Heigho ! — what a blessing should Mr. Magan 
Turn out, after all, a " renew'd" young man ; 
And to me should fall the task, on earth, 
To assist at the dear youth's second birth. 
Blest thought ! and, ah, more blest the tie, 
Were it heaven's high will, that he and I — 
But I blush to write the nuptial word — 
Should wed, as St. Paul says, " in the Lord ;" 
Not this world's wedlock — gross, gallant, 
But pure — as when Amram married his aunt 

Our ages differ — but who would count 
One's natural sinful life's amount, 
Or look ir the Register's vulgar page 
For a regular twice-born Christian's age, 
Who, blessed privilege ! only then 
Begin's to live when he's born again. 



up a new Divinity of their own. " This shows," says the 
writer in question, "that the doctrine of the union between 
Christ and his members is quite as essential as that of sub- 
stitution, by taking which latter alone the Stock- Exchange 
Divinity has been produced." — No. x., p. 375. 

Among the ancients, we know the money-market was pro- 
vided with more than one presiding Deity—" Dese Pecuniae 
(says an ancient author) commendabantur ut pecuniosi 
essent." 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



641 



And, counting in this way — let me see — 

I myself but five years old shall be, 

And dear Magan, when th' event takes place, 

An actual new-bora child of grace — 

Should Heaven in mercy so dispose — 

A six-foot baby, in swaddling clothes. 

Wednesday. 
Finding myself, by some good fate, 
With Mr. Magan left tete-a-tete, 
Had just begun — having stirr'd the fire, 
And drawn my chair near his — to inquire 
What his notions were of Original Sua, 
When that naughty Fanny again bounced in ; 
And all the sweet things I had got to say 
Of the Flesh and the Devil were whisk'd away I 

Much grieved to observe that Mr. Magan 

Is actually pleased and amused with Fan ! 

What charms any sensible man can see 

In a child so foolishly young as she — 

But just eighteen, come next May -day, 

With eyes, like herself, full of naught but play — 

Is, I own, an exceeding puzzle to me 



LETTER III 

FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, MISS 
KITTY . 

STANZAS (ENCLOSED 

TO MY SHADOW ; OR, WHY ? WHAT ? HOW ? 

Dark comrade of my path ! while earth and sk\ 
Thus wed their charms, in bridal light array'd, 
Why in this bright hour, walk'st thou ever nigh, 
Black'ning my footsteps with thy length of 
shade — 

Dark comrade, Why? 

Thou mimic Shape that, 'mid these flowery scenes, 
Glidest beside me o'er each sunny spot, 

Sadd'ning them as thou goest — say, what means 
So dark an adjunct to so bright a lot — 

Grim goblin, What ? 

Still, as to pluck sweet flowers I bend my brow, 
Thou bendest, too — then risest when I rise ; — 
Say, mute mysterious Thing ! how is't that thou 
Thus comest between me and those bless'd 
skies — 

Dim shadow, How ? 



(additional stanza, by another hand ) 

Thus said I to that Shape, far less in grudge 

Than gloom of soul ; while, as I eager cried, 
Oh, Why? What? How?— a Voice, that oj» 
might judge 
To be some Irish echo's, faint replied, 

Oh fudge, fudge, fudge ! 

You have here, dearest Coz, my last lyric effusion ; 

Aud, with it, that odious " additional stanza," 
Which Aunt will insist I must keep, as conclusion, 

And which, you'll at once see, is Mr. Ma- 
gan's ; — a 

Most cruel and dark-design'd extravaganza, 
And part of that plot in which he and my Aunt are 
To stifle the flights of my genius by banter. 

Just so 'twas with Byron's young eagle-eyed strain, 
Just so did they taunt him ; — but vain, critics, vain, 
All your efforts to saddle Wit's fire with a chain ! 
To blot out the splendor of Fancy's young stream, 
Or crop, in its cradle, her newly-fledged beam ! ! ! 
Thou perceiv'st, dear, that, even while these lines 

I indite, 
Thoughts burn, brilliant fancies break out, wrong 

or right, 
And I'm all over poet, in Criticism's spite ! 

That my Aunt, who deals only in Psalms, and 

regards 
■Messrs. Sternhold and Co. as the first of all bards — 
That she should make light of my works I can't 

blame ; 
But that nice, handsome, odious Magan — what a 

shame ! 
Do you know, dear, that, high as on most points I 

rate him, 
I'm really afraid — after all, I — must hate him. 
He is so provoking — naught's safe from his tongue ; 
He spares no one authoress, ancient or young. 
Were you Sappho herself, and in Keepsake or Bijou 
Once shone as contributor, Lord how he'd quiz you ! 
He laughs at all Monthlies — I've actually seen 
A sneer on his brow at the Court Magazine ! — 
While of Weeklies, poor things, there's but one he 

peruses, 
And buys every book which that Weekly abuses. 
But I care not how others such sarcasm may fear, 
One spirit, at least, will not bend to his sneer ; 
And though tried by the fire, my young genius 

shall burn as 
Uninjured as crucified gold in the furnace ! 
(I suspect the word "crucified" must be made 

" crucible," 
Before this fine image of mine is producible.) 



642 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And now, dear — to tell you a secret which, pray- 
Only trust to such friends as with safety you may — 
You know, and indeed the whole county suspects, 
(Though the Editor often my best things rejects,) 
That the verses signed so, O", which you now 

and then see 
In our County Gazette (vide last) are by me. 
But 'tis dreadful to think what provoking mistakes 
The vile country Press in one's prosody makes. 
For you know, dear — I may, without vanity, hint — 
Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must 

print ; 
And you can't think what havoc these demons 

sometimes 
Choose to make of one's sense, and what's worse, 

of one's rhymes. 
But a week or two since, in my Ode upon Spring, 
Which I meant to have made a most beautiful 

thing, 
Where I talk'd of the " dewdrops from freshly-blown 



The nasty things made it " from freshly-blown 



And once when, to please my cross Aunt, I had 
tried 

To commemorate some saint of her clique, who'd 
just died, 

Having said he " had tak'n up in heaven his po- 
sition," 

They made it, he'd " taken up to heaven his physi- 
cian !" 

This is very disheartening; — but brighter days 

shine, 
I rejoice, love, to say, both for me and the Nine ; 
For, what do you think? — so delightful! next 

year, 
Oh, prepare, dearest girl, for the grand news 

prepare — ■ 
I'm to write w *he Keepsake — yes, Kitty, my 

dear, 
To write in the Keepsake, as sure as you're 

there ! ! 
T'other night, at a Ball, 'twas my fortunate chance 
With a very nice elderly Dandy to dance, 
Who, 'twas plain, from some hints which I now 

and then caught, 
Was the author of something — one couldn't tell 

what; 
But hi? satisfied manner left no room to doubt 
It was something thai Colburn had lately brought 

out. 

We conversed of belles-lettres through all the quad- 
rille, — 
Of poetry, dancing, of prose, standing still ; 



Talk'd of Intellect's march — whether right 'twas 

or wrong — 
And then settled the point in a bold en avant. 
In the course of this talk 'twas that, having just 

hinted 
That / too had Poem3 which — long'd to be printed, 
He protested, kind man ! he had seen, at first sight, 
I was actually born in the Keepsake to write. 
" In the Annals of England let some," he said, 

" shine, 
" But a place in her Annuals, Lady, be tim.e . 
" Even now future Keepsakes seem brightly to rise, 
" Through the vista of years, as I gaze on those 

eyes, — 
" All letter'd and press'd, and of large-paper size !" 
How unlike that Magan, who my genius would 

smother. 
And how we, true geniuses, find out each other ! 

This, and much more he said, with that fine phie£ 

sied glance 
One so rarely now sees, as we slid through the 

dance ; 
Till between us 'twas finally fix'd that, next year, 
In this exquisite task I my pen rhould engage ; 
And, at parting, he stoop'd down and lisp'd in my 

ear 
These mystical words, which I could but just hear, 
" Terms for rhyme — if it's prime — ten and 
sixpence per page." 
Think, Kitty, my dear, if I heard his words right, 
What a mint of half-guineas this small head 
contains ; 
If for nothing to write is itself a delight, 

Ye Gods, what a bliss to be paid for one's strains ! 

Having dropp'd the dear fellow a court'sy pro- 
found, 
Off at once, to inquire all about him, I ran ; 
And from what I could learn, do you know, dear, 
I've found 
That he's quite a new species of literary man ; 
One, whose task is — to what will not fashion ac- 
custom us ? 
To edite live authors, as if they were posthumous. 
For instance — the plan, to be sure, is the oddest ! — 
If any young he or she author feels modest 
In venturing abroad, this kind gentleman-usher 
Lends promptly a hand to the interesting blusher ; 
Indites a smooth Preface, brings merit to light, 
Which else might, by accident, shrink out of sight, 
And, in short, renders readers and critics polite. 
My Aunt says — though scarce on such points one 

can credit her — 
He was Lady Jane Thingumbob's last novel's 
editor. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



643 



'Tis certain the fashion's but newly invented ; 

And, quick as the change of all things and all 
names is, 
Who knows but, as authors, like girls, are presented, 

We, girls, may be edited soon at St. James's? 

I must now close my letter — there's Aunt, in full 

screech, 
Wants to take me to hear some great Irvingite 

preach. 
God forgive me, I'm not much inclined, I must say, 
To go and sit still to be preach'd at, to-day. 
And, besides — 'twill be all against dansing, no doubt, 
Which my poor Aunt abhors, with such hatred 

devout, 
That, so far from presenting young nymphs with a 

head, 
For their skill in the dance, as of Herod is said, 
She'd wish their own heads in the platter, instead. 
There, again — coming, Ma'am ! — I'll write more, 

if I can, 
Before the post goe%, 

Your affectionate Fan. 

Four o'clock. 
Such a sermon ! — though not about dancing, my 

dear ; 
'Twas only on th' end of the world being near. 
Eighteen Hundred and Forty's the year that some 
state 
l As th: time for that accident — some Forty-Eight i 1 
And I own, of the two, I'd prefer much the latter, 
As then I shall be an old maid, and 'twon't matter. 
Once more, love, good-by — I've to make a new cap ; 
But am now so dead tired with this horrid mishap 
Of the end of the world, that I must take a nap. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. 
RICHARD . 

He comes from Erin's speechful shore 
Like fervid kettle, bubbling o'er 

With hot effusions — hot and weak ; 
Sound, Humbug, all your hollowest drums, 
He comes, of Erin's martyrdoms 

To Britain's well-fed Church to speak. 



1 With regard to the exact time of this event, there appears 
to be a dinV-.nce only of about two or three years among the 
respective " alculators. M. Alphonse Nicole, Docteur en 
Droit, et Avocat, merely doubts whether it is to be in 1846 



Puff him, ye Journals of the Lord, 8 
Twin prosers, Watchman and Record ! 
Journals reserved for realms of bliss, 
Being much too good to sell in this. 
Prepare, ye wealthier Saints, your dinners, 

Ye Spinsters, spread your tea and crumpets ; 
And you, ye countless Tracts for Sinners, 

Blow all your little penny trumpets. 
He comes, the reverend man, to tell 

To all who still the Church's part take, 
Tales of parsonic wo, that well 

Might make ev'n grim Dissenter's heart ache :— 
Of ten whole Bishops snatch'd away 
Forever from the light of day ; 
(With God knows, too, how many more, 
For whom that doom is yet in store) — 
Of Rectors, cruelly compell'd 

From Bath and Cheltenham to haste home, 
Because the tithes, by Pat withheld, 

Will not to Bath or Cheltenham come ; 
Nor will the flocks consent to pay 
Their parsons thus to stay away ; — 
Though, with such parsons, one may doubt 
If 'tisn't money well laid out ; — 
Of all, in short, and each degree 
Of that once happy Hierarchy, 

Which used to roll in wealth so pleasantly ; 
But now, alas, is doom'd to see 

Its surplus brought to nonplus presently ! 

Such are the themes this man of pathos, 
Priest of prose and Lord of bathos, 

Will preach and preach t'ye, till you're dull 
again ; 
Then, hail him, Saints, with joint acclaim, 
Shout. to the stars his tuneful name, 
Which Murtagh was, ere known to fame, 

But now is Mortimer O'Mulligan ! 

All true, Dick, true as you're alive — 
I've seen him, some hours since, arrive. 
Murtagh is come, the great Itinerant — 

And Tuesday, in the market-place, 
Intends, to every saint and sinner in't, 

To state what he calls Ireland's Case ; 
Meaning thereby the case of his shop, — 
Of curate, vicar, rector, bishop, 
And all those other grades seraphic, 
That make men's souls their special traffic, 
Though caring not a pin which way 
Th' erratic souls go, so they pay. — 



or 1847. "A cette epoque," he says, "les fideles peuvent 
esp^rer de voir s'effectuer la purification du Sanctuaire." 

2 " Our anxious desire is to be found on the side of the 
Lord." — Record Newspaper. 



644 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Just as some roguish country nurse, 

Who takes a foundling babe to suckle, 
First pops the payment in her purse, 

Then leaves poor dear to — suck its knuckle . 
Even so these reverend rigmaroles 
Pocket the money — starve the souls. 
Murtagh, however, in his glory, 
Will tell, next week, a different story ; 
Will make out all these men of barter, 
As each a saint, a downright martyr, 
Brought to the stake — i. e. a beef one, 
Of all their martyrdoms the chief one ; 
Though try them even at this, they'll bear it, 
If tender and wash'd down with claret. 

Meanwhile Miss Fudge, who loves all lions, 
Your saintly, next to great and high 'uns — 
(A Viscount, be he what he may, 
Would cut a Saint out, any day,) 
Has just announced a godly rout, 
Where Murtagh's to be first brought out, 
And shown in his tame, week-day state : — 
" Prayers, half-past seven, tea at eight." 
Even so the circular missive orders — 
Pink cards, with cherubs round the borders. 

Haste, Dick — you're lost, if you lose time ; 

Spinsters at forty-five grow giddy, 
And Murtagh, with his tropes sublime, 

Will surely carry off old Biddy, 
Unless some spark at once propose, 
And distance him by downright prose. 
That sick, rich squire, whose wealth and lands 
All pass, they say, to Biddy's hands, 
(The patron, Dick, of three fat rectories !} 
Is dying of angina pectoris; — 
So that, unless you're stirring soon, 

Murtagh, tnat priest of puff and pelf, 
May come in for a honey-moon, 

And be the man of it, himself ! 

As for me, Dick — 'tis whim, 'tis folly, 
But this young niece absorbs me wholly. 
'Tis true, the girl's a vile verse-maker — 

Would rhyme all nature, if you'd let her ; — 
But even her oddities, plague take her, 

But make me love her all the better. 
Too true it is, she's bitten sadly 
With this new rage for rhyming badly, 
Which late hath seized all ranks and classes, 
Down to that new Estate, " the masses ;" 

Till one pursuit all taste combines — 
One common railroad o'er Parnassus, 
Where, sliding in those tuneful grooves, 
Call'd couplets, all creation moves, 

And the whole world runs mad in lines. 



Add to all this — what's even still worse 
As rhyme itself, though still a curse, 
• Sounds better to a chinking purse — 
Scarce sixpence hath my charmer got, 
While I can muster just a groat ; 
So that, computing self and Venus, 
Tenpence would clear th' amount between us. 

However, things may yet prove better : — 

Meantime, what awful length of letter ! 

And how, while heaping thus with gibes 

The Pegasus of modern scribes, 

My own small hobby of farrago 

Hath beat the pace at which even they go ! 



LETTER V 



FROM LARRY O BRANIGAN, IN ENGLAND, tO HIS 
WIFE JUDY, AT MULLJNAFAD. 

Dear Judy, I sind you this bit of a letther, 

By mail-coach conveyance — for want of a bet- 

ther— 
To tell you what luck in this world I have had 
Since I left the sweet cabin, at Mullinafad. 
Och, Judy, that night ! — when the pig which wa 

meant 
To dry-nurse, in the parlor, to pay off the rent, 
Julianna, the craythur — that name was the death of 

her 1 — 
Gave us the shlip and we saw the last breath of 

her! 
And there were the childher, six innocent sowls, 
For their nate little play-fellow tuning up howls ; 
While yourself, my dear Judy, (though grievin's a 

folly,) 
Stud over Julianna's remains, melancholy-— 
Cryin', half for the craythur, and half for the money, 
" Arrah, why did ye die till we'd sowl'd you, my 

honey ?" 

But God's will be done ! — and then, faith, sure 

enough, 
As the pig was desaiced, 'twas high time to be off. 
So we gother'd up all the poor duds we could catch, 
Lock'd the owld cabin-door, put the kay in the 

thatch, 
Then tuk laave of each other's sweet Zips in the dark, 
And set off, like the Chrishtians tura'd out of the 

Ark; 

x The Irish peasantry are very fond of giving fine names to 
their pigs. I have heard of one instance in which a couple of 
young pigs were named, at their birth, Abelard and Eloisa. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



645 



The six childher with you, ray dear Judy, ochone ! 
And poor I wid myself, left condolin' alone. 

How I came to this England, o'er say and o'er 

lands, 
And what cruel hard walkin' I've had on my hands, 
Is, at this present writin', too tadious to speak, 
So I'll mintion it all in a postscript, next week : — 
Only starved I was, surely, as thin as a lath, 
Till I came to an up-and-down place they call Bath, 
Where, as luck was, I managed to make a meal's 

meat, 
By dhraggin' owld ladies all day through the street — 
Which their docthors (who pocket, like fun, the 

pound starlins) 
Have brought into fashion to plase the owld darlins. 
Div'l a boy in all Bath, though I say it, could carry 
The grannies up hill half so handy as Larry ; 
And the higher they lived, like owld crows, in the air, 
The more / was wanted to lug them up there. 

But luck has two handles, dear Judy, they say, 
And mine has both handles put on the wrong way. 
For, pondherin', one morn, on a drame I'd just had 
Of yourself and the babbies, at Mullinafad, 
Och, there came o'er my sinses so plasin' a flutther, 
That I spilt an owld Countess right clane in the 

gutther, 
Muff, feathers and all ! — the descint was most 

awful, 
And — what was still worse, faith — I knew 'twas 

unlawful : 
For, though, with mere women, no very great evil, 
T' upset an owld Countess in Bath is the divii ! 
So, liftin' the chair, with herself safe upon it, 
(For nothin' aboi : ' her was kilt, but her bonnet,) 
Without even mentionin' " By your lave, ma'am," 
I tuk to my heels r-^i — here, Judy, I am I 

What's the name of this town I can't say very well, 
But your heart sure will jump when you hear what 

befell 
Your own beautiful Larry, the very first day, 
(And a Sunday it was, shinin' out mighty gay,) 
When his brogues to this city of luck found their 

way. 
Bein' hungry, God help me, and happenin" to stop, 
Just to dine on the shmell of a pasthry-cook's shop, 
I saw, in the window, a large printed paper, 
And read there a name, och ! that made my heart 

caper — 
Though printed it was in some quare ABC, 
That might bother a schoolmasther, let alone me. 
By gor, you'd have laugh'd, Judy, could you've but 

listen' d, 
As, doubtin', I cried, " why it is ! — no, it isn't :" 



But it was, after all — for, by spellin' quite slow, 
First I made out " Rev. Mortimer" — then a great 

" O ;" 
And, at last, by hard readin' and rackin' my skull 

again, 
Out it came, nate as imported, " O'Mulligan !" 

Up I jump'd, like a sky-lark, my jewel, at that 

name, — 
Div'l a doubt on my mind, but it must be the same. 
"Masther Murthagh, himself," says I, "all the 

world over ! 
" My own fosther-brother — by jinks, I'm in clover. 
u Though there, in the play -bill, he figures so grand, 
" One wet-nurse it was brought us both up by hand, 
" And he'll not let me shtarve ;n the £ emy's land !" 

Well, to make a long hishtory short, niver doubt 
But I managed, in no time, to find the lad out ; 
And the joy of the meetin' bethuxt him and me, 
Such a pair of owld cumrogues — was charmin' to 

see. 
Nor is Murthagh less plased with th' evint than 

/am, 
As he just then was wanting a Valley-de-sham ; 
And, for dressin' a gintleman, one way or t'other, 
Your nate Irish lad is beyant every other. 

But now, Judy, comes the quare part of the case ; 
And, in throth, it's the only drawback on my place, 
'Twas Murthagh's ill luck to be cross'd, as you 

know, 
With an awkward mishfortune some short time ago ; 
That's to say, he turn'd Protestant — why, I can't 

larn ; 
But, of coorse, he knew best, an' it's not my consarn. 
All I know is, we both were good Cath'lics, at nurse, 
And myself am so still — nayther betther nor worse. 
Well, our bargain was all right and tight in a jiffey, 
And lads more contint never yet left the Liffey, 
When Murthagh — or Morthimer, as he's now 

chrishen'd, 
His name being convarted, at laist, if he isn't — 
Lookin' sly at me (faith, 'twas divartin' to see) 
" Of coorse, you're a Protestant, Larry," says he, 
Upon which says myself, wid a wink just as shly, 
" Is't a Protestant ? — oh yes, / am, sir," says I ; — 
And there the chat ended, and div'l a more word 
Controvarsial between us has since then occurr'd. 

What Murthagh could mane, and, in troth, Judy 

dear, 
What / myself meant, doesn't seem mighty clear ; 
But the thruth is, though still for the Owld Light a 

stickler, 
I was just then too shtarved to be over partie'lar : — 



646 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And, God knows, between us, a comic'ler pair 
Of twin Protestants couldn't be seen any where. 

Next Tuesday (as towld in the play-bills I min- 

tion'd, 
Address'd to the loyal and godly intintion'd) 
His rivirence, my master, comes forward to 

preach, — 
Myself doesn't know whether sarmon or speech, 
But it's all one to him, he's a dead hand at each ; 
Like us, Paddys, in gin'ral, whose skill in orations 
Quite bothers the blarney of all other nations. 

But, whisht ! — there's his Rivirence, shoutin' out 

" Larry," 
And sorra a word more will this shmall paper 

carry ; 
So, here, Judy, ends my short bit of a letther, 
Which, faix, I'd have made a much bigger and 

betther, 
But div'l a one Post-office hole in this town 
Fit to swallow a dacent-sized billy-dux down. 
So good luck to the childer ! — tell Molly, I love 

her; 
Kiss Oonagh's sweet mouth, and kiss Katty all 

over — 
Not forgettin' the mark of the red currant whiskey 
She got at the fair when yourself was so frisky. 
The heavens be your bed ! — I will write, when I 

can again, 
Yours to the world's end, 

Larry O'Branigan. 



LETTER VI. 



FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE, TO MRS. ELIZABETH 



How I grieve you're not with us ! — pray, come, if 

you can, 
Ere we're robb'd of this dear oratorical man, 
Who combines in himself all the multiple glory 
Of Orangeman, Saint, quondam Papist and Tory ; — 
(Choice mixture ! like that from which, duly con- 
founded, 
The best sort of brass was, in old times, com- 
pounded) — 
The sly and the saintly, the worldly and godly, 
All fused down in brogue so deliciously oddly ! 
In short, he's a dear — and such audiences draws, 
Such loud peals of laughter and shouts of ap- 
plause, 
As canH but do good to the Protestant cause. 



Poor dear Irish Church ! — he to-day sketch'd a 

view 
Of her history and prospects, to me at least new, 
And which (if it takes as it ought) must arouse 
The whole Christian world her just rights to espouse. 
As to reasoning — you know, dear, that's now of no 

use, 
People still will their facts and dry figures produce, 
As if saving the souls of a Protestant flock were 
A thing to be managed " according to Cocker !" 
In vain do we say, (when rude radicals hector 
At paying some thousands a year to a Rector, 
In places where Protestants never yet were,) 
" Who knows but young Protestants may be born 

there ?" 
And granting such accident, think, what a shame, 
If they didn't find Rector and Clerk when they 

came ! 
It is clear that, without such a staff on full pay, 
These little Church embiyos must go astray ; 
And, while fools are computing what Parsons would 

cost, 
Precious souls are meanwhile to th' Establishment 

lost! 

In vain do we put the case sensibly thus ; — 
They'll still with their figures and facts make a fuss, 
And ask " if, while all, choosing each his own road, 
" Journey on, as we can, towards the Heavenly 

Abode, 
" It is right that seven eighths of the travellers should 

pay 
" For one eighth that goes quite a different way ?" — 
Just as if, foolish people, this .wasn't, in reality, 
A proof of the Church's extreme liberality, 
That, though hating Popery in other respects, 
She to Catholic money in no way objects ; 
And so liberal her very best Saints, in this sense, 
That they even go to heaven at the Catholic's ex 

pense. 

But, though clear to our minds all these arguments be, 
People cannot or will not their cogency see ; 
And, I grieve to confess, did the poor Irish Church 
Stand on reasoning alone, she'd be left in the lurch. 
It was therefore, dear Lizzy, with joy most sincere, 
That I heard this nice Reverend O' something we'vt 

here, 
Produce, from the depths of his knowledge and 

reading, 
A view of that marvellous Church, far exceeding, 
In novelty, force, and profoundness of thought, 
All that Irving himself, in his glory, e'er taught. 

Looking through the whole history, present and 

past, 
Of the Irish Law Church, from the first to the last ; 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



647 



Considering how strange its original birth — 
Such a thing having never before been on earth — 
How opposed to the instinct, the law, and the 

- force 
Of nature and reason has been its whole course ; 
Through centuries encount'ring repugnance, resist- 
ance, 
Scorn, hate, execration — yet still in existence ! 
Considering all this, the conclusion he draws 
Is that Nature exempts this one Church from her 

laws — 
That Reason, dumb-founder'd, gives up the dis- 
pute, • 
And before the portentous anomaly stands mute ; — 
That, in short, 'tis a Miracle ! — and, once begun, 
And transmitted through ages, from father to 

son, 
For the honor of miracles, ought to go on. 

Never yet was conclusion so cogent and sound, 
Or so fitted the Church's weak foes to confound. 
For, observe, the more low all her merits they 

place, 
The more they make out the miraculous case, 
And the more all good Christians must deem it 

profane 
To disturb such a prodigy's marvellous reign. 

As for scriptural proofs, he quite placed beyond 

doubt 
That the whole in the Apocalypse may be found 

out, 
As clear and well-proved, he would venture to 

swear, 
As any thing else has been ever found there : — 
While the mode in which, bless the dear fellow, he 

deals 
With that whole lot of vials and trumpets and 

seals, 
And the ease with which vial on vial he strings, 
Shows him quite a first-rate at all these sort of 

things. 

So much for theology : — as for th' affairs 

Of this temporal world — the light, drawing-room 

cares 
And gay toils of the toilet, which, God knows, I 

seek, 
From no love of such things, but in humbleness 

meek, 
And to be, as th' Apostle was, " weak with the 

weak," 
Thou wilt find quite enough (till I'm somewhat less 

busy) 
In th' extracts enclosed, my dear news-loving 

Lizzy. 



EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 

Thursdt}i 
Last night, having naught more holy to do, 
Wrote a letter to dear Sir Andrew Agnew, 
About the " Do-nothing-on-Sunday-Club," 
Which we wish by some shorter name to dub : — 
As the use of more vowels and consonants 
Than a Christian, on Sunday, really wants, 
Is a grievance that ought to be done away, 
And the Alphabet left to rest, that day. 

Sunday. 
Sir Andrew's answer ! — but, shocking to say, 
Being frank'd unthinkingly yesterday, 
To the horror of Agae.vs yet unborn, 
It arrived on this blessed Sunday morn ! ! — 
How shocking ! — the postman's self cried " shame 

on't," 
Seoing th' immaculate Andrew's name on't ! ! 
What will the Club do ? — meet, no doubt. 
'Tis a matter that touches the Class Devout, 
And the friends of the Sabbath must speak out. 

Tuesday. 
Saw to-day, at the raffle — and saw it with pain — 
That those stylish Fitzwigrams begin to dress plain. 
Even gay little Sophy smart trimmings renounces — 
She, who long has stood by me through all sorts of 

flounces, 
And show'd, by upholding the toilet's sweet rites, 
That we, girls, may be Christians, without being 

frights. 
This, I own, much alarms me ; for though one's 

religious, [hideous ; 

And strict and — all that, there's no need to be 
And why a nice bonnet should stand in the way 
Of one's going to heaven, 'tisn't easy to say. 

Then, there's Gimp, the poor thing — if her custom 

we drop, 
Pray, what's to become of her soul and her shop ? 
If by saints like ourselves no more orders are given, 
She'll lose all the interest she now takes in heaven ; 
And this nice little "fire-brand, pluck'd from the 

burning," 
May fall in again at the very next turning. 

Wednesday. 
Mem. — To write to the India-Mission Society ; 
And send ,£20 — heavy tax upon piety ! 

Of all Indian luxuries we now-a-days boast, 
Making " Company's Christians" 1 perhs )s costs the 
most. 

1 The title given by the natives to such cf their country- 
men as become converts. 



648 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And the worst of it is, that these converts full 

grown, 
Having lived in our faith, mostly die in their own, 1 
Praying hard, at the last, to some god who, they 

say, 
When incarnate on earth, used to steal curds and 

whey. 8 
Thiikj how horrid, my dear ! — so that's all thrown 

away; 
And (what is still worse) for the rum and the rice 
They consumed, while believers, we saints pay the 

price. 

Still 'tis cheering to find that we do save a few — 
The Report gives six Christians for Cunnang- 

cadoo ; 
Doorkotchum reckons seven, and four Trevandrum, 
While but one and a half's left at Cooroopadum. 
In this last-mention'd place 'tis the barbers enslave 

'em, 
For, once they turn Christians, no barber will shave 

'em 3 

To atone for this rather small Heathen amount, 
Some Papists, turn'd Christians,' are tack'd to th' 

account. 
And though, to catch Papists, one needn't go so far, 
Such fish are worth hooking, wherever they are ; 
And now, when so great of such converts the lack is, 
One Papist well caught is worth millions of 
Blackies. 

Friday. 
Last night had a dream so odd and funny, 

I cannot resist recording it here. — 
Methought that the Genius of Matrimony 

Before me stood, with a joyous leer, 
Leading a husband in each hand, 

And both for me, which look'd rather queer ; — 

1 Of such relapses we find innumerable instances in the 
accounts of ihe Missionaries. 

8 The god Krishna, one of the incarnations of the god 
Vishnu. " One day (says the Bhagavata) Krishna's play- 
fellows complained to Tasuda .rat he had pilfered and ate 
their curds." 

a " Roteen wants shaving ; but the barber here will not do 
it. He is run away lest he should be compelled. Pie says 
he will not shave Yesoo Kreest's people." — Bapt. Mission. 
Society, vol. ii. p. 493. 

* In the Reports of the Missionaries, the Roman Catholics 
are almost always classed along with the Heathen. " I have 
extended my labors (says James Venning, in a Report for 
1831) to the Heathen, Mahomedans, and Roman Catholics." 
" The Heathen and Roman Catholics in this neighborhood 
(says another missionary for the year 1832) are not indiffer- 
ent, but withstand, rather than yield to, the force of truth." 

s An account of these Powerscourt Conversaziones, (under 
the direct presidency of Lord Roden,) as well as a list of the 
subjects discussed at the different meetings, may be found in 
the Christian Herald for the month of December, 1832. The 
following is a specimen of the nature of the question sub- 



One I could perfectly understand, 

But why there were two wasn't quite so clear. 
'Twas meant, however, I soon could see, 

To afford me a choice — a most excellent plan ; 
And — who should this brace of candidates be, 

But Messrs. O'Mulligan and Magan : — 
A thing, I suppose, unheard of till then, 
To dream, at once, of two Irishmen ! — 
That handsome Magan, too, with wings on his 
shoulders, 

(For all this pass'd in the realms of the Bless'd,) 
And quite a creature to dazzle beholders ; 

While even O'Mulligan, feather'd and dress'd 

As an elderly cherub, was looking his best. 
Ah Liz, you, who know me, scarce can doubt 
As to which of the two I singled out. 
But — awful to tell — when, all in dread 

Of losing so bright a vision's charms, 
I grasp'd at Magan, his image fled, 
Like a mist, away, and I found but the head 

Of O'Mulligan, wings and all, in my arms ! 
The Angel had flown to some nest divine, 
And the elderly Cherub alone was mine ! 
Heigho ! — it is certain that foolish Magan 
Either can't or won't see that he might be the man ; 
And, perhaps, dear — who knows? — if naught better 

befall 
But — O'Mulligan may be the man, after all. 

N.B. 

Next week mean to have my first scriptural rout, 
For the special discussion of matters devout ; — 
Like those soirees, at Powerscourt, 6 so justly re- 

nown'd, 
For the zeal with which doctrine and negus went 

round ; 
Those theology routs which the pious Lord R — d — n, 
That pink of Christianity, first set the mode in ; 

mitted to the company: — " Monday Evening, Six o'clock, 
September 24, 1832. — ' An examination into the quotations 
given in the New Testament from the Old, with their con- 
nection and explanation, viz. &c. &c.' — Wednesday. — 
' Should we expect a personal Antichrist ? and to whom will 
he be revealed ?' &c. &c— Friday.— •' What light does Scrip- 
ture throw on present events, and their moral character 1 
What is next to be looked for or expected ?' " &c. 

The rapid progress made at these tea-parties in settling 
points of Scripture, may be judged from a paragraph in the 
account given of one of their evenings, by the Christian 
Herald :— 

" On Daniel a good deal of light was thrown, and there was 
some, I think not so much, perhaps, upon the Revelations ; 
though particular parts of it were discussed with considerable 
accession of knowledge. There was some very interesting 
inquiry as to the quotation of the Old Testament in the New 
particularly on the point, whether there was a:.y accommo- 
dation,' or whether they were quoted according to the mind of 
the Spirit in the Old: this gave occasion to some very in- 
teresting development of Scripture. The progress of the 
Antichristian powers was very fully discussed " 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



649 



Where, blessed down-pouring I 1 from tea until nine, 
The subjects lay all in the Prophecy line ; — 
Then, supper — and then, if for topics hard driven, 
From thence until bed-time to Satan was given ; 
While R — d — n, deep read in each topic and tome, 
On all subjects (especially the last) was at home. 



LETTER VII. 

FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO KER COUSIN, 
MISS KITTY . 

IRREGULAR ODE. 

Bring me the slumbering souls of flowers, 
While yet, beneath some northern sky, 
Ungilt by beams, ungemm'd by showers, 
They wait the breath of summer hours, 
To wake to light each diamond eye, 
And let loose every florid sigh ! 

Bring me the first-born ocean waves, 
From out those deep primeval caves, 
Where from the dawn of Time they've lain- 
The Embryos of a future Main !— 
Untaught as yet, young things, to speak 

The language of their Parent Sea, 
(Polyphlysbaean 2 named in Greek,) 
Though soon, too soon, in bay and creek, 
Round startled isle and wondering peak, 

They'll thunder loud and long as He ! 



Bring me, from Heela' 
Young fires 



iced abode, 



I had got, dear, thus far in my Ode, 
Intending to fill the whole page to the bottom, 
But, having invoked such a lot of fine things, 
Flowers, billows and thunderbolts, rainbows and 
wings, 
Didn't know w hat to do with 'em, when I had got 

'em. 
The truth is, my thoughts are too full, at this minute, 

Of past MSS. any new ones to try. 
This very night's coach brings my destiny in it — 

Decides the great question, to live or to die ! 
And, whether I'm henceforth immortal or no, 
All depends on the answer of Simpkins and Co. ! 

i " About eight o'clock the Lord began to pour down his 
spirit copiously upon us— for they had all by this time as- 
sembled in my room for the purpose of prayer. This down- 
pouring contirued till about ten o'clock." — Letter from Mary 
Campbell to the Rev. John Campbell, of Row, (dated Ferni- 



You'll think, love, I rave, so 'tis best to let out 
The whole secret, at once — I have published a 
Book ! ! ! 
Yes, an actual Book : — if the marvel you doubt, 

You have only hi last Monday's Courier to look, 
And you'll find " This day publish'd by Simpkins 

and Co. 
" A Romaunt, in twelve Cantos, entitled ' Wo Wo !' 

" By Miss Fanny F , known more commonly 

so [LT." 
This I put that my friends mayn't be left in the dark, 
But may guess at my writing by knowing my mark. 

How I managed, at last, this great deed to achieve, 
Is itself a " Romaunt" which you'd scarce, dear, 

believe ; 
Nor can I just now, being all m a whirl, 
Looking out for the Magnet, 3 explain it, c'es. g:*rl. 
Suffice it to say, that one half the expense 
Of this leasehold of fame for long centuries r ence — 
(Though " God knows," as aunt says, my humble 

ambition 
Aspires not beyond a small Second Edition,) — 
One half the whole cost of the paper and printing, 
I've managed to scrape up, this year past, by stinting 
My own little wants in gloves, ribands, and shoes, 
Thus defrauding the toilet to fit out the Muse I 

And who, my dear Kitty, would not do the same ? 
What's eau dc Cologne to the sweet breath of fame? 
Yards of riband soon end — but the measures of 

rhyme, 
Dipp'd in hues of the rainbow, stretch out through 

all time. 
Gloves languish and fade away, pair after pair, 
While couplets shine out, but the brighter for wear, 
And the dancing-shoe's gloss in an evening is gone, 
While light-footed lyrics through ages trip on, 

The remaining expense, trouble, risk — and, alas ! 
My poor copyright too — into other hands pass ; 
And my friend, the Head Dev'l of the " County 

Gazette," 
(The only Meccenas I've ever had yet,) 
He who set up in type my first juvenile lays, 
Is now set up by them for the rest of his days ; 
And while Gods (as my " Heathen Mythology" 

says) 
Live on naught but ambrosia, his lot how much 

sweeter 
To live, lucky dev'l, on a young lady's metre I 

cary, April 4, 1830,) giving an account of her "miraculous 
cure." 

a If you guess what this word means, 'tis more than /can :— 
1 but give't as I got it from Mr. Magan. F. F. 

8 A day-coach of that name. 



650 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



As for puffing — that first of all lit'rary boons, 
And essential alike both to bards and balloons — 
As, unless well supplied with inflation, 'tis found 
Neither bards nor balloons budge an inch from the 

ground ; — 
In this respect, naught could more prosp'rous befall ; 
As my friend (for no less this kind imp can I call) 
Knows the whole world of critics — the hypers and 

all. 
I suspect he himself, indeed, dabbles in rhyme, 
Which, for imps diabolic, is not the first time ; 
As I've heard uncle Bob say, 'twas known among 

Gnostics, 
That the Dev'l on Two Sticks was a dev'l at 

Acrostics. 

But hark ! there's the Magnet just dash'd in from 

Town- 
How my heart, Kitty, beats ! I shall surely drop 

down. 
That awful Court Journal, Gazette, Athenaeum, 
All full of my book — I shall sink when I see 'em. 
And then the great point — whether Simpkins and 

Co. 
Are actually pleased with their bargain or no ! — 

Five o'clock. 
All's delightful — such praises ! — I really fear 
That this poor little head will turn giddy, my dear ; 
I've but time now to send you two exquisite scraps — 
All the rest by the Magnet, on Monday, perhaps. 

FROM THE " MORNING POST." 

'Tis known that a certain distinguish'd physician 
Prescribes, for dyspepsia, a course of light 

reading ; 
And Rhymes by young Ladies, the first, fresh 

edition, 
(Ere critics have injured their powers of nutrition,) 
Are he thinks, for weak stomachs, the best sort 

of feeding. 
Satires irritate — love-songs are found calorific ; 
But smooth, female sonnets he deems a specific, 
And, if taken at bed-time, a sure soporific. 
Among works of this kind, the most pleasing we 

know, 
Is a volume just publish'd by Simpkins and Co., 
Where all such ingredients — the flowery, the sweet, 
And the gently narcotic — are mix'd per receipt, 
With a hand so judicious, we've no hesitation 
To say that — 'hove all, for the young generation — 
'Tis an elegant, soothing, and safe preparation. 

Nota bene — for readers, whose object's to sleep, 
And who read in their nightcaps, the publishers keep 
Good fire-proof binding, which comes very cheap. 



ANECDOTE FROM THE " COURT JOURNAL." 

T'other night, at the Countess of * * *'s rout, 
An amusing event was much whisper'd about, 

It was said that Lord , at the Council, that day, 

Had, more than once, jump'd from his seat, like 

a rocket, 
And flown to a corner, where — heedless, they say, 
How the country's resources were squander'd 

away — 
He kept reading som? capers he'd brought in 

his pocket. 
Some thought them dispatches from Spain or the 

Turk, 
Others swore they brought word we had lost 

the Mauritius ; 
But it turn'd out 'twas only Miss Fudge's new work, 
Which his Lordship ^evour'd with such zeal 

expeditious — 
Messrs. Simpkins and Co., to avoid all delay, 
Having sent it in sheets, that his Lordship might 

say, 
He had distanced the whole reading world by a 

day! 



LETTER VIII. 

from bob fudge, esq., to the rev. mortimer 
o'mulligan. 

Tuesday evening. 
I much regret, dear Reverend Sir, 

I could not come to * * * to meet you : 
But this cursed gout wo'n't let me stir — 

Ev'n now I but by proxy greet you, 
As this vile scrawl, whate'er its sense is, 
Owes all to an amanuensis. 
Most other scourges of disease 
Reduce men to extremities — 
But gout wo'n't leave one even these. 

From all my sister writes, I see 
That you and I will quite agree. 
I'm a plain man, who speak the truth, 

And trust you'll think me not uncivil, 
When I declare that, from my youth, 

I've wish'd your country at the devil : 
Nor can I doubt, indeed, from all 

I've heard of your high patriot fame — 
From every word your lips let fall — 

That you most truly wish the same. 
It plagues one's life out — thirty years 
Have I had dinning in my ears, 

" Ireland wants this, and that, and t'other," 



THE FUDGES 


IN ENGLAND. 651 


And, to this hour, one notliing hears 


However, let's not yet despair ; 


Bat the same vile, eternal bother. 


Though Toryism's eclipsed, at present, 


While, of those countless things she wanted, 


And — like myself, in this old en air — 


Thank God, but little has been granted, 


Sits in a state by no means pleasant ; 


And ev'n that little, if we're men 


Feet crippled — hands, m luckless hour, 


And Britons, we'll have back again ! 


Disabled of their grasping power ; 




And all that rampant glee, which revell'd 


I really think that Catholic question 


In this world's sweets, be-dull'd, be-devil'd — 


Was what brought on my indigestion ; 


Yet, though condemn'd to frisk no more, 


And still each year, as Popery's curse 


And both in Chair of Penance set, 


Has gather'd round us, I've got worse ; 


There's something tells me, all's not o'er, 


Till ev'n my pint of port a day 


With Toryism or Bobby yet ; 


Can't keep the Pope and bile away. 


That though, between us, I allow 


And whereas, till the Catholic bill, 


We've not a leg to stand on now ; 


I never wanted draught or pill, 


Though cursed Reform and colchicum 


The settling of that cursed question 


Have made us both look deuced glum, 


Has quite wwsettled my digestion. 


Yet still, in spite of Grote and Gout, 




Again we'll shine triumphant out ! 


Look what has happen'd since — the Elect 




Of all the bores of every sect, 


Yes — back again shall come, egad, 


The chosen triers of men's patience, 


Our turn for sport, my reverend lad. 


From all the Three Denominations, 


And then, O'Mulligan — oh then, 


Let loose upon us ; — even Quakers 


When mounted on our nags again, 


Turn'd into speechers and law-makers, 


You, on your high-flown Rosinante, 


Who'll move no question, stiff-rump'd elves, 


Bedizen'd out, like Show-Gallantee, 


Till first the Spirit moves themselves ; 


(Glitter great from substance scanty ;) — 


And whose shrill Yeas and Nays, in chorus, 


While I, Bob Fudge, Esquire, shall ride 


Conquering our Ays and Nos sonorous, 


Your faithful Sancho, by your side ; 


Will soon to death's own slumber snore us. 


Then — talk of tilts and tournaments ! 


Then, too, those Jews ! — I really sicken 


Dam'nie, we'll 


To think of such abomination ; 




Fellows, who wo'n't eat ham with chicken, 


***** 


To legislate for this great nation ! — 


'Squire Fudge's clerk presents 


Depend upon't, when once they've sway, 


To Reverend Sir his compliments ; 


With rich old Goldsmid at the head o' them ! 


Is grieved to say an accident 


Th' Excise laws will be done away, 


Has just occurr'd which will prevent 


And Clrcwnclse ones pass'd instead o' them ! 


The Squire — though now a little better — 




From finishing this present letter. 


In short, dear sir, look where one will, 


Just when he'd got to " Dam'me, we'll " 


Things all go on so devilish ill, 


His Honor, full of martial zeal, 


That 'pon my soul, I rather fear 


Grasp'd at his crutch, but not being able 


Our reverend Rector may be right, 


To keep his balance or his hold, 


Who tells me the Millennium's near ; 


Tumbled, both self and crutch, and roll'd 


Nay, swears he knows the veiy year, 


Like ball and bat, beneath the table. 


And regulates his leases by't ; — 




Meaning their terms should end, no doubt, 


All's safe — the table, chair, and crutch ; — ■ 


Before the world's own lease is out. 


Nothing, thank God, is broken much, 


He thinks, too, that the whole thing's ended 


But the Squire's head, which, in the fall, 


So much more soon than was intended, 


Got bump'd consid'rably — that's all. 


Purely to scourge those men of sin 


At this no great alarm we feel, 


Who brought th' accursed Reform Bill in. 1 


As the Squire's head can bear a deal. 


1 This appears to have been the opinion also of an eloquent 


punish the Kings who do not acknowledge that their authority- 


writer in the Morning Wat- h. " One great object of Christ's 


is derived from him, and who submit to receive it from that 


second Advent, as the Man and as the King of the Jews, is to 


many-headed monster, the mob." No. x. p. 373. 



652 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Wednesday morning. 
Squire much the same — head rather light — 
Raved about " Barbers' Wigs" all night. 

Our housekeeper, old Mrs. Griggs, 
Suspects that he meant " barbarous Whigs." 



LETTER IX. 

FROM LARRY o'BRANIGAN, TO HIS WIFE JUDV. 

As it was but last week that I sint you a letther, 
You'll wondher, dear Judy, what this is about ; 

And, throth, it's a letther myself would like betther, 
Could I manage to lave the contints of it out ; 

For sure, if it makes even me onaisy, 

Who takes things quiet, 'twill dhrive you crazy. 

Oh, Judy, that riverind Murthagh, bad scran to 

him! 
That e'er I should come to've been sarvant-man to 

him, 
Or so far demane the O'Branigan blood, 
And my Aunts, the Diluvians, (whom not ev'n the 

Flood 
Was able to wash away clane from the earth, 1 ) 
As to sarve one whose name, of mere yestherday's 

birth, 
Can no more to a great O, before it, purtend, 
Than mine can to wear a great Q at its end. 

But that's now all over — last night I gev wamin', 
And, masth'r as he is, will discharge him this 

mornin'. 
The thief of the world ! — but it's no use balrag- 

gin' ; 2 — 
AH I know is, I' ? fifty times rather be draggin' 
Ould ladies up hili to the ind of my days, 
Than with Murthagh to rowl in a chaise, at my 

aise, 
And be forced to discind thro' the same dirty ways. 
Arrah, sure, if I'd heerd where he last show'd his 

phiz, 
I'd have known what a quare sort of monsther he 



1 " I am of your Patriarchs, I, a branch of one of your 
antediluvian families -fellows that the Flood could not wash 
away." — Congreve, Love for Love. 

2 To balrag is to abuse — Mr. Lover makes it ballyrag, and 
he is high authority: but if I remember rightly, Curran in 
hi* national storiej zse& 2 employ the word as above.— See 



For, by gor, 'twas at Exether Change, sure enough, 

That himself and his other wild Irish show'd off; 

And it's pity, so 'tis, that they hadn't got no man 

Who knew the wild craythurs to act as their show- 
man — 

Sayin', " Ladies and Gintlemen, plaze to take no- 
tice, 

"How shlim and how shleek this black animal's 
coat is ; 

" All by raison, we're towld, that the nathur o' the 
baste 

" Is to change its coat once in its lifetime, at laste ; 

" And such objiks, in our counthry, not bein' com- 
mon ones, 

" Are bought up, as this was, by way of Fine 
Nomenons. 

" In regard of its name — why, in throth, I'm con- 
sarn'd 

" To differ on this point so much with the Larn'd, 

" Who call it a ' Morthimer,' whereas the cray- 
thur 

" Is plainly a ' Murthagh,' by name and by nathur." 

This is how I'd have towld them the rights of it 

all, 
Had I been their showman at Exether Hall — 
Not forgettin' that other great wondher of Airin 
(Of th' owld bitther breed which they call Prosbe- 

tairin,) 
The famed Daddy C — ke — who, by gor, I'd have 

shown 'em 
As proof how such bastes may be tamed, when 

you've thrown 'em 
A good frindly sop of the rale Raigin Donem? 

But, throth, I've no laisure just now, Judy dear, 

For any thing, barrin' our own doings here, 

And the cursin' and dammin' and thund'rin', like 

mad, 
We Papists, God help us, from Murthagh have had. 
He says we're all murtherers — div'I a bit less — 
And that even our priests, when we go to confess, 
Give us lessons in murth'ring and wish us success ! 

When ax'd how he daar'd, by tongue or by pen, 
To belie, in this way, seven millions of men, 
Faith, he said 'twas all towld him by Doclhoi 
Den! 4 



Lover's most amusing and genuinely Irish work, the "Le 
gends and Stories of Ireland." 

3 Larry evidently means the Regium Donum , a sum con- 
tributed by the government annually to the support of the 
Presbyterian churches in Ireland. 

4 Correctly, Dens— Larry not bring very particular in his 
nomenclature. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



653 



" And who the divTs he ?" was the question that 

flew 
From Chrishtian to Chrishtian — but not a sowl 

knew. 
While on went Murthagh, in iligant style, 
Blasphaming us Cath'lics all the while. 
As a pack of desaivers, parjurers, villians, 
All the whole kit of th' aforesaid millions, 1 — 
Yourself, dear Judy, as well as the rest, 
And the innocent cray thur that's at your breast, 
All rogues together, in word and deed, 
Owld Den our insthructor and Sin our creed ! 

When ax'd for his proofs again and again, 
Div'l an answer he'd give but Docthor Den. 
Couldn't he call into coort some liviri men ? 
** No, thank you" — he'd stick to Docthor Den — 
An ould gentleman dead a century or two, 
Who all about us, live Cath'lics.. knew ; 
And of coorse was more handy, to call in a hurry, 
Than Docthor Mac Hale or Docthor Murray ! 

But, throth, it's no case to be jokin' upon, 
Though myself, from bad habits, is makin? it one. 
Even you, had you witness'd his grand climac- 

therics, 
Which actiafly threw one owld maid in hysterics — 
Or, och ! had yon heerd such a purty remark as 

his, 
That Papists are only " Humanity's carcasses, 
" Ris'n" — but, by dad, I'm afeard I can't give it 

ye — 
" Ris'n from the sepulchre of — inactivity ; 
"And, like owld corpses, dug up from antikity, 
" Wandriri 1 about in all sorts of inikity ! .'" 2 — 
Even you, Judy, true as you are to the Owld 

Light, [flight 

Would have laugh'd, out and out, at this iligant 
Of that figure of speech call'd the Blatherumskite. 
As for me, though a funny thought now and then 

came to me, 
Rage got the betther at last — and small blame to 

me ! 
So, slapping my thigh, " by the Powers of Delf," 
Says I bowidly, " I'll make a noration myself." 
And with that up I jumps — but, my darlint, the 

minit 
I cock'd up my head, div'l a sinse remain'd in it. 

*"Thc deeds of darkness which are reduced to horrid 
practice over the drunken debauch of the midnight assassin 
are debated, in principle, in the sober morning religious con- 
ference of the priests." — Speech of the Rev. Mr. M'Ghee. — 
"The character of the Irish people generally is. that they 
are given to lying and to acts of theft."— Speech of the Rev. 
Robert Daly. 

•"But she (Popery) is no longer the tenant of the sepul- 
chre of inactivity. She has come from the burial-place, 



Though, suited, I could have got beautiful on, 
When I tuk to my legs, faith, the gab was all gone : — 
Winch was odd, for us, Pats, who, whate'er we've a 

hand in, 
At laste in our legs show a sxhrong understandin' 

Howsumdever, detarmined the chaps should pursaive 
What I thought of their doin's, before I tuk lave, 
"In regard of all that," says I — there I stopp'd 

short — 
Not a word more would come, though I sthruggled 

hard fort. 
So, shnapping my fingers at what's call'd the Chair, 
And the owld Lord (or Lady, I b'lieve) that sat 

there — 
" In regard of all i'sxat ' jays I bowidly again — 
" To owld Nick I pitch Mortimer — and Docthor 

Den ;"— 
Upon which the whole company cried out "Amen ;* 
And myself was in hopes 'twas to what / had said, 
But, by gor, no such thing — they were not so well 

bred : 
For, 'twas all to a pray'r Murthagh just had read 

out, 
By way of fit finish to job so devout ; 
That is — afther well damning one-half the com- 
munity, 
To pray God to keep all in peace an' in unity ! 

This is all I can shtuff in this letther, though plinty 
Of news, faith, I've got to fill more — if 'twas twinty. 
But I'll add, on the outside, a line, should I need it, 
(Writin' " Private" upon it, that no one may 

read it.) 
To tell you how Mortimer (as the Saints chrishten 

him) [him. 

Bears the big shame of his sarvant's dismisshin' 

(Private outside.) 

Just come from his riv'rence — the job is all done — 
By the powers, I've discharged him as sure as a gun ! 
And now, Judy dear, what on earth I'm to do 
With myself and my appetite — both good as new — 
Without ev'n a single traneen in my pocket, 
Let alone a good, dacent pound-starlin', to stock it — 
Is a mysht'ry I lave to the One that's above, 
W r ho takes care of us, dissolute sowls, when nard 
dhrove . 



walking forth a monster, as if the spirit of evil had corrupt- 
ed the carcass of her departed humanity ; noxious and noi- 
some, an object of abhorrence and dismay to all who are not 
leagued with her in iniquity."— Report of the Rev. Gentle- 
man's Speech, June 20, in the Record Newspaper. 

We may well ask, after reading this and other such rev- 
erend ratings, "Q.uis dubitat quin omne sit hoc rationis 
egestas 1" 



654 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



LETTER X. 

FROM THE REV MORTIMER o'MULLIGAN, TO THE 
REV. 

These few brief lines, my reverend friend, 
By a safe, .private hand I send, 
(Fearing lest some low Catholic wag 
Should pry into the Letter-bag,) 
To tell you, far as pen can dare, 
How we, poor errant martyrs, fare ; — 
Martyrs, not quite to fire and rack, 
As Saints were, some few ages back, 
But — scarce less trying in its way — 
To laughter, wheresoe'er we stray ; 
To jokes, which Providence mysterious 
Permits on men and things so serious, 
Lowering the Church still more each minute, 
And — injuring our preferment in it. 
Just think, how worrying 'tis, my friend, 
To find, where'er our footsteps bend, 

Small jokes, like squibs, around us whizzing ; 
And bear the eternal torturing play 
Of that great engine of our day, 

Unknown to th' Inquisition — quizzing ! 

Your men of thumb-screws and of racks 
Aim'd at the body their attacks ; 
But modern torturers, more refined, 
Work their machinery on the mind. 
Had St. Sebastian had the luck 

With me to be a godly rover, 
Instead of arrows, he'd be stuck 

With stings of ridicule all over ; 
And poor St. Lawrence, who was kill'd 
By being on a gridir'n grill'd, 
Had he but shared my errant lot, 
Instead of grill on gridir'n hot, 
A moral roasting would have got. 
Nor should I (trying as all this is) 

Much heed the suffering or the shame — 
As, like an actor, used to hisses, 

I long have known no other fame, 
But that (as I may own to you. 
Though to the world it would not do) 
No hope appears of fortune's beams 
Shining on any of my schemes ; 
No chance of something more per ann. 
As supplement to K — llym — n ; 

i " Among other amiable enactments against the Catholics 
at this period, (1649.) the price of five pounds was set on 
the head of a Romish priest— being exactly the same sum 
offered by the same legislators for the head of a wolf." 

Memoirs of Captain Rock, book i., chap. 10. 

2 in the first edition of his Dictionary, Dr. Johnson very 
significantly exemplified the meaning of the word " alias" by 



No prospect that, by fierce abuse 
Of Ireland, I shall e'er induce 
The rulers of this thinking nation 
To rid us of Emancipation ; 
To forge anew the sever' d chain, 
And bring back Penal Laws again 

Ah, happy time ! when wolves and priests 
Alike were hunted, as wild beasts ; 
And five pounds was the price, per head, 
For bagging either, live or dead ; a — 
Though oft, we're told, one outlaw'd brother 
Saved cost, by eating up the other. 

Finding thus all those schemes and hopes 
I built upon my flowers and tropes 
All scatter'd, one by one, away, 
As flashy and unsound as they, 
The question comes — what's to be done ? 
And there's but one course left me — one. 
Heroes, when i. *ed of war's alarms, 
Seek sweet repose in beauty's arms. 
The weary Day- God's last retreat is 
The breast of silv'ry-footed Thetis ; 
And mine, as mighty Love's my judge, 
Shall be the arms of rich Miss Fudge ! 

Start not, my friend, — the tender scheme, 

Wild and romantic though it seem, 

Beyond a parson's fondest dream, 

Yet shines, too, with those golden dyes 

So pleasmg to a parson's eyes — 

That only gilding which the muse 

Cannot around her sons diffuse ; — 

Which, whencesoever flows its bliss, 

From wealthy Miss or benefice, 

To Mortimer indifF'rent is, 

So he can make it only his. 

There is but one slight damp I see 

Upon this scheme's felicity, 

And that is, the fair heroine's claim 

That I shall take her family name. 

To this (though it may look henpeck'd) 

I can't quite decently object, 

Having myself long chos'n to shine 

Conspicuous in the alias 2 line ; 

So that henceforth, by wife's decree, 

(For Biddy from this point won't budge,) 
Your old friend's new address must be 

The Rev. Mortimer O'Fudge — 

the instance of Mallet, the poet, who had exchanged for this 
more refined name his original Scotch patronymic, Malloch. 
"What other proofs he gave («ays Johnson; of disrespect to 
his native country, I know not, but it was remarked of him 
that he was the only Scot whom Scotchmen did not com- 
mend." — Life of Mallet. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



655 



The '•' O" being kept, that all may see 
We're both of ancient family. 

Such, friend, nor need the fact amaze you, 
My public life's calm Euthanasia. 
Thus bid I long farewell to all 
The freaks of Exeter's old Hall- 
Freaks, in grimace, its apes exceeding, 
And rivalling its bears in breeding. 
Farewell, the platform fill'd with preachers — 
The pray"r giv'n out, as grace. 1 by speechers 
Ere they cut up their fellow creatures : — 
Farewell to dead old Dens's volumes, 
And, scarce less dead, old Standard's columns : — 
From each and all I now retire, 
My task, henceforth, as spouse and sire, 
To bring up little filial Fudges, 
To be M. P.s, and Peers, and Judges — 
Parsons I'd add too, if alas ! 
There yet were hope the Church could pass 
The gulf now oped for hers and her, 
Or long survive what Exeter — 
Both Hall and Bishop, of that name — 
Have done to sink her reverend fame. 
Adieu, dear friend — you'll oft hear from me, 

Now I'm no more a travelling drudge ; 

Meanwhile I sign (that you may judge 
How well the surname will become me) 
Yours truly, 

Mortimer O'Fudge. 



LETTER XL 



FROM PATRICK MAGAN. ESQ., TO THE REV. 
RICHARD . 



, Ireland. 

Dear Dick — just arrived at my own humble gite, 
I enclose you, post-haste, the account, all complete. 
Just arrived, per express, of our late noble feat 

[Extract from the " County Gazette."] 

This place is getting gay and full again. 
***** 

Last week was married, '•' in the Lord," 
The Reverend Mortimer O'Mulligan, 

Preacher, in Irish, of the Word, 



i " I think I am acting in unison with the feelings of a 
Meeting assembled for this solemn object, when I call on the 
Rev. Doctor Holloway to open it by prayer " Speech of 
Lord Kenyan. 



(He, who the Lord's force lately led on — 
Exeter Hall his AxmagJi-geddcm?) 
To Miss B. Fudge of Pisgah Place, 
One of the chos'n, as " heir of grace," 
And likewise heiress of Phil. Fudge, 
Esquire, defunct, of Orange Lodge. 

Same evening, Miss F. Fudge, 'tis hinted — 

Niece of the above, (whose " Sylvan Tjjre" 
In our Gazette, last week, we printed,) 

Eloped with Pat. Magan, Esquire. 
The fugitives were traek'd, some time, 

After they'd left the Aunt's abode, 
By scraps of paper, scrawl'd with rhyme, 

Found strew'd along the Western road ; — 
Some of them, ci-devant curl-papers, 
Others, half burnt in lighting .tipers. 
This clue, however, to their flight, 

After some miles was seen no more ; 
And, from inquiries made last night, 

We find they've reach'd the Irish shore. 

Every word of it true, Dick — th' escape from 

Aunt's thrall — 
Western road — lyric fragments — curl-papers and 

all. 
My sole stipulation, ere link'd at the shrine, 
(As some balance between Fanny's numbers and 

mine.) 
Was that, when we were one, she must give up the 

Nine ; 
Nay, devote to the Gods her whole stock of MS. 
With a vow never more against prose to transgress. 
This she did, like a heroine ; — smack went to bits 
The whole produce sublime of her dear little wits — 
Sonnets, elegies, epigrams, odes, canzonets — 
Some twisted up neatly, to form allumettes, 
Some turn'd into papillotes, worthy to rise 
And enwreath Berenice's bright locks in the skies ! 
While the rest, honest Larry (who's now in my 

pay) 
Begg'd, as •'■' lover of po'thry," to read on the way. 

Having thus of life's poetry dared to dispose, 

How we now, Dick, shall" manage to get through 

its prose, 
With such slender materials for style, Heaven 

knows ! 
But — I'm call'd off abruptly — another Express! 
What the deuce can it mean? — I'm, alarm'd, I 

confess. 



5 The Rectory which the Rev. gentleman holds is situated 
in the county of Armagh!— a most remarkable coincidence — 
anil well worthy of the attention of certain expounders of 
the Apocalypse. 



656 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



P. S. 

Hurrah, Dick, hurrah, Dick, ten thousand hur- 
rahs ! 

I'm a happy, rich dog to the end of my days. 

There — read the good news — and while glad, for 
my sake, 

That Wealth should thus follow in Love's shining 
wake, 

Admire also the moral — that he, the sly elf, 

Who has fudged all the world, should be now fudged 
himself ! 



EXTRACT FROM LETTER ENCLOSED. 

With pain the mournful news I write, 
Miss Fudge's uncle died last night ; 
And much to mine and friends' surprise, 
By will doth all his wealth devise — 
Lands, dwellings — rectories likewise — 
To his " beloved grand-niece," Miss Fanny, 
Leaving Miss Fudge herself, who many 
Long years hath waited — not a penny ! 
Have notified the same to latter, 
And wait instructions in the matter. 

For self and partners, &c. &c. 



SONGS FROM M.P.; OR, THE BLUE-STOCKING, 



SONG 



Young Love lived once in an humble shed, 

Where roses breathing, 

And woodbines wreathing 
Around the lattice their tendrils spread, 
As wild and sweet as the life he led. 

His garden flourish'd, 

For young Hope nourish'd 
The infant buds with beams and showers ; 
But lips, though blooming, must still be fed, 
And not even Love can live on flowers. 

Alas ! that Poverty's evil eye 
Should e'er come hither, 
Such sweets to wither ! 
The flowers laid down their heads to die, 
And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh 
She came one morning, 
Ere Love had warning, 
And raised the latch, where the young god ay 
" Oh ho !" said Love — " is it you ? good-by ;" 
So he oped the window, and flew away I 



To sigh, yet feel no pain, 

To weep, yat scarce know why ; 
To sport an hcur with Beauty's chainj 

Then throw it idly by. 



To kneel at many a shrine, 

Yet lay the heart on none ; 
To think all other charms divine, 

But those we just have won. 
This is love, faithless love, 

Such as kindleth hearts that rove. 

To keep one sacred flame, 

Through life unchill'd, unmoved, 
To love, in wintry age, the same 

As first in youth we loved ; 
To feel that we adore, 

Ev'n to such fond excess, 
That, though the heart would break, with more, 

It could not live with less 
This is love, faithful love, 
Such as saints might feel above 



Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies 

In youthful hearts that hope like mine 5 
And 'tis the light of laughing eyes, 

That leads us to thy fairy shrine. 
There if we find the sigh, the tear, 

They are not those to Sorrow known ; 
But breath so soft, and drops so clear, 

That Bliss may claim them for her own. 
Then give me, give me, while I weep, 

The sanguine hope that brightens wo, 
And teaches ev'n our tears to keep 

The tinge of pleasure as they flow. 



SONGS FROM M. P. ; OR 


, THE BLUE-STOCKING. 657 


The child, who sees the dew of night 


Then sing to lighten the languid way ; — 


Upon the spangled hedge at morn, 


When brows are glowing, 


Attempts to catch the drops of light, 


And faint with rowing : 


But wounds his finger with the thorn. 


'Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay, 


Thus oft the brightest joys we seek, 


To whose sound through life we stray. 


Are lost, when touch'd, and tum'd to pain ; 




The flush they kindled leaves the cheek, 
The tears they waken long remain. 






But give me, give me, &c. &c. 






Oh think, when a hero is sighing, 




What danger in such an adorer ! 
What woman could dream of denying 






The hand that lays laurels before her ? 




No heart is so guarded around, 


When Leila touch'd the lute, 


But the smile of a victor would take it ; 


Not then alone 'twas felt, 


No bosom can slumber so sound, 


But, when the sounds were mute, 


But the trumpet of Glory will wake it. 


In memory still they dwelt. 




Sweet lute ! in nightly slumbers 


Love sometimes is given to sleeping, 


Still we heard thy morning numbers 


And wo to the heart that allows him ; 




For soon neither smiling nor weeping 


Ah, how could she, who stole 


Will e'er from such slumber arouse him. 


Such breath from simple wire, 


But though he were sleeping so fast, 


Be led, in pride of soul, 


That the life almost seem'd to forsake him, 


To string with gold her lyre ? 


Even then, one soul-thrilling blast 


Sweet lute ! thy chords she breaketh ; 


From the trumpet of Glory would wake him. 


Golden now the strings she waketh ! 
But where are all the tales 






Her lute so sweetly told ? 




In lofty themes she fails, 


CUPID'S LOTTERY. 


And soft ones suit not gold. 




Rich lute ! we see thee glisten, 


A Lottery, a Lottery, 


But, alas ! no more we listen ! 


In Cupid's Court there used to be ; 




Two roguish eyes 




The highest prize 




fti Cupid's scheming Lottery ; 




And kisses, too, 




As good as new, 




Which weren't very hard to win, 


BOAT GLEE. 


For he, who won 




The eyes of fun, 


The song that lightens our languid way 


Was sure to have the kisses in. 


When brows are glowing, 


A Lottery, a Lottery, &o 


And faint with rowing, 




Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay, 


This Lottery, this Lottery, 


To whose sound through life we stray. 


In Cupid's Court went merrily, 


The beams that flash on the oar awhile, 


And Cupid play'd 


As we row along through waves so clear, 


A Jewish trade 


Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile 


In this his scheming Lottery ; 


That shines o'er Sorrow's tear. 


For hearts, we're told, 




In shares he sold 


Nothing is lost on him who sees 


To many a fond believing drone, 


With an eye that Feeling gave ; — 


And cut the hearts 


For him there's a story in every breeze, 


So well in parts, 


And a picture in every wave, 
i 


That each believed the whole his own. 



42 



658 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Chor. — A Lottery, a Lottery, 


Oh Liberty, born in the cot of the peasant, 


In Cupid's Court there used to be ; 


But dying of languor in luxury's dome, 


Two roguish eyes 


Our vision, when absent — our glory, when present- 


The highest prize 


Where thou art, Liberty ! there is my home. 


In Cupid's scheming Lottery. 






Farewell to the land where in childhood I wander'd ! 




In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave ; 




Unbless'd is the blood that for tyrants is squander'd, 




And Fame has no wreaths for the brow of the 


SONG. 1 


slave. 




But hail to thee, Albion ! who meet'st the commotion 


Though sacred the tie that our country entwineth, 


Of Europe, as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam ; 


And dear to the heart her remembrance remains, 


With no bonds but the law, and no slave but the 


Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth, 


ocean 


And sad the remembrance that slavery stains. 


Hail, Temple jf Liberty ! thou ajrt my home. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


AT NIGHT. 2 


EPILOGUE. 


At night, when all is still around, 


WRITTEN FOR LADY DACRE's TRAGEUY OF INA. 


How sweet to hear the distant sound 




Of footstep, coming soft and light ! 


Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat, 


What pleasure in the anxious beat, 


Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and — all that, 


With which the bosom flies to meet 


And wondering much what little knavish sprite 


That foot that comes so soft at night ! 


Had put it first in women's heads to write : 




Sudden I saw — as in some witching dream — 


And then, at night, how sweet to say 


A bright-blue glory round my book-case beam, 


" 'Tis late, my love !" and chide delay, 


From whose quick-opening folds of azure light 


Though still the western clouds are bright ; 


Out flew a tiny form, as small and bright 


Oh ! happy, too, the silent press, 


As Puck the Fairy, when he pops his head, 


The eloquence of mute caress, 


Some sunny morning, from a violet bed. 


With those we love exchanged at night ! 


" Bless me !" I starting cried, " what imp are 




you .' — 
" A small he-devil, Ma'am— my name Bas Bleu — 
" A bookish sprite, much giv'n to routs and read- 




TO LADY HOLLAND. 


ing ; 
" 'Tis I who teach your spinsters of good breeding, 


on napoleon's legacy of a snuff-box. 


" The reigning taste in chemistry and caps, 




" The last new bounds of tuckers and of maps, 


Gift of the Hero, on his dying day, 


" And, when the waltz has twirl'd her giddy 


To her, whose pity watch'd, forever nigh ; 


brain, 


Oh ! could he see the proud, the happy ray, 


" With metaphysics twirl it back again !" 


This relic lights up in her generous eye, 




Sighing, he'd feel how easjr 'tis to pay 


I view'd him, as he spoke — his hose was blue, 


A friendship all his kingd )ms could not buy 


His wings — the covers of the last Review — 


Paris, July, 1821. 


Cerulean, border'd with a jaundice hue, 


i Sung in the character of a Frenchman 


3 These lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for iis 




device a Cupid, with the words " at night" written over him. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



659 



And tinsell'd gayly o'er for evening wear, 

Till the next quarter brings a new-fledged pair. 

" Inspired by me, — (pursued this waggish Fairy) — 

" That best of wives and Sapphos, Lady Mary, 

" Votary alike of Crispin and the Muse, 

" Makes her own splay-foot epigrams and shoes, 

" For me the eyes of young Camilla shine, 

" And mingle Love's blue brilliances with mine ; 

" For me she sits apart, from coxcombs shrinking, 

" Looks wise — the pretty soul ! — and thinks she's 

thinking. 
" By my advice Miss Indigo attends 
" Lectures on Memory, and assures her friends, 
" ' 'Pon honor ! — {mimics) — nothing can surpass the 

plan 
" ' Of that professor — {trying to recollect) — psha ! 

that memory-man — 
" '• That — what's his name ? — him I attended late- 

ly- 
" ' Ton honor, he improved my memory greatly.' " 

Here, curtseying low, I ask'd the blue-legg'd sprite, 

What share he had in this our play to-night. 

" Nay, there — (he cried) — there I am guiltless 

quite — 
" What ! choose a heroine from that Gothic time, 
" When no one waltz'd, and none but monks could 

rhyme ; 
" When lovely woman all unschool'd and wild, 
" Blush'd without art, and without culture smiled — 
" Simple as flowers, while yet unclass'd they shone, 
" Ere Science call'd their brilliant world her own, 
" Ranged the wild, rosy things in learned orders, 
" And iUl'd with Greek the garden's blushing bor- 
ders ! — 
" No, no — your gentle Inas will not do — 
" To-morrow evening, when the lights burn blue, 
" I'll come — {pointing downwards) — you under- 
stand — till then adieu !" 

And has the sprite been here ? No — jests apart — 
Howe'er man rules in science and in art, 
The sphere of woman's glories is the heart. 
And, if our Muse have sketch'd with pencil true 
The wife — the mother — firm, yet gentle too — 
Whose soul, wrapp'd up in ties itself hath spun, 
Trembles, if touch'd in the remotest one ; 
Who loves — yet dares even Love himself disown, 
When Honor's broken shaft supports his throne ; 
If such our Ina, she may scorn the evils, 
Dire as they are, of Critics and — Blue Devils. 



i In these stanzas I have done little more than relate a 
fact in verse ; and the lady, whose singing gave rise to this 



THE DAY-DREAM. 1 

They both were hush'd, the voice, the chords,- 
I heard but once that witching' lay ; 

And few the notes, and few the words, 
My spell-bound memory brought away ; 

Traces remember'd here and there, 
Like echoes of some broken strain ; — 

Links of a sweetness lost in air, 
That nothing now could join again. 

Ev'n these, too, ere the morning, fled ; 

And, though the charm still linger'd on, 
That o'er each sense her song had shed, 

The song itself was faded, gone ; — 

Gone, like the thoughts that once were ours, 
On summer days, ere youth had set ; 

Thoughts bright, we know, as summer flowers, 
Though what they were, we now forget. 

In vain, with hints from other strains, 
I woo'd this truant air to come — 

As birds are taught, on eastern plains, 
To lure their wilder kindred home. 

In vain : — the song that Sappho gave, 

In dying, to the mournful sea, 
Not muter slept beneath the wave, 

Than this within my memory. 

At length, one morning, as I lay 

In that half-waking mood, when dreams 

Unwillingly at last give way 

To the full truth of daylight's beams, 

A face — the very face, methought, 

From which had breathed, as from a shrine 

Of song and soul, the notes I sought — 
Came with its music close to mine ; 

And sung the long-lost measure o'er, — 
Each note and word, with every tone 

And look, that lent it life before, — 
All perfect, all again my own ! 

Like parted souls, when, mid the Blest 
They meet again, each widow'd sound 

Through memory's realm had wing'd in quest, 
Of its sweet mate, till all were found. 



curious instance of the power of memory in sleep, is Mrs. 
Robert Arkwright. 



660 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Nor even in waking did the clue, 


Pronounce the will, whoce very breath 


Thus strangely caught, escape again ; 


Would rend its links — We care not. 


For never la"rk its matins knew 




So well as now I knew this strain. 


For priestly men, who covet sway 




And wealth, though they declare not \ 


And oft, when memory's wondrous speli 


Who point, like finger-posts, the way 


Is talk'd of in our tranquil bower, 


They never go — We care not. 


I sing this lady's song, and tell 




The vision of that morning hour. 


For martial men, who on their sword, 




Howe'er it conquers, wear not 




The pledges of a soldier's word, 




Redeem'd and pure — We care not. 




for legal men, who plead for wrong, 


SONG. 


And, though to lies they swear not, 




Are hardly^ better than the throi.^ 


Where is the heart that would not give 


Of those who do — We care not. 


Years of drowsy days and nights, 




One little hour, like this, to live — 


For courtly men, who feed upon 


Full, to the brim, of life's delights ? 


The land, like grubs, and spare not 


Look, look around 


The smallest leaf, where they can sun 


This fairy ground, 


Their crawling limbs — We care not 


With love-lights glittering o'er ; 




While cups that shine 


For wealthy men, who keep their mines 


With freight divine 


In darkness hid, and share not 


Go coasting round its shore. 


The paltry ore with him who pines 




In honest want — We care not. 


Hope is the dupe of future hours, 




Memory lives in those gone by ; 


For prudent men, who hold the power 


Neither can see the moment's flowers 


Of Love aloof, and bare not 


Springing up fresh beneath the eye 


Their hearts in any guardless hour 


Wouldst thou, or thou, 


To Beauty's shaft — We care not. 


Forego what's now, 




For all that Hope may say 1 


For all, in short, on land or sea, 


No — Joy's reply, 


In camp or court, who are not, 


From every eye, 


Who never were, or e'er will be 


Is, " Live we while we may." 


Good men and true — We care not 


SONG OF THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY 




Haud curat Hippoclides. 


ANNE BOLEYN. 


Erasm. Adag 






TRANSLATION FROM THE METRICAL " HISTOIRK D'ANNB 


To those we love we've drank to-night ; 


BOLEYN." 


But now attend, and stare not, 




While I the ampler list recite 


S'elle estoit belle et de taille elegante, 


Of those for whom — We care not. 


Estoit des yeulx encor plus attirante, 




Lesquelz scavoit bien conduyre a propos 


For royal men, howe'er they frown, 


En les tenant quelquefoys en repos ; 
Aucunefoys envoyant en message 


If on their fronts they bear not 


Porter du cneur le secret tcsmoignage. 


That noblest gem that decks a crown, 




The People's Love— We care not. 


Much as her form seduced the sight, 




Her eyes could even more surely woo ; 


For slavish men, who bend beneath 


And when and how to shoot their light 


A despot yoke, yet dare not 


Into men's hearts full well she knew. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



661 



For sometimes, in repose, she hid 
Their rays beneath a downcast lid ; 
And then again, with wakening; air, 

Would send their sunny glances out, 
Like heralds of delight, to bear 

Her heart's sweet messages about 



THE DREAM OF THE TWO SISTERS 



FROM DANTE. 

Nell era, credo, che dell' oriente 
Prima raggib nel monte Citerea, 
Che di fuoco d' amor par seinpre ardente, 

Giovane e bella in sogno mi parea 
Donna vedere andar per una landa 
Cogliendo fiori ; e cantando dicea: — 

Sappia qualunque '1 mio nome dimanda, 
Ch' in mi son Lia, e vo movendo 'ntorno 
Le belle mani a fhrmi una ghirlanda — 

Per piacermi alio specchio qui m' adorno ; 
Ma mia suora Rachel mai non si smaga 
Dal suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto il glorno. 

Ell' e de' snoi begli occhi veder vaga, 
Com' io deil' adornarmi con le mani; 
Lei lo vedere e me l'ovrare appaga. 

Dante, Purg. canto xxvi 

Twas eve's soft hour, and bright, above, 

The star of Beauty beam'd, 
While lull'd by light so full of love, 

In slumber thus I dream'd — 
Methought, at that sweet hour, 

A nymph came o'er the lea, 
Who, gath'ring many a flow'r, 

Thus said and sung to me : — 
" Should any ask what Leila loves, 

" Say thou, To wreath her hair 
" With flow'rets cull'd from glens and groves, 

" Is Leila's only care. 

i: Whi'ie rn^s in quest of flow' rets rare, 

•'•' 0"er hill and dale I roam, 
•'•' My sister, Rachel, far more fair 

" Sits lone and mute at home. 
" Before her glass untiring, 

•'•' With thoughts that never stray, 
u Her own bright eyes admiring, 

" She sits the live-long day ; 
* While I ! — oh, seldom even a look 

" Of self salutes my eye ; — 
<; My only glass, the limpid brook, 

" That shines and passes by." 



SOVEREIGN WOMAN. 



The dance was o'er, yet still in dreams 

That fairy scene went on ; 
Like clouds still flush'd with daylight gleams, 

Though day itself is gone. 
And gracefully, to music's sound, 
The same bright nymphs went gliding round ; 
While thou, the Queen of all, wert there — 
The Fairest still, where all were fair. 

The dream then changed — in halls of state, 

I saw thee high enthroned ; 
While, ranged around, the wise, the great 

In thee their mist.^-= own'd : 
And still the same, thy gentle sway 
O'er willing subjects won its way — 
Till all confess'd the Right Divine 
To ride o'er man was only thine ! 

But, lo, the scene now changed again— 

And borne on plumed steed, 
I saw thee o'er the battle-plain 

Our land's defenders lead ; 
And stronger in thy beauty's charms, 
Than man, with countless hosts in arms, 
Thy voice, like music, cheer'd the Free, 
Thy very smile was victory ! 

Nor reign such queens on thrones alone — 

In cot and court the same, 
Wherever woman's smile is known, 

Victoria's still her name. 
For though she almost blush to reign, 
Though Love's own flow'rets wreath the chain, 
Disguise our bondage as we will, 
'Tis woman, woman, rules us still. 



COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR 
AGAIN. 



Come, play me that simple air again, 

I used so to love, in life's young day, 
And bring, if thou canst, the dreams that tfi.en 
Were waken'd by that sweet lay 
The tender gloom its strain 

Shed o'er the heart and brow, 

Grief's shadow, without its pain — 

Say where, where is it now ? 



662 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But play me the well-known air once more, 
For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain, 

Like dreams of some far, fairy shore 
We never shall see again. 

Sweet air, how every note brings back 

Some sunny hope, some day-dream bright, 

That, shining o'er life's early track, 
Fill'd ev'n its tears with light. 



The new-found life that came 

With love's first echo'd vow ; — 
The fear, the bliss, the shame — 
Ah — where, where are they now 
But, still the same loved notes prolong, 

For sweet 'twere thus, to that old lay, 
In dreams of youth and love and song, 
To breathe life's hour away. 



THE EPICUREAN. 

A TALE. 



LORD JOHN RUSSELL, 

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, 
BY ONE WHO ADMIRES HIS CHARACTER AND TALENTS, AND IS PROUD OF HIS FRIENDSHIP. 



LETTER TO THE TRANSLATOR, 

FROM 

, Esq. 

Cairo, June 19, 1800. 

My dear Sir, 
During a visit lately paid by me to the mon- 
astery of St. Macarius — which is situated, as you 
know, in the Valley of the Lakes of Natron — I 
was lucky enough to obtain possession of a curious 
Greek manuscript which, in the hope that you may 
be induced to translate it, I herewith transmit to 
you. Observing one of the monks very busily 
occupied in tearing up into a variety of fantastic 
shapes some papers which had the appearance of 
being the leaves of old books, I inquired of him 
the meaning of his task, and received the following 
explanation : — 

The Arabs, ft .seems, who are as fond of pigeons 
as the ancient Egyptians, have a superstitious no- 
tion that, if they place in their pigeon-houses small 
scraps of paper, written over with learned charac- 



ters, the birds are always sure to thrive the better 
for the charm ; and the monks, who are never slow 
in profiting by superstition, have, at all times, a sup- 
ply of such amulets for purchasers. 

In general, the fathers of the monastery have 
been in the habit of scribbling these fragments 
themselves ; but a discovery lately made by them, 
saves all this trouble. Having dug up (as my 
informant stated) a chest of old manuscripts, which, 
being chiefly on the subject of alchemy, must have 
been buried in the time of Dioclesian, " we thought," 
added the monk, " that we could not employ such 
rubbish more properly, than in tearing it up, as you 
see, for the pigeon-houses of the Arabs." 

On my expressing a wish to rescue some part of 
these treasures from the fate to which his indolent 
fraternity had consigned them, he produced the 
manuscript which I have now the pleasure of send- 
ing you — the only one, he said, remaining entire — 
and I very readily paid the price which he demand- 
ed for it. 

You will find the story, I think, not altogether 
uninteresting ; and the coincidence, in many re- 
spects, of the curious details in Chap. VI with the 
description of the same ceremonies in the Romance 



THE EPICUREAN. 



663 



of Sethos, 1 will, I have no doubt, strike you. Hoping 
that you may be induced to give a translation of 
this Tale to the world, 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Very truly yours, 



THE EPICUREAN. 



CHAPTER I. 

It was in the fourth year of the reign of the late 
Emperor Valerian, that the followers of Epicurus, 
who were at that time numerous in Athens, pro- 
ceeded to the election of a person to fill the vacant 
Chair of their sect ; — and, by the unanimous voice 
of the School, I was the individual chosen for their 
Chief. I was just then entering on my twenty- 
fourth year, and no instance had*ver before oc- 
curred, of a person so young being selected for that 
high office. Youth, however, and the personal ad- 
vantages that adorn it, could not but rank among 
the most agreeable recommendations to a sect that 
included within its circle all the beauty as well as 
the wit of Athens, and which, though dignifying its 
pursuits with the name of philosophy, was little else 
than a plausible pretext for the more refined cultiva- 
tion of pleasure. 

The character of the sect had, indeed, much 
changed since the time of its wise and virtuous 
founder, who, while he asserted that Pleasure is the 
only Good, inculcated also that Good is the only 
source of Pleasure. The purer part of this doctrine 
had long evaporated, and the temperate Epicurus 
would have as little recognised his own sect in the 
assemblage of refined voluptuaries who now usurped 
its name, as he would have known his own quiet 
Garden in the luxurious groves and bowers among 
which the meetings of the School were now held. 

Many causes concurred, at this period, besides the 
attractiveness of its doctrines, to render our school 
by far the most popular of any that still survived the 
glory of Greece. It may generally be observed, that 
the prevalence, in one half of a community, of very 



- The description, here aliudea to, may also be found, 
copied verbatim from Sethos, in the " Voyages d' Antenor." — 
" In that philosophical romance, called ' La Vie de Sethos,' " 



rigid notions on the subject of religion, produces the 
opposite extreme of laxity and infidelity in the other; 
and this kind of reaction it was that now mainly 
contributed to render the doctrines of the Garden 
the most fashionable philosophy of the day. The 
rapid progress of the Christian faith had alarmed all 
those, who, either fr^m piety or worldliness, were 
interested in the continuance of the old established 
creed — all who believed in the Deities of Olympus, 
and all who lived by them. The natural conse- 
quence was, a considerable increase of zeal and 
activity, throughout the constituted authorities and 
priesthood of the whole Heathen world. What was 
wanting in sincerity of belief was made up in 
rigor; — the weakest parts of the Mythology were 
those, of course, most angrily defended, and any 
reflections, tending to bring Saturn, or his wife Ops, 
into contempt, were punished with the utmost 
severity of the law. 

In this state of affairs, between the alarraed big- 
otry of the declining Faith and the simple, sublime 
austerity of her rival, it was not wonderful that 
those lovers of ease and Measure, who had no 
interest, reversionary or otherwise, in the old religion, 
and were too indolent to inquire into the sanctions 
of the new, should take refuge from the severities of 
both in the arms of a luxurious philosophy, which, 
leaving to others the task of disputing about the 
future, centred all its wisdom in the full enjoyment 
of the present. 

The sectaries of the Garden had, ever since the 
death of their founder, been accustomed to dedicate 
to his memory the twentieth day of every month. 
To these monthly rites had, for some time, been 
added a grand annual Festival, in commemoration 
of his birth. The feasts given on this occasion by 
my predecessors in the Chair, had been invariably 
distinguished for their taste and splendor ; and it 
was my ambition, not merely to imitate this ex- 
ample, but even to render the anniversary, now 
celebrated under my auspices, so lively and brilliant 
as to efface the recollection of all that had pre- 
ceded it. 

Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed so bright 
a scene. The grounds that formed the original site 
of the Garden had received, from time to time, con- 
siderable additions ; and the whole extent was now 
laid out with that perfect taste which understands 
how to wed Nature with Art, without sacrificing 
any of her simplicity to the alliance. Walks, leading 
through wildernesses of shade and fragrance — 
glades, opening, as i e to afford a playground for the 



says Warburton, "we find a much juster account of 3ld 
Egyptian wisdom, than in all the pretended Histoire du 
Ciel.' " — Div. Leg. book iv. sect. 14. 



664 



MOORE'S WORKS 



1 



sunshine — temples, rising on the very spots where 
Imagination herself would have called them up, and 
fountains and lakes, in alternate motion and repose, 
either wantonly courting the verdure, or calmly 
sleeping in its embrace — such was the variety of 
feature that diversified these fair gardens ; and, 
animated as they were on this occasion, by all the 
living wit and loveliness of Athens., it afforded a 
scene such as my own youthful fancy, rich as it 
was then in images of luxury and beauty, could 
hardly have anticipated. 

The ceremonies of the day began with the very 
dawn, when, according to the form of simpler and 
better times, those among the disciples who had 
apartments within the Garden, bore the image oi 
our Founder in procession from chamber to chamber, 
chanting verses in praise of what had long ceased 
to be objects oi cur imitation — his frugality and 
temperance. 

Round a beautiful lake, in the centre of the 
Garden, stood four white Doric temples, in one of 
which was collected a library containing all the 
flowers of Grecian literature : while, in the re- 
maining three, Conversation, the Song) and the 
Dance, held, uninterrupted by each other, their 
respective rites. In the Library stood busts of all 
the most illustrious Epicureans, both of Rome and 
Greece — Horace, Atticus, Pliny the elder, the poet 
Lucretius, Lucian, and the lamented biographer of 
the Philosophers, lately lost to us, Diogenes Laer- 
tius. There were also the portraits, in marble, of 
all the eminent female votaries of the school — 
Lcentium and her fair daughter Danae, Themista, 
Philaenis, and others. 

It was here that, in my capacity of Heresiarch, 
on the m -ning of the Festival, I received the fe- 
licitations Ox the day from some of the fairest lips of 
Athens ; and, in pronouncing the customary oration 
to the memory- of our -Master, jn which it was usual 
to dwell upon the doctrines he had inculcated.) 
endeavored to attain that art, so useful before such 
an audience, of lending to the gravest subjects a 
charm, which secures them listeners even among 
the simplest and most volatile. 

Though study, as may be supposed, engrossed but 
little the nights or mornings of the Garden, yet all 
the lighter parts of learning — that portion of its attic 
honey, for which the bee is not compelled to go very 
deep into the flower — was somewhat zealously cul- 
tivated by us. Even here, however, the young 
student had to encounter that kind of distraction, 
which is, of all others, the least favorable to com- 
posure of thought ; and, with more than one of un- 
fair disciples, there used to occur such scenes as the 
following, which a poet of the Garden, taking his 
picture from the life, thus described : — 



'• As o'er the lake, in evening's glow, 

That temple threw its lengthening shade. 
Upon the marble steps below 

There sate a fair Corinthian maid. 
Gracefully o'er some volume bending ; 

While, by her side, the yonthful Sage 
Held back her ringlets, lest, descending. 

They should o'ershadow all the page " 

But it was for the evening of that day, that the 
richest of our luxuries were reserved Every part 
of the Garden was illuminated, with the most skilful 
variety of lustre ; while over the Lake of the 
Temples were scattered wreaths of flowers, through 
which boats, filled with beautiful children, floated, 
as through a liquid parterre. 

Between two of these boats a mock combat 
was perpetually carried c." : — their respective com- 
manders, two blooming youths, being *abited to 
represent Eros and Anteros : the former, the Ce- 
lestial Love of the Piatonists, and the latter, that 
more earthly spirit, which usurps the name of 
Love among the Epicureans. Throughout the 
whole evening their conflict was maintained with 
various success ; the timid distance at which Eros 
kept aloof from his lively antagonist being his only 
safeguard against those darts of fire, with showers 
of which the ^ier assailed him, but which, falling 
short of their mark upon the lake, only scorched 
the few fio vers on winch they fell, and were ex- 
tinguished. 

In another part of the Gardens, on a wide glade, 
illuminated only by the moon, was performed an 
imitation of the torch-race of the Panathencea by 
young boys chosen for their fieetness, and arrayed 
with wings, like Cupids ; while, not far off, a group 
of seven nymphs, with each a star on her forehead, 
represented the movements of the planetary choir, 
and embodied the dream of Pythagoras into real 
motion and song. 

At every turning some new enchantment broke 
unexpectedly on the eye or ear ; and now, from the 
depth of a dark grove, from which a fountain at the 
same time issued, there came a strain of sweet mu- 
sic, which, mingling with the murmur of the water, 
seemed like the voice of the spirit that presided over 
its flow : — while, at other times, the same strain 
appeared to come breathing from among flowers, 
or was heard suddenly from under ground, as if the 
foot had just touched some spring that set its melody 
in motion. 

It may seem strange that I should now dwell 
upon all these trifling details ; but they were to me 
full of the future ; and every- thing connected with 
that memorable night — even its long-repented fol- 
lies — must forever live fondly and sacredly in my 
rnemory. The festival concluded with a banquet, 
at which, as master of the Sect, I presided; and 



THE EPICUREAN. 



665 



r, myself, in every sense, the ascendant spirit 
'of the whole scene, gave life to all around me, and 
saw my own happiness reflected in that of others. 



CHAPTER II. 

Ths festival was over : — the sounds of the song 
and dance had ceased* and I was now left in those 
luxurious gardens, alone. Though so ardent and 
active a votary of pleasure, I had, by nature, a dis- 
position fall of melancholy; — an imagination that, 
even in the midst of mirth and happiness, presented 

smog thoughts, and threw the shadow of the 

a over the gayest illusions of the present. 

.icholy was, indeed, twin-born in my soul 
with Passion; and not even in the fullest fervor 
of the latter were they ever separated. From the 

n eat that I was conscious of thought and 

feeling, the same dark thread had ran across the 

and images of death and annihilation came 

to mingle themselves with even the most smiling 

i through which love and enjoyment led 
me. My very passion for pleasure but deepened 
r'oomy thoughts. For, shut out, as I was by 
my creed, from a future life, and having no hope 
beyond the narrow horizon of this, every minute of 
earthly d:-Sght assumed, in my eyes, a mournful 
preciousness : and pleasure, like the flower of the 
: r.r_r:ery, grew but more luxuriant from the neigh- 
borhood of death. 

This very night my triumph, my happiness, had 
seemed complete. I had been the presiding genius 
of that voluptuous scene. Both my ambition and 
my love of pleasure had drunk deep of the rich cup 
for which they thirsted. Looked up to as I was by 
the learned, and admired and loved by the beautiful 
and the young, I had seen, in every eye that met 
either the acknowledgment of bright triumphs 
already won, or the promise of others, still brighter, 
that awaited me. Yet, even in the midst of all 
this, the same dark thoughts had presented them- 
selves ; — the perishableness of myself and all around 
me had recurred every instant to my mind. Those 
hands I had pressed — those eyes, in which I had 
seen sparkling a spirit of light and life that ought 

: ;o die — those voices, that had spoken of eter- 
nal love — all, all I felt, were but a mockery of the 
moment, and would leave nothing eternal but the 
silence of their dust ! 

Oh. were it not for this sad voice, 

Stealing amid oar mirth to say. 
That all. in which we most rejoice. 

Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey , — 



But for this bitter — only this — 

Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss, 

And capable as feels my sonl 

Of draining to its depth the whole, 

I should turn earth to heaven, and be, 

If bliss made gods, a deity ! 

Such was the description I gave of my own feel- 
ings in one of those wild, passionate songs, to which 
this mixture of mirth and melancholy, in a spirit so 
buoyant, naturally gave birth. 

And seldom had my heart so fully surrendered I 
itself to this sort of vague sadness as at that very j 
moment, when, as I paced thoughtfully among the j 
fading lights and flowers of the banquet, the echo of ! 
my own step wa3 all that now sounded, where so ] 
many gay forms had lately been revelling. The j 
moon was still up, the morning had not yet glim- '■■ 
mered, and the calm glories of the night still rest- j 
ed on all around. Unconscious whither my path- j 
way led, I continued to wander along, till I, at 
length, found myself before that fair statue of Ye- | 
nus, with which the chisel of Alcamenes had em- \ 
bellished our Garden ; — that image of deified woman, 
the only idol to which I had ever yet bent the knee. 
Leaning against the pedestal of the statue, I raised 
nay eyes to heaven, and fixing them sadly and in- 
tently on the ever-burning stars, as if seeking to read 
the mournful secret in their light, asked, wherefore ; 
was it that Man alone must fade and perish, while 
they, so much less wonderful, less godlike than he, ; 
thus still lived on in radiance unchangeable and for- ; 
ever ! " Oh, that there were some spell, some talis- 
man,'' I exclaimed, " to make the spirit that burns ; 
within us deathless as those stars, and open to it a 
career like theirs, as bright and inextinguishable j 
throughout all time !" 

While thus indulging in wild and melancholy fan- : 
cies, I felt that lassitude which earthly pleasure, 
however sweet, still leaves behind, come insensibly 
over me, and at length sunk at the base of the sta- ; 
tue to sleep. 

But even in sleep, the same fancies continued to 
haunt me ; and a dream, 1 so distinct and vivid as 
to leave behind it the impression of reality, thus 
presented itself to my mind. I found myself sud- ; 
denly transported to a wide and desolate plain, 
where nothing appeared to breathe, or move, or ' 
live. The very sky that hung above it looked pale 
and extinct, giving the idea, not of darkness, but 
of light that had become dead ; — and had that 
whole region been the remains of some older world, 
left broken up and sunless, it could not have pre- i 
sented an aspect more quenched and desolate 



1 For the importance attached to dreams by the ancieits, 
see Jortin, Remarks on Ecclesiasical History, vol. i.. p. A 



666 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The only thing that bespoke life, throughout this 
melancholy waste, was a small spark of light, that 
at first glimmered in the distance, but, at length, 
slowly approached the bleak spot where I stood. 
As it drew nearer, I could see that its small but 
steady gleam came from a taper in the hand of an 
ancient and venerable man, who now stood, like a 
pale messenger from the grave, before me. After 
a few moments of awful silence, during which he 
looked at me with a sadness that thrilled my very 
soul, he said, " Thou, who seekest eternal life, go 
unto the shores of the dark Nile — go unto the shores 
of the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eternal life 
thou seekest !" 

No sooner had he uttered these words than the 
deathlike hue of his cheek at once brightened into 
a smile of more than earthly promise ; while the 
small torch he held in his hand sent forth a glow 
of radiance, by which suddenly the whole surface 
of the desert was illuminated ; — the light spreading 
even to the distant horizon's edge, along whose 
line I could now see gardens, palaces, and spires, 
all as bright as the rich architecture of the clouds 
at sunset. Sweet music, too, came floating in every 
direction through the air, and, from all sides, such 
varieties of enchantment broke upon me, that, with 
the excess alike of harmony and of radiance, I 
awoke. 

That infidels should be superstitious is an anoma- 
ly neither unusual nor strange. A belief in super- 
human agency seems natural and necessary to 
the mind ; and, if not suffered to flow in the ob- 
vious channels, it will find a vent in some other. 
Hence, many who have doubted the existence of 
a God, have yet implicitly placed themselves un- 
der the patronage of Fate or the stars. Much the 
same inconsistency I was conscious of in my own 
feelings. Though rejecting all belief in a Divine 
Providence, I had yet a faith in dreams, that all 
my philosophy could not conquer. Nor was expe- 
rience wanting to confirm me in my delusion ; for, 
by some of those accidental coincidences, which 
make the fortune of soothsayers and prophets, 
dreams, more than once, had been to me 

Oracles, truer far than oak, 
Or dove, or tripod, ever spoke. 

It was not wonderful, therefore, that the vision of 
that night — touching, as it did, a chord so ready 
to vibrate — should have affected me with more 
than ordinary power, and even sunk deeper into 
my memory with every effort I made to forget it. 
In vain did I mock at my own weakness ; — such 
self-derision is seldom sincere. In vain did I pursue 
my accustomed pleasures. Their zest was, as usual, 
forever new : but still, in the midst of all my enjoy- 



ment, came the cold and saddening consciousness of 
mortality, and, with it, the recollection of that vis- 
ionary promise, to which my fancy, in defiance of 
reason, still continued to cling. 

At times indulging in reveries, that were little 
else than a continuation of my dream, I even con- 
templated the possible existence of some mighty 
secret, by which youth, if not perpetuated, might 
be at least prolonged, and that dreadful vicinity of 
death, within whose circle love pines and pleasure 
sickens, might be for a wh je averted. " Who 
knows," I wou'd ask, "but that in Egypt, that 
region of wonders vhere Mystery hath yet un- 
folded but half hei treasures — where still remain, 
undeciphered, upon the pillars of Seth, so many 
written secrets of the antediluvian world — who can 
tell but that some powerful charm, some amulet, 
may there lie hid, whose discovery, as this phantom 
hath promised, but awaits my coming — some com- 
pound of the same pure atoms that form the es- 
sence of the living stars, and whose infusion into the 
frame of man might render him also unfading and 
immortal 1" 

Thus fondly did I sometimes speculate, in those 
vague moods of mind, when the life of excitement 
in which I was engaged, acting upon a warm heart 
and vivid fancy, produced an intoxication of spirit, 
during which I was not wholly myself. This be- 
wilderment, too, was not a little increased by the 
constant struggle I experienced between my own 
natural feelings, and the cold, mortal creed of my 
sect — in endeavoring to escape from whose deaden- 
ing bondage I but broke loose into the realms of 
fantasy and romance. 

Even in my soberest moments, however, that 
strange vision forever haunted me ; and every 
effort I made to chase it from my recollection was 
unavailing. The deliberate conclusion, therefore, 
to which I at last came, was, that to visit Egypt 
was now my only resource ; that, without seeing 
that land of wonders, I could not rest, nor, until 
convinced of my folly by disappointment, be reason- 
able. Without delay, accordingly, I announced to 
my friends of the Garden, the intention I had formed 
to pay a visit to the land of Pyramids. To none of 
them, however, did I dare to confess the vague, 
visionary impulse that actuated me ; — knowledge 
being the object that I alleged, while Pleasure was 
that for which they gave me credit. The interests 
of the School, it was feared, might suffer by my 
absence ; and there were some tenderer ties, which 
had still more to fear from separation. But for the 
"orriier ^convenience a temporary remedy was 
provided ; while the latter a skilful distribution of 
vows and sighs alleviated. Being furnished with 
recommendatory letters to all parts of Egypt, I 



THE EPICUREAN. 



667 



set sail in the summer of the year 257, a. d., for 
Alexandria. 



CHAPTER III. 

! 

To one, who so well knew how to extract pleas- 
I ure from every moment on land, a sea-voyage, how- 
ever smooth and favorable, appeared the least agree- 
able mode of losing time that could be devised. 
Often, indeed, did my imagination, in passing some 
isle of those seas, people it with fair forms and 
loving hearts, to which most willingly would I have 
paused to offer homage. But the wind blew direct 
towards the land of Mystery ; and, still more, I 
heard a voice within me, whispering forever, " On." 

As we approached the coast of Egyp't, our course 
became less prosperous ; and we had a specimen of 
the benevolence of the divinities of the Nile, in the 
shape of a storm, or rather whirlwind, which had 
nearly sunk our vessel, and which the Egyptians on 
board declared to be the work of their deity, Ty- 
phon. After a day and night of danger, during 
which we were driven out of our course to the 
eastward, some benigner influence prevailed above ; 
and, at length, as the morning freshly broke, we 
saw the beautiful city of Alexandria rising from the 
sea, with its proud Palace of Kings, its portico of 
four hundred columns, and the fair Pillar of Pillars, 1 
towering in the midst to heaven. 

After passing in review this splendid vision, we 
shot rapidly round the Rock of Pharos, and, in a 
few minutes, found ourselves in the harbor of Eu- 
nostus. The sun had risen, but the light on the 
Great Tower of the Rock was still burning ; and 
there was a languor in the first waking movements 
of that voluptuous city — whose houses and temples 
lay shining in silence around the harbor — that 
sufficiently attested the festivities of the preceding 
night. 

We were soon landed on the quay ; and, as I 
walked, through a line of palaces and shrines, up 
the street Which leads from the sea to the Gate of 
Canopus, fresh as I was from the contemplation of 
my own lovely Athens, I yet felt a glow of admira- 
tion at the scene around me, which its novelty, even 
more than its magnificence, inspired. Nor were 
the luxuries and delights, which such a city prom- 



1 More properly, perhaps, "the Column of the Pillars." 
Vide Mdallatif, Relation de l'Egypte, and the notes of M. 
de Sacy. The great portico around this column (formerly 
designated Pompey's, but now known to have been erected 
in honor of Dioclesian) was still standing, M. de Sacy says, 
in the time of Saladin. Vide Lord Falentia's Travels. 



ised, among the least of the considerations upon 
which my fancy dwelt. On the contrary, every 
thing around me seemed prophetic of love and 
pleasure. The very forms of the architecture, to 
my Epicurean imagination, appeared to call up 
images of living grace ; and even the dim seclusion 
of the temples and groves spoke only of tender 
mysteries to my mind. As the whole bright scene 
grew animated around me, I felt that though Egypt 
might not enable me to lengthen life, she could 
teach the next best art — that of multiplying its en- 
joyments. 

The population of Alexandria, 3 at this period, 
consisted of the most motley miscellany of nations, 
religions, and sects, that had ever been brought 
together in one city. Besides the school of the 
Grecian Platonist was seen the oratory of the caba- 
listic Jew ; while the church of the Christian stood, 
undisturbed, over the crypts of the Egyptian Hiero- 
phant. Here, the adorer of Fire, from the East, 
laughed at the less elegant superstition of the wor- 
shipper of cats, from the West. Here Christianity, 
too, had learned to emulate the pious vagaries of 
Paganism ; and while, on one side, her Ophite pro- 
fessor was seen bending his knee gravely before a 
serpent, on the other, a Nicosian Christian was 
heard contending, with no less gravity, that there 
could be no chance whatever of salvation out of the 
pale of the Greek alphabet. Still worse, the un- 
charitableness of Christian schism was already, with 
equal vigor, distinguishing itself ; and I heard every- 
where, on my arrival, of the fierce rancor and 
hate, with which the Greek and Latin churchmen 
were then persecuting each other, because, forsooth, 
the one fasted on the seventh day of the week, and 
the others fasted upon the fourth and sixth ! 

To none, however, of these different creeds and 
sects, except in as far as they furnished food for 
ridicule, had I time to pay much attention. I was 
now in the most luxurious city of the universe, and 
accordingly gave way, without reserve, to the I 
various seductions that surrounded me. My repu- 
tation, both as a philosopher and a man of pleasure, 
had preceded my coming; and Alexandria, the 
second Athens of the world, welcomed me as her 
own. I found my celebrity, indeed, act as a talis- 
man, that, opened all hearts and doors at my ap- 
proach. The usual novitiate of acquaintance was 
dispensed with in my favor, and not only intima- 
cies, but loves and friendships, ripened as rapidly 



3 Ammianus thus speaks of the state of Alexandria in his 
time, which was, I believe, as late as the end of the fourth 
century: — " Ne nunc quidem in eadein urbe I)octrina> varis 
silent, non apud nos exaruit Musica nee Harmonia conticuit. ' 
Lib. 22. 



668 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



in my path, as vegetation springs up where the 
Nile has flowed. The dark beauty of the Egyp- 
tian women 1 possessed a novelty in my eyes that 
enhanced its other charms ; and the hue left by 
the sun on their rounded cheeks seemed but an 
earnest of the genial ardor he must have kindled in 
their hearts — 

Th' imbrowning of the fruit, that tells, 

How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells. 

Some weeks had now passed in such constant 
and ever-changing pleasures, that even the melan- 
choly voice deep within my heart, though it still 
spoke, was but seldom listened to, and soon died 
away in the sound of the siren songs that sur- 
rounded me. At length, as the novelty of these 
gay scenes wore off, the same vague and gloomy 
bodings began to mingle with all my joys ; and an 
incident that occurred, at this time, during one of 
my gayest revels, conduced still more to deepen 
their gloom. 

The celebration of the annual festival of Serapis 
happened to take place during my stay ; and I was, 
more than once, induced to mingle with the gay 
multitudes that flocked to the shrine at Canopus 
on the occasion. Day and night, as long as this 
festival lasted, the great canal, which led from 
Alexandria to Canopus, was covered with boats 
full of pilgrims of both sexes, all hastening to avail 
themselves of this pious license, which lent the 
zest of a religious sanction to pleasure, and gave a 
holyday to the follies and passions of earth, in 
honor of heaven. 

I was returning, one lovely night, to Alexandria. 
The north wind, that welcome visiter, had cooled 



i From the character of the features of the Sphinx, and a 
passage in Herodotus, describing the Egyptians as jxeXayxpoes 
Kat ovXurpixtS, Volney, Bruce, and a few others, have con- 
cluded that the ancient inhabitants of Egypt were negroes. 
But this opinion is contradicted by a host of authorities. 
See Castera's notes upon Browne's Travels, for the result of 
Blumenbach's dissection of a variety of mummies. Denon, 
speaking of the character of the heads represented in the 
ancient sepulchre and painting of Egypt, says, "Celle des 
femmes ressemble encore a la figure des jolies femmes d'au- 
jourd'hui: de la rondeur, de la volupte, le nez petit, les yeux 
longs, peu ouverts," &c. &c. He could judge, too, he says, 
from the female mummies, " que leurs cheveux etoient longs 
et lisses, que le caractere de tete de la plupart tenoit du beau 
style."—" Je rapportai," he adds, " une tete de vieille femme 
qui etoit aussi belle que celles de Michel- Ange, et leur res- 
sembloit beaucoup." 

In a " Description generate de Thebes" by Messrs. Jollois 
et Dcsvilliers, they say, " Toutes les sculptures Egyptiennes, 
depuis les plus grands colosses de Thebes jusqu'aux plus 
petites idoles, ne rappelent en aucune maniere les traits de 
la figure des negres ; outre que les tetes des momies des 
catacombes de Thebes presenlent des profits droits." (See 
also M. Jomard's " Description of Syene and the Cataracts." 
Baron Larrey, on the "conformation physique" of the 



and freshened the air, while the banks, on either 
side of the stream, sent forth, from groves of orange 
and henna, the most delicious odors. As I had 
left all the crowd behind me at Canopus, there was 
not a boat to be seen on the canal but my own ; and 
I was just yielding to the thoughts which solitude 
at such ah hour inspires, when my reveries were 
suddenly broken by the sound of some female voices, 
coming mingled with Vtughter and screams, from 
the garden of a pavilion, that stood, brilliantly illumi- 
nated, upon the bank of the canal. 

In rowing nearer, I perceived that both the mirth 
and the alarm had been caused by the efforts of some 
playful girls to reach a hedge of jasmine which grew 
near the water, and in bending towards which they 
had nearly fallen into the stream. Hastening to 
proffer my assistance, I soon recognised the voice of 
one of my fair Alexandrian friends ; and, springing on 
the bank, was surrounded by the whole group, who 
insisted on my joining their ' party in the pavilion ; 
and, having flung around me, as fetters, the tendrils 
of jasmine which they had just plucked, conducted 
me, no unwilling captive, to the banquet-room. 

I found here an assemblage of the very flower 
of Alexandrian society. The unexpectedness of 
the meeting added new zest to it on both sides ; 
and seldom had I ever felt more enlivened myself, 
or succeeded better in infusing life and gayety into 
others. 

Among the company were some Greek women, 
who, according to the fashion of their country, 
wore veils ; but, as usual, rather to set off than to 
conceal their beauty, some bright gleams of which 
were constantly escaping from under the cloud. 
There was, however, one female, who particularly 



Egyptians, &c.) But the most satisfactory refutation of the 
opinion of Volney has been afforded within these few years, 
by Doctor Granville, who, having been lucky enough to 
obtain possession of a perfect female mummy, has, by the 
dissection and admeasurement of its form, completely es- 
tablished the fact, that the ancient Egyptians were of the 
Caucasian race, not of the Ethiopian. See this gentleman's 
curious " Essay on Egyptian Mumjnics" read before the 
Royal Society, April 14, 1825. 

De Pauw, the great depreciator of every thing Egyptian- 
has, on the authority of a passage in iElian, presumed to 
affix to the countrywomen of Cleopatra the stigma of com- 
plete and unredeemed ugliness. The following line of Eu- 
ripides, however, is an answer to such charges : — 

NaAou fizv aide KaWnrapdevoi poai. 

In addition to the celebrated instances of Cleopatra, Rho- 
dope, &c, we are told, on the authority of Manetho, (as given 
by Zoega from Georgius Syncellus,) of a beautiful queen 
of Memphis, Nitocris, of the sixth dynasty, who, in addi- 
tion to other charms and perfections, was (rather incon- 
sistently with the negro hypothesis) \avQn rnv xpo'av, i. e. 
yellow-haired. 

See for a tribute to the beauty of the Egyptian women, 
Montesquieu's Temple de Gnide. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



069 



attracted my attention, on whose head was a chap- 
let of dark-colored flowers, and who sat veiled 
and silent during the whole of the banquet. She 
i took no share, I observed, in what was passing 
around ; the viands and the wine went by her 
untouched, nor did a word that was spoken seem 
addressed to her ear. This abstraction from a scene 
so sparkling with gayety, though apparently unno- 
ticed by any one but myself, struck me as myste- 
rious and strange. I inquired of my fair neighbor 
the cause of it, but she looked grave, and was 
silent. 

In the mean time, the lyre and the cup went 
round ; and a young maid from Athens, as if in- 
spired by the presence of her countryman, took 
her lute, and sung to it some of the songs of Greece, 
with a warmth of feeling that bore me back to the 
banks of the Ilissus, and, even in the bosom of 
present pleasure, drew a sigh from my heart for that 
which had passed away. It was daybreak ere our 
delighted party rose, and most unwillingly re-em- 
barked to return to the city 

We were scarce afloat, when it was discovered 
that the lute of the young Athenian had been left 
behind ; and, with a heart still full of its sweet 
sounds, I most readily sprang on shore to seek it. 
I hastened at once to the banquet-room, which 
was now dim and solitary, except that — there, to 
my utter astonishment, was still seated that silent 
figure which had awakened so much my curiosity 
during the evening. A vague feeling of <sve came 
over me, as I now slowly approached it. There 
was no motion, no sound of breathing in that form ; 
— not a leaf of the dark chaplet upon its brow 
stirred. By the light of a dying lamp which stood 
on the table before the figure, I raised, with a hesi- 
tating hand, the veil ; and saw — what my fancy 
had already anticipated— that the shape underneath 
was lifeless, was a skeleton I Startled and shocked, 
I hurried back with the lute to the boat, and was 
almost as silent as that shape itself during the re- 
mainder of the voyage. 

This custom among the Egyptians of placing a 
mummy, or skeleton, at the banquet-table, had 
been for some time disused, except at particular 
ceremonies; and, even on such occasions, it had 
been the practice of the luxurious Alexandrians to 
disguise this memorial of mortality in the manner 
just described. But to me, who was wholly un- 
prepared for such a spectacle, it gave a shock from 
which my imagination did not speedily recover. 
This silent and ghastly witness of mirth seemed to 
embody, as it were, the shadow in my own heart. 
The features of the grave were thus stamped 
upon the idea that had long haunted me, and this 
picture of what I was to be now associated itself 



constantly with the sunniest aspect of what I 
was. 

The memory of the dream now recurred to me 
more livelily than ever. The bright, assuring smile 
of that venerable Spirit, and his words, " Go to the 
shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eter- 
nal life thou seekest," were forever present to my 
mind. But as yet, alas, I had done nothing towards 
realizing the proud promise. Alexandria was not 
Egypt ; — the very soil on which it now stood was 
not in existence, when already Thebes and Memphis 
had numbered ages of glory. 

"No," I exclaimed; "it is only beneath the 
Pyramids of Memphis, or in the mystic Ha.is of the 
Labyrinth, those holy arcana are to be found, of 
which the antediluvian world has made Egypt its 
heir, and among which — blessed thought ! — the key 
to eternal life may lie." 

Having formed my determination, I tc*ok leave 
of my many Alexandrian friends, and departed for 
Memphis. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Egypt was, perhaps, of all others, the country most 
calculated, from that mixture of the melan .holy 
and the voluptuous which marked the character of 
her people, her religion, and her scenery, to affect 
deeply a fancy and temperament like mine, and 
keep both forever tremblingly alive. Wherever I 
turned, I beheld the desert and the garden, mingling 
together their desolation and bloom. I saw the 
love-bower and the tomb standing side by side, as if, 
in that land, Pleasure and Death kept hourly watch 
upon each other. In the very luxury of the climate 
there was the same saddening influence. The 
monotonous splendor of the days, the solemn radi- 
ance of the nights — all tended to cherish that, ar- 
dent melancholy, the offspring of passion and of 
thought, which had been so long the familiar inmate 
of my soul. 

When I sailed from Alexandria, the inundation 
of the Nile was at its full. The whole valley of 
Egypt lay covered by its blood ; and, as, looking 
around me, I saw in the light of the setting sun, 
shrines, palaces, and monuments, encircled by the 
waters, I could almost fancy that I beheld the 
sinking island of Atalantis, on the last evening its 
temples were visible above the wave. Such varieties, 
too, of animation as presented themselves on every 



While, far as sight could reach, beneath as clear 
And blue a heaven as ever bless'd this sphere, 



670 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Gardens, and pillar'd streets, and porphyry domes, 
And high built temples, fit to be the homes 
Of mighty gods — and pyramids, whose hour 
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower ! 
Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that make 
One theatre of this vast peopled lake, 
Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives 
Of life and motion, ever moves and lives. 
Here, up the steps of temples, from the wave 
Ascending, in procession slow and grave, 
Priests, in white garments, go, with sacred wands 
And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands : 
While, there, rich barks— fresh from those sunny tracts 
Far olf, beyond the sounding cataracts- 
Glide with their precious lading to the sea, 
Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros' ivory, 
Gems from the Isle of Mercie, and those grains 
Of gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian rains. 
Here, where the waters wind into a bay 
Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims on their way 
To Sais or Bubastus, among beds 
Of iotus-flowers, 1 that close above their heads, 
Push their light barks, and hid, as in a bower, 
Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour; 
While haply, not far off, beneath a bank 
Of blossoming acacias, many a prank 
Is play'd in ihe cool current by a train 
Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she, whose chain 
Around two conquerors of the world was cast, 
But, for a third too feeble, broke at last ! 

Enchanted with the whole scene, I lingered delight- 
edly on my voyage, visiting all those luxurious and 
venerable places, whose names have been consecra- 
ted by the wonder of ages. At Sais I was present 
during her Festival of Lamps, and read, by the blaze 
of innumerable lights, those sublime words on the 
temple of Neiitha : 2 — " I am all that has been, 
that is, and that will be, and no man hath ever 
lifted my veil." I wandered among the prostrate 
obelisks of Heliopolis, 3 and saw, not without a sigh, 
the sun smiling over her ruins, as if in mockery of 
the mass of perishable grandeur that had once 
called itself, in its pride, " The City of the Sun." 
But to the Isle of the Golden Venus 4 was, I own, 
my fondest pilgrimage ; — and there, as I rambled 
through its shades, where bowers are the only temples, 
I felt how far more worthy to form the shrine of a 
Deity are the everliving stems of the garden and the 
grove, than the most precious columns the inanimate 
quarry can supply. 

Everywhere new pleasures, new interests await- 
ed me ; and though Melancholy stood, as usual, 



i Vide Strnhu. 

2 To (V tv Sa£i rrjq AOrjvas, f/v Kai laiv voixi^ovcnv,i5og, 
eiriypacprjv £% £I Toiavrrjv, Eyu eipti itav to yeyovos, km 
ov Kai woyLe.vov.Kai rov ipov TtcnXov ovbus rw ai:zKa\v\^cv. 
— Plutarch, de Isid. et Osir. 

s " De la, en remontant toujours le Nil, on trouve a deux 
cent cinqmr.ts pas, ou environ de la Mataree, les traces de 
Pancienne Heliopolis, ou Ville de Soleil, a qui ce lieu etoit 
particuliercment consacre. C'est poir cette raison qu'on 
1'appeloit encore l'GEil, ou la Fontaine du Soleil."— Maillet. 



forever near, her shadow fell but half-way over 
my vagrant path, leaving the rest but more wel- 
comely brilliant from the contrast. To relate my 
various adventures, during this short voyage, would 
only detain me from events, far, far more worthy 
of record. Amidst all this endless variety of attrac- 
tions, the great object of my journey had been 
forgotten ; — the mysteries of this land of the sun still 
remained, to me, as much mysteries as ever, and as 
yet I had been initiated in nothing but its pleasures. 

It was not till that memorable evening, when I 
first stood before the Pyramids of Memphis, and 
beheld them towering aloft, like the watch-towers 
of Time, from whose summit, when about to ex- 
pire, he will look his last — it was not till this 
moment that the great secret anr.% nnc^d in my 
dream again rose, in til its inscrutable ; irfmess, 
upon my thoughts. There was a solemnity in the 
sunshine resting upon those monuments — a still- 
ness, as of reverence, in the air that breathed 
around them, which seemed to steal, like the music 
of past times, into my heart. I thought what 
myriads of the wise, the beautiful, and the brave, 
had sunk into dust since earth first s&v/ those 
wonders; and in the sadness of my soul, I ex- 
claimed, — " Must man alone, then, perish ? must 
minds and hearts be annihilated, while pyramids 
endure? Oh, Death, Death! even upon these 
everlasting tablets — the only approach to immor- 
tality that kings themselves could purchase — thou 
hast written our doom awfully, and intelligibly, 
saying, ' There is for man no eternal mansion, but 
the grave !' " 

My heart sunk at the thought ; and, for the 
moment, I yielded to that desolate feeling, which 
overspreads the soul that hath no light from the 
future. But again 'the buoyancy of my nature 
prevailed, and again, the willing dupe of vain 
dreams, I deluded myself into the belief of all 
that my heart most wished, with that happy 
facility which enables imagination to stand in the 
place of happiness. " Yes," I cried, " immortality 
must be within man's reach ; and, as wisdom alone 
is worthy of such a blessing, to the wise alone must 
the secret have been revealed. It is said, that deep 
under yonder pyramid, has lain for ages concealed 
the Table of Emerald, 5 on which the Thrice-Great 



4 "On trouve une ile oppelee Venus-Dor Je, ou le champ 
d'or, avant de remonter jusqu'a Memphis." — Voyages de 
Pythagore. 

s For an account of the Table of Emerald, vide Lettrcs sv.r 
VOrigi.ne des Dieux d'Egypte. De Pauw supposes it to be 
a modern fiction of the Arabs. Many writers have fancied 
that the art of making gold was V, ■• : :• - t secret that lay hid 
under the forms of Egyptian theology. " La science herm6- 
tique," says the Benedictine, Pernetz, " Tart sacerdotal, etoit 
la source de toutes les richesses des Rois d'Egypte, et 1'objet 



THE EPICUREAN. 



671 



Hermes, in times before the flood, engraved the 
secret of Alchemy, which gives gold at will. Why, 
then, may not the mightier, the more god-like secret, 
that gives life at will, be recorded there also ? It 
was by the power of gold, of endless gold, that the 
kings, who now repose in those massy structures, 
scooped earth to its very centre, and raised quarries 
into the air, to provide for themselves tombs that 
might outstand the world. Who can tell but that 
the gift of immortality was also theirs ? who knows 
but that they themselves, triumphant over decay, 
still live ; — those mighty mansions, which we call 
tombs, being rich and everlasting palaces, within 
whose depths, concealed from this withering world, 
they still wander, with the few Elect who have 
been sharers of their gift, through a sunless, but ever 
illuminated elysium of their own ? Else, wherefore 
those structures ? wherefore that subterranean realm, 
by which the whole valley of Egypt is undermined ? 
Why, else, those labyrinths, Which none of earth 
hath ever beheld — which none of heaven, except 
that God, who stands, with ringer on his hushed lip, 1 
hath ever trodden ?" 

While thus I indulged in fond dreams, the sun, 
already half sunk beneath the horizon, was taking, 
calmly and gloriously, his last look of the Pyramids 
— as he had done, evening after evening, for ages, 
till they had grown familiar to him as the earth 
itself. On the side turned to his ray they now pre- 
sented a front of dazzling whiteness, 2 while, on the 
other, their great shadows, lengthening away to 
the eastward, looked like the first steps of Night, 
hastening to envelope the hills of Araby in her 
shade. 

No sooner had the last gleam of the sun disap- 
peared, than on every house-top in Memphis, gay, 
gilded banners were seen waving aloft, to proclaim 
his setting — while, at the same moment, a full burst 
of harmony was heard to peal from all the temples 
along the shores. 

Startled from my musing by these sounds, I at 
once i.. ^hected, that, on that very evening, the 
great festival of the Moon was to be celebrated. On 
a little island, half-way over between the gardens of 
Memphis and the eastern shore, stood the temple of 
that goddess, 



de ces mysteres si caches sous le voile de leur pretendue 
Religion."— Fables Egypticnnes. The hieroglyphs, that 
formerly covered the Pyramids, are supposed by some of 
these writers to relate to the same art. See Mutus Liber, 
Rupellte. 

lu Enfin Harpocrate representor anssi le Soleil. II est 
vrai que c'titoit aussi le Dieu du Silence ; il mettoit le doigt 
sur la bouche parcequ'on adoroit le soleil avec un respectueux 
silence, et c'est de la qu est venu le Si^e des Basilidiens, 
qui tiroient leur origine de 1'Egypte." — Beausobre. 



whose beams 
Bring the sweet time of night-flowers and dreams. 
Not the cold Dian of the North, who chains 
In vestal ice the current of young veins ; 
But she, who haunts the gay, Bubastian 3 grove, 
And owns she sees, from her bright heaven above 
Nothing on earth to match that heaven, but love ! 

Thus did I exclaim, in the words of one of their 
own Egyptian poets, as, anticipating the various 
delights of the festival, I cast away from my mind 
all gloomy thoughts ; and, hastening to my little 
bark, in which I now lived the life of a Nile-bird, 
on the waters, steered my course to the island- 
temple of the Moon 



CHAPTER V. 

The rising of the Moon, slow and majestic, as 
conscious of the honors that awaited her upon earth, 
was welcomed with a loud acclaim from every emi- 
nence, where multitudes stood watching for her first 
light. And seldom had that light risen upon a more 
beautiful scene. The city of Memphis — still grand, 
though no longer the unrivalled Memphis that had 
borne away from Thebes the crown of supremacy, 
and worn it undisputed through ages — now, softened 
by the mild moonlight that harmonized with her de- 
cline, shone forth among her lakes, her pyramids, 
and her shrines, like one of those dreams of human 
glory that must ere long pass away. Even already 
ruin was visible around her. The sands of the 
Libyan desert were gaining upon her like a sea ; 
and there, among solitary columns and sphinxes, 
already half sunk from sight, Time seemed to stand 
waiting, till all that now flourished around him 
should fall beneath his desolating hand like the 
rest. 

On the waters all was gayety and life. As fas as 
eye could reach, the lights of innumerable boats 
were seen studding, like rubies, the surface of the 
stream. Vessels of every kind — from the light cora- 
cle, 4 built for shooting down the cataracts, to the 
large yacht that glides slowly to the sound of flutes 
— all were afloat for this sacred festival, filled with 
crowds of the young and the gay, not only from 



2 " By reflecting the sun's rays," says Clarke, speaking of | 
the Pyramids, " they appeared white as snow." 

3 For Bubastis, the Diana of the Egyptians, vide Jablon- 
sfci, lib. iii., cap. 4. 

4 Vide Amailhou, " Histoire de la Natugation ct du Com- 
merce des Egyptiens sous les Ptolemies." Sec also, for a 
description of the various kinds of boats used on the Nile, 
Maillet, torn, i., p. 98. 



672 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Memphis and Babylon, but from cities still farther 
removed from the festal scene. 

As I approached the island, I could see, glittering 
through the trees on the bank, the lamps of the 
pilgrims hastening to the ceremony. Landing in 
the direction which those lights pointed out, I soon 
joined the crowd ; and, passing through a long alley 
of sphinxes, whose spangling marble gleamed out 
from the dark sycamores around them, reached in a 
short time the grand vestibule of the temple, where 
I found the eeremonies of the evening already com- 
menced. 

In this vast hall, which was surrounded by a 
double range of columns, and lay open over-head to 
the stars of heaven, I saw a group of young maid- 
ens, moving in a sort of measured step, between 
walk and dance, round a small shrine, upon which 
stood one of those sacred birds, 1 that, on account of 
the variegated color of their wings, are dedicated to 
the worship of the moon. The vestibule was dimly 
lighted — there being but one lamp of naphtha hung 
on each of the great pillars that encircled it. But, 
having taken my station beside one of those pillars, 
I had a clear view of the young dancers, as in suc- 
cession they passed me. 

The drapery of all was white as snow ; and each 
wore loosely, beneath the bosom, a dark-blue zone, 
or bandelet, studded, like the skies at midnight, 
with small silver stars. Through their dark locks 
was wreathed the white lily of the Nile — that sacred 
flower being accounted no less welcome to the moon, 
than the golden blossoms of the bean-flower 2 are 
known to be to the sun. As they passed under the 
lamp, a gleam of light flashed from their bosoms, 
which, I could perceive, was the reflection of a 
small mirror, that, in the manner of the women of 
the East, each of the dancers wore beneath her left 
shoulder. 

There was no music to regulate their steps ; but, 
as they gracefully went round the bird on the shrine, 
some to the beat of the castanet, some to the shrill 
ring of a sistrum 8 — which they held uplifted in the 
attitude of their own divine Isis — continued harmo- 
niously to time the cadence of their feet ; while 
others, at every step, shook a small chain of silver, 
whose sound, mingling with those of the castanets 



1 "Vide Maurice, Appendix to " Ruins of Babylon." An- 
other reason, he says, for their worship of the Ibis, "found- 
ed on their love of geometry, was (according to Plutarch) 
that the space between its legs, when parted asunder, as it 
walks, together with its beak, forms a complete equilateral 
triangle." From the examination of the embalmed birds, 
found in the Catacombs of Saccara, there seems to be no 
doubt that the Ibis was the same kind of bird as that de- 
scribed by Bruce, under the Arabian name of Abou Han- 



and sistrums, produced a wild, but not unpleasing 
harmony. 

They seemed all lovely ; but there was one — 
whose face the light had not yet reached, so down- 
cast she held it — who attracted, and, at length, 
riveted all my looks and thoughts. I know not why, 
but there was a something in those half-seen fea- 
tures — a charm in the very shadow that hung over 
their imagined beauty — which took my fancy more 
than all the out-shining loveliness of her companions. 
So enchained was I by this coy mystery, that her 
alone, of all the group, could I either see or think 
of — her alone I watched, as, with the same down- 
cast brow, she glided gently and aerially round the 
altar, as if her presence, like that of a spirit, was 
something to be felt, not seen. 

Suddenly, while I gazed, the loud crash of a 
thousand cymbals was heard ; — the massy gates 
of the Temple flew open, as if by magic, and a 
flood of radiance from the illuminated aisle filled 
the whole vestibule ; while, at the same instant, as 
if the light and the sounds were born together, a 
peal of rich harmony came mingling with the radi- 
ance. 

It was then — by that light, which shone full upon 
the young maiden's features, as, starting at the sud- 
den blaze, she raised her eyes to the portal, and as 
quickly let fall their lids again — it was then I beheld, 
what even my own ardent imagination, in its most 
vivid dreams of beauty, had never pictured. Not 
Psyche herself, when pausing on the threshold of 
heaven, while its first glories fell on her dazzled lids, 
could have looked more purely beautiful, or blushed 
with a more innocent shame. Often as I had felt 
the power of looks, none had ever entered into my 
soul so deeply. It was a new feeling — a new sense 
— coming as suddenly upon me as that radiance 
into the vestibule, and, at once, filling my whole 
being ; — and had that bright vision but lingered 
another moment before my eyes, I should in my 
transport have wholly forgotten who I was and 
where, and thrown myself, in prostrate adoration, at 
her feet. 

But scarcely had that gush of harmony been 
heard, when the sacred bird, which had, till now, 
been standing motionless as an image, spread wide 



2 " La flour en est mille fois plus odorifcrante que celles 
de nos feves d'Europe, quoique leur parfum nous paroisse 
si agreable. Comme on en seme beaucoup dans les terres 
voisines du Caire, du cote de l'occident, c'estquclque chose 
de charmant que 1'air embaume que Ton respire le soir sur 
les terrasses, quand le vent de l'ouest vient a souffler, et y 
apporte cette odeur admirable." — Maillet. 

3 " Isis est genius," says Servius, " ^Egypti, qui per sistri 
motum, quod gcrit in dextra, Nili accessus recessusque sig- 
nificat." 



THE EPICUREAN. 



673 



his wmgs, and flew into the Temple ; while his 
graceful young worshippers, with a fleetness like 
his own, followed — and she, who had left a dream 
in my heart never to be forgotten, vanished along 
with the rest. As she went rapidly past the pillar 
against which I leaned, the ivy that encircled it 1 
caught in her drapery, and disengaged same orna- 
ment, which fell to the ground It was the small 
mirror 2 which I had seen shining on her bosom. 
Hastily and tremulously I picked it up, and hurried 
to restore it ; but she was already lost to my eyes 
in the crowd. 

In vain did I try to follow ; — the aisles were 
already filled, and numbers of eager pilgrims pressed 
towards the portal. But the servants of the Temple 
denied all further entrance, and still, as I presented 
myself, their white wands barred the way. Per- 
plexed and irritated amid that crowd of faces, re- 
garding all as enemies that impeded my progress, 
I stood on tiptoe, gazing into the busy aisles, and 
with a heart beating as I caught, from time to 
time, a glimpse of some spangled zone, or lotus 
wreath, which led me to fancy that I had dis- 
covered the fair object of my search. But it was 
all in vain ; — in every direction files of sacred 
nymphs were moving, but nowhere could I discover 
her whom alone I sought. 

In this state of breathless agitation did I stand 
for some time — bewildered with the confusion of 
faces and lights, as well as with the clouds of 
incense that rolled around me — till, fevered and im- 
patient, I could endure it no longer. Forcing my 
way out of the vestibule into the cool air, I hurried 
bac-k through the alley of sphinxes to the shore and 
flung myself into my boat. 

There lies, to the north of Memphis, 3 a solitary 
lake, (which, at this season of the year, mingles 
with the rest of the waters,) upon whose shores 
stands the Necropolis, or City of the Dead — a place 
of melancholy grandeur, covered over with shrines 
and pyramids, where many a kingly head, proud 
even in death, has lain awaiting through long ages 
the resurrection of its glories. Through a range 



i The ivy was consecrated to Osiris. Vide Diodor. Sic. 1. 10. 

2 " Quelques-unes." says Dupuis, describing the proces- 
sions of Isis, " portoient des miroirs attaches a leursepaules, 
aim de multiplier et de porter dans tons les sens les images 
de la Deesse." — Ongine des Cultes, torn. viii. p. 847. A 
mirror, it appears, was also one of the emblems in the mys- 
teries of Bacchus. 

3 " Tout prouve que la territoire de Sakkarah etoit la Ne- 
cropolis au sud de Memphis, et le faubourg oppose a celui- 
ci, ou sont les pyramides de Gizeh, une autre Ville des 
Morts. qui terminoit Memphis au nord." — Denon. 

There is nothing known with certainty as to the site of 
Memphis, but it will be perceived that the description of its 
position given by the Epicurean corresponds, in almost every 
particular, with that which M. Maillet (the French consul, 



of sepulchral grots underneath, the humbler deni- 
zens of the tomb are deposited — looking out on 
each successive generation that visits them, with 
the same face and features 4 they wore centuries 
ago. Every plant and tree, consecrated to death, 
from the asphodel-flower to the mystic plantain, 
lends its sweetness or shadow to this place of 
tombs ; and the only noise that disturbs its eternal 
calm, is the low humming sound of the priests at 
prayer, when a new inhabitant is added to the 
Silent City. 

It was towards this place of death that, in a 
mood of mind, as usual, half gloomy, half bright, 
I now, almost unconsciously, directed my bark. 
The form of the young Priestess was continually 
before me. That one bright look of hers, the 
very remembrance of which was worth all the 
actual smiles of others, never for a moment left my 
mind. Absorbed in such thoughts, I continued 
to row on, scarce knowing whither I went, till, at 
length, startled to find myself within the shadow 
of the City of the Dead, I looked up, and beheld, 
rising in succession before me, pyramid beyond 
pyramid, 5 each towering more loftily than the other 
— while all were out-topped in grandeur by one, 
upon whose summit the bright moon rested as on 
a pedestal. 

Drawing nearer to the shore, which was suffi- 
ciently elevated to raise this silent city of tombs 
above the level of the inundation, I rested my oar, 
and allowed the boat to rock idly upon the water ; 
while, in the mean time, my thoughts, left equally 
without direction, were allowed to fluctuate as 
idly. How vague and various were the dreams 
that then floated through my mind — that bright 
vision of the temple still mingling itself with all ! 
Sometimes she stood before me, like an aerial 
spirit, as pure as if that element of music and light, 
into which I had seen her vanish, was her only 
dwelling. Sometimes, animated with passion, and 
kindling into a creature of earth, she seemed to 
lean towards me with looks of tenderness, which 
it were worth worlds, but for one instant, to inspire ; 

for many years, at Cairo) has, in his work on Egypt, left us. 
It must be always borne in mind, too, that of the distances 
between the respective places here mentioned, we have no 
longer any accurate means of judging. 

4 " Par-la non-seulement on conservoit les corps d'une 
famille entiere, mais en descendant dans ces lieux souter- 
rains, ou ils etoient deposes, on pouvoit serepresenter en un 
instant tous ses ancetres depuis plusieurs milliers d'annees 
tels a peu pres qu'ils etoient de leur vivant." — .Maillet. 

6 "Multas olim pyramidas fuisse e minis arguitur. • 
Zoega.—Vansleb, who visited more than ten of the snml! 
pyramids, is of opinion that there must have originally been 
a hundred in this place. 

See, on the subject of the lake to the northward of Memphis, 
Shaw's Travels, p. 302. 



674 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



and again — as the dark fancies, that ever haunted 
me, recurred — I saw her cold, parched, and black- 
ening, amid the gloom of those eternal sepulchres 
before me ! 

Turning away, with a shudder, from the ceme- 
tery at this thought, I heard the sound of an 
oar plying swiftly through the water, and, in a 
few moments, saw, shooting past me towards the 
shore, a small boat in which sat twc ^emale figures, 
muffled up and veiled. Having lanced them not 
far from the spot where, under the shadow of 
a tomb on the bank, I lay concealed, the boat 
again departed, with the same fieetness, over the 
flood. 

Never had the prospect of a lively adventure 
come more welcome to me than at this moment, 
when my busy fancy was employed in weaving 
such chains for my heart, as threatened a bondage, 
of all others the most difficult to break. To be- 
come enamored thus of a creature of my own 
imagination, was the worst, because the most last- 
ing, of follies. It is only reality that can afford 
any chance of dissolving such spells, and the idol 
I was now creating to myself must forever remain 
ideal. Any pursuit, therefore, that seemed likely 
to divert me from such thoughts — to bring back 
my imagination to earth and reality, from the 
vague region in which it had been wandering, was 
a relief far too seasonable not to be welcomed with 
eagerness. 

I had watched the course which the two figures 
took, and, having hastily fastened my boat to the 
bank, stepped gently on shore, and, at a little dis- 
tance, followed them. The windings through which 
they led were intricate ; but, by the bright light of 
the moon, I was enabled to keep their forms in 
view, as, with rapid step, they glided among the 
monuments. At length, in the shade of a small 
pyramid, whose peak barely surmounted the plane- 
trees that grew nigh, they vanished from my sight. 
I hastened to the spot, but there was not a sign of 
life around ; and, had my creed extended to another 
world, I might have fancied these forms were spirits, 
sent down from thence to mock me — so instanta- 
neously had they disappeared. I searched through 
the neighboring grove, but all there was still as 
death. At length, in examining one of the sides of 
the pyramid, which, for a few feet from the ground, 
was furnished with steps, I found midway between 
peak and base, a part of its surface, which, although 
presenting to the eye an appearance of smoothness, 
gave to the touch, I thought, indications of a con- 
cealed opening. 



i " On voit en Egypte, apres la retraite dn Nil et la feconda- 
tion des terres, le limon couvert d'une multitude de scarabees. 



After a variety of efforts and experiments, I, at 
last, more by accident than skill, pressed the spring 
that commanded this hidden aperture. In an in- 
stant the portal slid aside, and disclosed a narrow 
stairway within, the two or three first steps of 
which were discernible by the moonlight, while 
the rest were all lost in utter darkness. Though it 
was difficult to conceive that the persons whom I 
had been pursuing would have ventured to pass 
through this gloomy opening, yet to account for 
their disappearance otherwise was still more diffi- 
cult. At all events, my curiosity was now too 
eager in the chase to relinquish it ; — the spirit of 
adventure, once raised, could not be so easily laid. 
Accordingly, having sent up a gay prayer to that 
bliss-loving Queen whose eye alone was upon me, 
I passed through (he portal, and descended into the 
pyramids 



CHAPTER VI. 

At the end of the stairway I found myself in a 
low, narrow passage, through which, without stoop- 
ing almost to the earth, it was impossible to pro- 
ceed. Though leading through a multiplicity of 
dark windings, this way seemed but little to ad- 
vance my progress — its course, I perceived, being 
chiefly circular, and gathering, at every turn, but a 
deeper intensity of darkness. 

" Can any thing," thought I, " of human kind, 
sojourn here ?" — and had scarcely asked myself the 
question, when the path opened into a long gallery, 
at the farthest end of which a gleam of light was 
visible. This welcome glimmer appeared to issue 
from some cell or alcove, in which the right-hand 
wall of the gallery terminated, and, breathless with 
expectation, I stole gently towards it. 

Arrived at the end of the gallery, a scene pre- 
sented itself to my eyes, for which my fondest ex- 
pectations of adventure could not have prepared me. 
The place from which the light proceeded was a 
small chapel, of whose interior, from the dark recess 
in which I stood, I could take, unseen myself, a 
full and distinct view. Over the walls of this 
oratory were painted some of those various symbol 
by which the mystic wisdom of the Egyptians 
loves to shadow out the History of the Soul ; the 
winged globe with a serpent — the rays descending 
from above, like a glory — and the Theban beetle, 1 
as he comes forth after the waters have passed 



Un pareil phenomene a du sembler aux'Eeyptiens le plus 
propre a peindre une nouvelle existence." — M. Jumbard. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



675 



away, and the first sunbeam falls on his regenerated 
wings. 

.n the middle of the chapel, on a low altar of 
granite, lay a lifeless female form, enshrined within 
a case of crystal 1 — as it is the custom to preserve 
the drr.d in Ethiopia — and looking as freshly beau- 
tiful as if the soul had but a few hours departed. 
Among the emblems of death, 2 on the front of the 
altar, were a slender lotus branch broken in two, and 
a small bird just winging its flight from the spray. 

To these memorials of the dead, however, I paid 
bat little attention ; for there was a living object 
there upon which my eyes were now intently ^xed. 

The lamp, by which the whole of the chape, was 
illuminated, was placed at the head of the pale 
image in the shrine ; and between its light and me 
stood a female form, bending over the monument, 
as if to gaze upon the silent features within. The 
position in which this figure was placed, intercept- 
ing a strong light, afforded me, at first, but an im- 
perfect and shadowy view of it. Yet even at this 
mere outline I felt my heart beat high — and memo- 
ry had no less share, as it proved, in this feeling than 
imagination. For, on the head changing its posi- 
tion, so as to let a gleam fall upon the features, I 
saw, with a transport which had almost led me to 
betray my lurking-place, that it was she — the young 
worshipper of Isis — the same, the very same, whom 
I had seen, brightening the holy place where she 
stood, and looking like an inhabitant of some purer 
world. 

The movement, by which she had now afforded 
me an opportunity of recognising her, was made in 
raising from the shrine a small cross 3 of silver, 
which lay directly over the bosom of the lifeless 
figure. Bringing it close to her lips, she kissed it 
with a religious fervor ; then, turning her eyes 
mournfully upwards, held them fixed with a degree 



Partly for the same reason, and partly for another, still more 
fanciful, the early Christians used to apply this emblem to 
Christ. "Bonus ille scarabceus meus," says St. Augustine, 
"non ea tantum de causa quod unigenitus, quod ipsemet 
sui auctor mortalium speciem induerit, sed qubd in hac nos- 
tra fffce sese volutaverit et ex hac ipsa nasci voluerit." 

i"Les Egyptiens ont fait aussi, pour conserver leurs 
morts, des caisses de verre." — De Pauw. He mentions, also, 
in another place, a sort of transparent substance, which the 
Ethiopians used for the same purpose, and which was fre- 
quently mistaken by the Greeks for glass. 

2 " Un pretre, qui brise la tige d'une fleur, des oiseauxqui 
s'envolent, sont les emblemes de la mort et de l'ame qui se 
separe du corps." — Demon. 

Theseus employs the same image in the Phaedra: — 

Opvis yap <I>? tis ck xtpwv acpatros £t, 
II»7<3>?/i' eg a5ov irtKpov bpnijaaaa fioi. 

3 A cross was, among the Egyptians, the emblem of a 
future life. 

"The singular appearance of a Cross so frequently re- 



of inspired earnestness, as if, at that moment, in 
direct communion with Heaven, they saw neither 
roof, nor any other earthly barrier, between them 
and the skies. 

What a power is there in innocence ! whose very 
helplessness is its safeguard — in whose presence 
even Passion himself stands abashed, and turns 
worshipper at the very altar which he came to de- 
spoil ! She, who, but a short hour before, had pre- 
sented herself to my imagination as something I 
could have risked immortality to win — she, whom 
gladly, from the floor of her own lighted temple, 
in the very face of its proud ministers, I would have 
borne away in triumph, and dared all punishments, 
divine and human, to make her mine — that very 
creature was now before me, as if thrown by fate 
(itself, into my power — standing there, beautiful and 
alone, with nothing but her innocence for her 
guard ! Yet, no — so touching was the purity of 
the whole scene, so calm and august that protection 
which the dead extended over the living, that every 
earthly feeling was forgotten as I gazed, and love 
itself became exalted into reverence. 

But, entranced as I felt in witnessing such a 
scene, thus to enjoy it by stealth seemed to me a 
wrong, a sacrilege — and, rather than let her eyes 
encounter the flash of mine, or disturb, by a whis- 
per, that sacred silence, in which Youth and Death 
held communion through undying Love, I would 
have suffered my heart to break, without a murmur, 
where I stood. Gently, as if life itself depended on 
my every movement, I stole away from that tran- 
quil and holy scene — leaving it still holy and tran- 
quil as I had found it — and, gliding back through the 
same passages and windings by which I had enter- 
ed, reached again the narrow stairway, and reas- 
cended into light. 

The sun had just risen, and, from the summit of 



curring among the hieroglyphics of Egypt, had excited the 
curiosity of the Christians at a very early period of ecclesi- 
astical history ; and as some of the Priests, who were ac- 
quainted with the meaning of the hieroglyphics, became 
converted to Christianity, the secret transpired. ' The con- 
verted heathens,' says Socrates Scholasticus, 'explained the 
symbol, and declared that it signified Life to Come.' " — Clarke. 

Lipsius, therefore, is mistaken in supposing the Cross to 
have been an emblem peculiar to the Christians. See, or 
this subject, L'Histoire des Jnifs, liv. vi. c. 1G. 

It is singular enough that while the Cross was thus held 
sacred among the Egyptians, not only the custom of marking 
the forehead with the sign of the Cross, but Baptism and 
the consecration of the bread in the Eucharist, were imitated 
in the mysterious ceremonies of Mithra.— Tcrtu'U. dc Pro- 
scriptiune Hcreticorum. 

Zoega is of opinion that the Cross, said to have been for the 
first time found, on the destruction of the temple of Serapis, 
by the Christians, could not have been the crux ansata; as 
nothing is more common than this emblem on all the Egyp- 
tian monuments. 



676 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



the Arabian hills, was pouring down his beams into 
that vast valley of waters — as if proud of last night's 
homage to his own divine Isis, now fading away in 
the superior splendor of her Lord. My first impulse 
was to fly at once from this dangerous spot, and in 
new loves and pleasures seek forgetfulness of the 
wondrous scene I had just witnessed. " Once," I 
exclaimed, " out of the circle of this enchantment, I 
know too well my own susceptibility to now impres- 
sions, to feel any doubt that I shall soon break the 
spell that is now around me." 

But vain were all my eflbrts and resolves. Even 
while swearing to fly that spot, I found my steps 
still lingering fondly round the pyramid — my eyes 
still turned towards the portal which severed this 
enchantress from the world of the living. Hour af- 
ter hour did I wander through that City of Silence, 
till, already, it was mid-day, and, under the sun's 
meridian eye, the mighty pyramid of pyramids stood, 
like a gre& spirit, shadowless. 1 

Again did those wild and passionate feelings, 
which, for the moment, her presence had subdued 
into reverence, return to take possession of my im- 
agination and my senses. I even reproached my- 
self for the awe that had held mo spell-bound before 
her. " What," thought I, " would my companions 
of the Garden say, did they know that their chief — 
he whose path Love had strewed with trophies — 
was now pining for a simple Egyptian girl, in whose 
presence he had not dared to utter a single sigh, and 
who had vanquished the victor, without even know- 
ing her triumph !" 

A blush came over my cheek at the humiliating 
thought, and I determined, at all risks, to await her 
coming. That she should be an inmate of those 
gloomy caverns seemed inconceivable ; nor did there 
appear to be any egress out of their depths but by 
the pyramid. Again, therefore, like a sentinel of 
the dead, did I pace up and down among those 
tombs, contrasting mournfully the burning fever in 
my own veins with the cold quiet of those who lay 
slumbering around. 

At length the intense glow of the sun over my 
head, and, still more, that ever restless agitation in 
my heart, became too much for even strength like 
mine to endure. Exhausted, I threw myself down 
at the base of the pyramid — choosing my place 
directly under the portal, where, even should slum- 
ber surprise me, my heart, if not my ear, might 



i It was an idea entertained among the ancients that the 
Pyramids were so constructed ("mecanica constructione," 
says Jimmianus Marcellinus) as never to cast any shadow. 

2 From the story of Rhodope, Zocga thinks, "videntur 
Arabes ansam arripuisse ut in una ex pyramidibus, genii loco, 
habitare dicerent mulierem nudam insignis pulchritudinis 



still keep watch, and her footstep, light as it was, 
could not fail to awake me. 

After many an ineffectual struggle against drow- 
siness, I at length sunk into sleep — but not into 
forgetfulness. The same image still haunted me, 
in every variety of shape, with which imagination, 
assisted by memory, could invest it. Now, like the 
goddess Nei'tha, upon her throne at Sal's, she seemed 
to sit, with the veil just raised from that brow, 
which till then no mortal had ever beheld — and 
now, like the beautiful enchantress Rhodope, I s.x;v 
her rise from out the pyramid in which she had 
dwelt for ages, — 

" Fair Rhodope,2 as story tells, 
The bright unearthly nymph, who dwells 
'Mid sunless gold and jewels hid, 
The Lady of the Pyramid !" 

So long had my sleep continued, that, whaj I 
awoke, I found the moon again resplendent ajAtfre 
the horizon. But all around was looking tranquil 
and lifeless as before ; nor did a print on the grass 
betray that any foot had passed there since my own. 
Refreshed, however, by my long rest, and with a 
fancy still more excited by the mystic wonders of 
which I had been dreaming, I now resolved to revisit 
the chapel in the pyramid, and put an end, if possi- 
ble, to this strange mystery that haunted me. 

Having learned, from the experience of the pre- 
ceding night, the inconvenience of encountering 
those labyrinths without a light, I now hastened to 
provide myself with a lamp from my boat. Track- 
ing my way back with some difficulty to the shore, 
I there found not only my lamp, but also some 
dates and dried fruits, of which I was always pro- 
vided with store, for my roving life upon the 
waters, and which, after so many hours of absti- 
nence, were now a most welcome and necessary 
relief. 

Thus prepared, I again ascended the pyramid, 
and was proceeding to search out the secret spring, 
when a loud, dismal noise was heard at a distance, 
to which all the melancholy echoes of the cemetery 
gave answer. The sound came, I knew, from the 
Great Temple on the shore of the lake, and was the 
sort of shriek which its gates — the Gates of Obliv- 
ion 3 as they are called — used always to send forth 
from their hinges, when opening at night, to receive 
the newly-landed dead. / 

I had, more than once before, heard that sound 



quae aspecto suo homines insanire faciat." — De Usu Obelis 
coram. See also UEgypte de Murtadi, par Vattier. 

3 " Apud Memphim aeneas quasdam portas, qua; Lethes et 
Cocyti (hoc est oblivionis et lamentationis) appellantur, 
aperiri, gravem asperumque edentes sonum." — Zoega. 



THE EPICUREAN 



677 



and always with sadness ; but, at this moment, it 
thrilled through me like a voice of ill omen, and 

• I almost doubted whether I should not abandon my 
: enterprise. The hesitation, however, was but mo- 
mentary ; — even while it passed through my mind, 

j I had touched the spring of the portal. In a few 
i seconds more, I was again in the passage beneath 
: the pyramid ; and, being enabled by the light of 
' my lamp to follow the windings more rapidly, soon 
' found myself at the door of the small chapel in the 

gallery. 

I entered, still awed, though there was now, alas, 
i naught living within. The young Priestess had 
! vanished like a spirit into the darkness ; and all the 
| rest remained as I had left it on the preceding 

night. The lamp still stood burning upon the crys- 
! tal shrine ; the cross was lying where the hands of 
j the young mourner had placed it, and the cold 
! image, within the shrine, wore still the same tran- 
: quil look, as if resigned to the solitude of death — 
j of all lone things the loneliest. Remembering the 
! lips that I had seen kiss that cross, and kindling 
i with the recollection, I raised it passionately to my 

own ; — but the dead eyes, I thought, met mine, 
! and, awed and saddened in the midst of my ardor, 
\ I replaced the cross upon the shrine. 

I had now lost every clue to the object of my 
I pursuit, and, with all that sullen satisfaction which 
i certainty, even when unwelcome, bring:.?, was about 

• to retrace my steps slowly to earth, when, as I held 
■ forth my lamp, on leaving the chapel, I perceived 
. that the gallery, instead of terminating here, took 
' a sudden and snake-like bend to the left, which 
. had before eluded my observation, and which seemed 

to give promise of a pathway still farther into those 
, recesses. Reanimated by this discovery, which 
opened a new source of hope to my heart, I cast, 
; for a moment, a hesitating look at my lamp, as if 
to inquire whether it would be faithful through 
the gloom I was about to encounter, and then, 
without further consideration, rushed eagerly for- 
ward. 



CHAPTER VII. 

The path led, for a while, through the same sort 
of narrow windings as those which I had before 
encountered in descending the stairway ; and at 
lengtn opened, in a similar manner, into a straight 
and steep gallery, along each side of which stood, 



See ; for the custom of burying the dead upright, (" post 
farms stantia busto corpora," as Statius describes it.) Dr. 
Clarke's preface to the 2d section of his fifth volume. They 



closely ranged and upright, a file of lifeless bodies, 1 
whose glassy eyes appeared to glare upon me pre- 
ternaturaily as I passed. 

Arrived at the end of this gallery, I found my 
hopes, for the second time, vanish ; as the path, it 
was manifest, extended no farther. The only object 
I was able to discern, by the glimmering of my 
lamp, which now burned, every minute, fainter and 
fainter, was the mouth of a huge well, that lay 
gaping before me — a reservoir of darkness, black 
and unfathomable It now crossed my memory 
that I had once heard of such wells, as being used 
occasionally for passages by the priests. Leaning 
down, therefore, over the edge, I examined anxiously 
all within, in order to see if it afforded the means of 
effecting a descent into the chasm ; but the sides, I 
could perceive, were hard and smociii as grlass, 
being varnished all over with that sort o; c'ark 
pitch, which the Dead Sea throws out upon its 
slimy shore. 

After a more attentive scrutiny, however, I ob- 
served, at the depth of a few feet, a sort of iron 
step, projecting dimly from the side, and, below it, 
another, which, though hardly perceptible, was 
just sufficient to encourage an adventurous foot to 
the trial. Though ail hope of tracing the young 
Priestess was now at an end — it being impossible 
that female foot should have ventured on this 
descent — yet, as I had engaged so far in the ad- 
venture, and there was, at least, a mystery to be 
unravelled, I determined, at all hazards, to explore 
the chasm. Placing my lamp, therefore, (which 
was hollowed at the bottom, so as to be worn like 
a helmet,) firmly upon my head, and having thus 
both hands at liberty for exertion, I set my foot 
cautiously on the iron step, and descended into the 
well. 

I found the same footing, at regular intervals, to 
a considerable depth ; and had already counted near 
a hundred of these steps, when the ladder altogether 
ceased, and I could descend no farther. In vain 
did I stretch down my foot in search of support — 
the hard slipper}- sides were all that it encountered. 
At length, stooping my head, so as to let the light 
fall below, I observed an opening or window directly 
above the step on which I stood ; and, taking for 
granted that the way must lie in that direction, 
contrived to clamber, with no small difficulty, 
through the aperture. 

I now found myself on a rude and narrow stair- 
way, the steps of which were cut out of the living 
rock, and wound spirally downward in the same 



used to insert precious stones in the place of the eyes. " Lei 
yews etoient formes d'emeraudes, de turquoises," &c— Vide 

Masoudy, quoted by Quatrcmire. 



678 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



direction as the well. Almost dizzy with the de- 
cent, which seemed as if it would never end, I, at 
last, reached the_ bottom, where a pair of massy iron 
gates were closed directly across my path, as if 
wholly to forbid any further progress. Massy and 
gigantic, however, as they were, I found, to my 
surprise, that the hand of an infant might have 
opened them with ease — so readily did their stu- 
pendous folds give way to my touch, 

" Light as a lime-bush, that receives 
Some wandering bird among its leaves." 

No sooner, however, had I passed through, than the 
astounding din, with which the gates clashed to- 
gether again, 1 was such as might have awakened 
death itself. It seemed as if every echo 2 throughout 
that vast, subterranean world, from the Catacombs 
of Alexandria to Thebes's Valley of Kings, had 
caught up and repeated the thundering sound. 

Startled as I was by the crash, not even this su- 
pernatural clangor could divert my attention from 
the sudden light that now broke around me — soft, 
warm, and welcome, as are tho stars of his own 
South to the eyes of the mariner who has long been 
wandering through the cold seas of the North. 
Looking for the source of this splendor I saw, 
through an archway opposite, a long illuminated 
alley, stretching away as far as the eye could reach, 
and fenced, on one side, with thickets of odoriferous 
shrubs ; while along the other extended a line of 
lofty arcades, from which the light, that filled the 
whole area, issued. As soon, too, as the din of the 
deep echoes had subsided, there stole gradually on 
my ear a strain of choral music, which appeared to 
come mellowed and sweetened in its passage, 
through many a spacious hall within those shining 
arcades ; while among the voices I could distinguish 
some female tones, which, towering high and clear 
above all the rest, formed the spire, as it were, into 
which the harmony tapered as it rose. 

So excited was my fancy by this sudden enchant- 
ment, that — though never had I caught a sound 
from the fair Egyptian's lips — I yet persuaded my- 
self that the voice I now heard was hers, sounding 
highest and most heavenly of all that choir, and 
calling to me, like a distant spirit from its sphere. 
Animated by this thought, I flew forward to the 
archway, but found, to my mortification, that it 

1 The following verses of Claudian arc supposed to have 
been meant as a description of those imitations of the noise 
of earthquake and thunder, which, by means of the Cerauno- 
scope, and other such contrivances, were practised in the 
shows of the Mysteries: 

Jam mihi cernuntur trepidis delubra moveri 
Sedibus, et claram dispergere culmina lucem, 
Adventum testata Dei. Jam magnus ab imis 
Auditur fremitus terris, templumque remugit 
Cecropium. Rapt. Proserp. lib. i. 



was guarded by a trellis-work, whose bars, though 
invisible at a distance, resisted all jny efforts to force 
them. 

While occupied in these ineffectual struggles, I 
perceived, to the left of the archway, a dark cav- 
ernous opening, which seemed to lead in a direction 
parallel to the lighted arcades. Notwithstanding, 
however, my impatience, the aspect of this pas- 
sage, as I looked shudderingly into it, chilled my 
very blood. It was not so much darkness, as a sort 
of livid and ghastly twilight, from which a damp, like 
that of death-vaults exhaled, and through which, 
if my eyes did not deceive me, pale, phantom-like 
shapes 3 were, at that very moment, hovering. 

Looking anxiously round, to discover some less 

formidable outlet, I saw, over the vast folding-gates 

through which I had just passed, a blue, tremulous 

flame, which, after playing for a few seconds over 

the dark ground of the pediment, settled gradually 

into characters of light, and formed the following 

words : — 

You, who would try 

Yon terrible track, 
To live, or to die, 

But ne'er to look back — 

You, who aspire 

To be purified there, 
By the terrors of Fire, 

Of Water, and Air — 

If danger, and pain, 

And death, you despise, 
On — for again 

Into light you shall rise ; 

Rise into light 

With that Secret Divine, 
Now shrouded from sight 

By the Veils of the Shrine ! 

But if 

Here the letters faded away into a dead blanK, more 
awfully intelligible than the most eloquent words. 

A new hope now flashed across me. The dream 
of the Garden, which had. been for some time 
almost forgotten, returned freshly to my mind. 
" Am I, then," 1 exclaimed, " in the path to the 
promised mystery ? and shall the great secret of 
Eternal Life indeed be mine ?" 

" Yes !" seemed to answer out of the air, that 
spirit-voice, which still was heard at a distance 

2 See, for the echoes in the pyramids, Plutarch dePlaeitis 
Philosoph. 

3 '' Ce moment heureux (de l'Autopsie) etoit prepare par 
des scenes effrayantes, par les alternatives de crainte ot de 
joie, de lnmiere et de tiinebres, par la lueur des eclairs, par le 
bruit terrible de la foudre, qu'on imitoit, et par des apparitions 
de spectres, des illusions magiques, qui frappoient les yeux 
et les oreilles tout ensemble." — Dupais. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



679 



crowning the choir with its single sweetness. I 
hailed the omen with transport. Love and Immor- 
tality, both beckoning me onward — who would give 
even a thought to fear, with two such bright hopes 
in prospect ? Having invoked and blessed that un- 
known enchantress, whose steps had led me to this 
abode of mystery and knowledge, I instantly plunged 
into the chasm. 

Instead of that vague, spectral twilight which 
had at first met my eye, I now found, as I entered, 
a thick darkness, which, though far less horrible, 
was, at this moment, still more disconcerting, as my 
lamp, which had been, for some time, almost use- 
less, was now fast expiring. Resolved, however, to 
make the most of its last gleam, I hastened, with 
rapid step, through this gloomy region, which ap- 
peared to be wider and more open to the air than 
any I had yet passed. Nor was it long before the 
sudden appearance of a bright blaze in the distance 
announced to me that my first great Trial was at 
! hand. As I drew nearer, the flames before me 
j burst high and wide on all sides ; — and the awful 
spectacle that then presented itself was such as 
might have daunted hearts far more accustomed to 
dangers than mine. 

There lay before me, extending completely across 
my path, a thicket, or grove, of the most combusti- 
ble trees of Eg)?pt — tamarind, pine, and Arabian 
balm ; while around their stems and branches were 
coiled serpents of fire, 1 which, twisting themselves 
rapidly from bough to bough, spread the contagion 
of their own wild-fire as they went, and involved 
tree after tree in one general blaze. It was, indeed, 
rapid as the burning of those reed-beds of Ethiopia, 2 
whose light is often seen brightening, at night, the 
distant cataracts of the Nile. 

Through the middle of this blazing grove, I could 
now perceive my only pathway lay. There was 
not a moment, therefore, to be lost — for the confla- 
gration gained rapidly on either side, and already 
the narrowing path between was strewed with 
vivid fire. Casting away my now useless lamp, and 
holding my robe as some slight protection over my 
head, I ventured, with trembling limbs, into the 
blaze. 

Instantly, as if my presence had given new life 
to the flames, a fresh outbreak of combustion arose 
on all sides. The trees clustered into a bower of 
fire above my head, while the serpents that hung 
hissing from the red branches shot showers of 



i " Ces consid'Jrations me portent a penscr que, dans les 
mysteres, ces phenomones ctoient beaucoup mieux exe-cu- 
tees, et sans ciinparaison plus terribles a l'aide de quelque 
composition pyrique, qui est restee cachee, comme celle du 
feu Gregeois." — De Pauw. 

a " II n'y a point d'autre moyen que de porter le feu dans 



sparkles down upon me as I passed. Never were 
decisidn and activity of more avail : — one minute 
later, and I must have perished. The narrow open- 
ing, of which I had so promptly availed myself, 
closed instantly behind me ; and as I looked back, 
to contemplate the ordeal which I had passed, I saw 
that the whole gro\ e was already one mass of fire. 

Rejoiced to have escaped this first trial, I instantly 
plucked from one of the pine-trees a bough that was 
but just kindled, and, with this for my only guide, 
hastened breathlessly forward. I had advanced but 
a few paces, when the path turned suddenly off, 
leading downwards, as I could perceive by the glim- 
mer of my brand, into a more confined region, 
through which a chilling air, as if from some neigh- 
boring waters, blew over my brow. Nor had I 
proceeded far in this course, when the sound of tor- 
rents 3 — mixed, as I thought, from time to time, with 
shrill wailings, resembling the cries of persons in 
danger or distress — fell mournfully upon my ear. At 
every step the noise of the dashing wate;* ncreased, 
and I now perceived that I had entered ar immense 
rocky cavern, through the middle of which, head- 
long as a winter-torrent, the dark flood, to whose 
roar I had been listening, poured its waters ; while 
upon its surface floated grim spectre-like shapes, 
which, as they went by, sent forth those dismal 
shrieks I had heard — as if in fear of some awful 
precipice towards whose brink they were hurrying. 

I saw plainly that across that torrent must be my 
course. It was, indeed, fearful ; but in courage 
and perseverance now lay my only hope. What 
awaited me on the opposite shore, I knew not ; 
for all there was immersed in impenetrable gloom, 
nor could the feeble light which I carried send its 
glimmer half so far. Dismissing, however, all 
thoughts but that of pressing onward, I sprung from 
the rock on which I stood into the flood, trusting 
that, with my right hand, I should be able to buffet 
the current, while, with the other, as long as a gleam 
of my brand remained, I might hold it aloft to guide 
me safely to the shore. 

Long, formidable, and almost hopeless was the 
struggle I had now to maintain ; and more than 
once, overpowered by the rush of the waters, I had 
given myself up, 4 as destined to follow those pale, 
death-like apparitions, that still went past me, hur- 
rying onward, with mournful cries, to find their 
doom in some invisible gulf beyond. 

At length, just as -\y strength was nearly ex- 



ces forfits de roseaux, qui repandent alors dans tout le pais 
une lumiere aussi considerable que celle du jour ineine."— 
Maillet, torn. i. p. 63. 

3 The Nile, Pliny tells us, was admitted into the Pj ramid. 

* " On exercoit," says Dupuis, " les recipiendaires, pen- 
dant plusieurs jours, a traverser, a la nage, une grande 



680 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



hausted, and the last remains of the pine branch 
were dropping from my hand, I saw, outstretching 
towards me into the water, a light double balus- 
trade, with a flight of steps between, ascending, 
almost perpendicularly, from the wave, till they 
seemed lost in a dense mass of clouds above. This 
glimpse — for it was nothing more, as my light 
expired in giving it — lent new spring to my 
courage. Having now both hands at liberty, so 
desperate were my efforts, that, after a few min- 
utes' struggle, I felt my brow strike against the 
stairway, and, in an instant, my feet were on the 
steps. 

Rejoiced at my escape from that perilous flood, 
though I knew not whither the 'stairway led, I 
promptly ascended the steps. But this feeling of 
confidence was of short duration. I had not 
mounted far, when, to my horror, I perceived that 
each successive step, as my foot left it, broke 
away from beneath me, leaving me in mid-air, 
with no other alternative than that of still mount- 
ing by the same momentary footing, and with the 
appalling doubt whether it would even endure my 
tread. 

And thus did I, for a few seconds, continue to 
ascend, with nothing beneath me but that awful 
river, in which — so tranquil had it now become — 
I could hear the plash of the falling fragments, as 
every step in succession gave way from under my 
feet. It was a most fearful moment — but even still 
worse remained. I now found the balustrade, by 
which I had held during my ascent, and which had 
hitherto appeared to be firm, growing tremulous in 
my hand, while the step, to which I was about to 
trust myself, tottered under my foot. Just then, a 
momentary flash, as if of lightning, broke around 
me ; and I saw, hanging out of the clouds, so as to 
be barely within my reach, a huge brazen ring. 
Instinctively I stretched forth my arm to seize it, 
and, at the same instant, both balustrade and steps 
gave way beueath me, and I was left swinging by 
my hands in the dark void. As if, too, this massy 
ring, which I grasped, was by some magic power 
linked with all the winds in heaven, no sooner had 
I seized it than, like the touching of a spring, 
it seemed to give loose to every variety of gusts 
and tempests, that ever strewed the sea-shore 
with wrecks or dead ; and, as I swung about, the 
sport of this elemental strife, every new burst of its 
fury threatened to shiver me, like a storm-sail, to 
atoms ! 

Nor was even this the worst ; — for, still holding, 



etendue d'eau. On les y jettoit, et ce n'etoit qu'avec peine 
qu'ils s'en retiroient. On appliquoit le fer et le feu sur Jeurs 
membres. On les faisoit passer a travers les flanimes." 



I know not how, by the ring, I felt myself caught 
up, as if by a thousand whirlwinds, and then 
round and round, like a stone-shot in a sling, con- 
tinued to be whirled m the midst of all this deafen- 
ing chaos, till my brain grew dizzy, my recollection 
became confused, and I almost fancied myself on 
that wheel of the infernal world, whose rotations 
Eternity alone can number ! 

Human strength could no longer sustain such a 
trial. I was on the point, at last, of loosing my 
hold, when suddenly the violence of the storm 
moderated ; — my whirl through the air gradually 
ceased, and I felt the ring slowly descend with me, 
till — happy as a shipwrecked mariner at the first 
touch of land — I found my feet once more upon firm 
ground. 

At the same moment, a light of the most delicious 
softness filled the whole air. Music, such as is 
heard in dreams, came floating at a distance ; and 
as my eyes gradually recovered .heir powers of 
vision, a scene of glory was revealed to them, al- 
most too bright for imagination, and yet living and 
real. As far as the sight could reach, enchanting 
gardens were seen, opening away through long 
tracts of light and verdure, and sparkling every- 
where with fountains, that circulated, like streams 
of life, among the flowers. Not a charm was here 
wanting, that the fancy of poet or prophet, in their 
warmest pictures of Elysium, have ever yet dreamed 
or promised. Vistas, opening into scenes of indis- 
tinct grandeur — streams, shining out at intervals, 
in their shadowy course — and labyrinths of flowers, 
leading, by mysterious windings, to green, spacious 
glades full of splendor and repose. Over all this, 
too, there fell a light, from some unseen source, 
resembling nothing that illumines our upper world 
— a sort of golden moonlight, mingling the warm 
radiance of day with the calm and melancholy lustre 
of night. 

Nor were there wanting inhabitants for this sun- 
less Paradise. Through all the bright gardens 
were seen wandering, with the serene air and step 
of happy spirits, groups both of young and old, of 
venerable and of lovely forms, bearing, most of 
them, the Nile's white flowers on their heads, and 
branches of the eternal palm in their hands ; while, 
over the verdant turf, fair children and maidens 
went dancing to aerial music, whose source was, 
like that of the light, invisible, but which filled the 
whole air with its mystic sweetness. 

Exhausted as I was by the painful trials I had 
undergone, no sooner did I perceive those fair groups 



The aspirants were often in considerable danger, and Py- 
thagoras, we are told, nearly lost his life in the trials. "Vide 
Recherches sur les Initiations, par Robin. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



bbl 



in the distance, than my weariness, both of frame 
and spirit, was forgotten. A thought crossed me 
that she, whom I sought, might haply be among 
them : and notwithstanding the feeling of awe, with 
which that unearthly scene inspired me, I was 
about to fly, on the instant, to ascertain my hope. 
But while in the act of making the effort, I felt my 
robe gently pulled, and turning round, beheld an 
aged man before me, whom, by the sacred hue of 
his garb, I knew at once to be a Hierophant. Pla- 
cing a branch of the consecrated palm in my hand, 
he said, in a solemn voice, " Aspirant of the Mys- 
teries, welcome !" — then, regarding me for a few 
seconds with grave attention, added, in a tone of 
courteousness and interest, " The victory over the 
body hath been gained ! — Follow me, young Greek, 
to thy resting-place." 

1 obeyed the command in silence — and the 
Priest, turning away from this scene of splendor, 
into a secluded pathway, where the light gradually 
faded as we advanced, led me to a small pavilion, 
by the side of a whispering stream, where the very 
spirit of slumber seemed to preside, and, pointing 
silently to a bed of dried poppy-leaves, left me to 
repose 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Though the sight of that splendid scene, whose 
glories opened upon me like a momentary glimpse 
into another world, had, for an instant, reanimated 
my strength and spirit, yet, so completely was my 
whole frame subdued by fatigue, that, even had the 
form of the young Priestess herself then stood be- 
fore me, my limbs would have sunk in the effort to 
reach her. No sooner had I fallen on my leafy 
couch, than sleop, like a sudden death, came over 
me ; and I lay, for hours, in that deep and motion- 
less rest, which not even a shadow of life disturbs. 

On awaking, I saw, beside me, the same venera- 
ble personage, who had welcomed me to this sub- 
terranean world on the preceding night. At the 
foot of my couch stood a statue, of Grecian work- 
manship, representing a boy, with wings, seated 
gracefully on a lotus-flower, and having the fore- 
finger of his right hand pressed to his lips. This 

1 "Enfin Harpocrate etoit assis sur le lotus, qui est la 
plante du Soleil." Hist, des Juifs. 

2 For the two cups used in the mysteries, see V Histoirc 
des Juifs, liv. ix. c. 16. 

3 Osiris under the name of Serapis, was supposed to rule 
over the subterranean world ; and performed the office of 
F'uto, in the mythology of the Egyptians. " They believed," 



action, together with the glory round his brows, 
denoted, as I already knew, the God of Silence and 
Light. 1 

Impatient to know what further trials awaited 
me, I was about to speak, when the Priest ex- 
claimed, anxiously, " Hush !" — and, pointing to the 
statue at the foot of the couch, said, — " Let the 
spell of that Spirit be upon thy lips, young stranger, 
till the wisdom of thy instructors shall think fit to 
remove it. Not unaptly doth the same deity pre- 
side over Silence and Light ; since it is only out of 
the depth of contemplative silence, that the great 
light of the soul, Truth, can arise !" 

Little used to the language of dictation or in- 
struction, I was now preparing to rise, when the 
Priest again restrained me ; and, at the same mo- 
ment, two boys, beautiful as the young Genii of the 
stars, entered the pavilion. They wore habited in 
long garments of the purest white, and bore each a 
small golden chalice in his hand. 2 Advancing 
towards me, they stopped on opposite silks of the 
couch, and one of them, presenting to me his chal- 
ice of gold, said, in a tone between singing and 
speaking, — 

"Drink of this cup — Osiris 3 sips 
The same in his halls below ; 
And the same he gives, to cool the lips 
Of the Dead* who downward go. 
" Drink of this cup — the water within 
Is fresh from Lethe's stream : 
'Twill make the past, with all its sin, 
And all its pain and sorrows, seem 
Like a long-forgotten dream ! 
" The pleasure, whose charms 
Are steep'd in wo ; 
The knowledge, that harms 
The soul to know ; 
" The hope, that, bright 
As the lake of the waste, 
Allures the sight, 
But mocks the taste ; 
" The love, that binds 
Its innocent wreath, 
Where the serpent winds, 
In venom, beneath ; — 
li All that, of evil or false, by thee 
Hath ever been known or seen, 
Shall melt away in this cup, and be 
Forgot, as it never had been !" 

Unwilling to throw a slight on this strange cere- 
mony, I leaned forward, with all du»e gravity, and 
tasted the cup ; which I had no sooner done thin 

says Dr. Prichard, " that Sepis presided over the region of 
departed souls, during the period of their absence, when 
languishing without bodies, and that the dead were deposit- 
ed in his palace." Analysis of the Egyptian Mythology. 

4 "Frigidam illam aquam post mortem, tanquam Hebes 
poculum, expetitam." Zocga. — The Lethe of the Egyptians 
was called Ameles. See Dupuis, torn. viii. p. Col. 



682 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



the young cup-bearer, on the other side, 1 invited my 
attention ; and, in his turn, presenting the chalice 
which he held, sung, with a voice still sweeter than 
that of hi? companion, the following strain : — 

"Drink of this cup — when Isis led 

Her boy, of old, to the beaming sky, 

She mingled a draught divine, 2 and said— 

' Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die !' 

"Thus do I say and sing to thee, 

Heir'of that boundless heaven on high, 
Though frail, and fall'n, and lost thou be, 
Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die !" 

Well as I had hitherto kept my philosophy on its 
guard against the illusions with which, I knew, this 
region abounded, the young cup-bearer had here 
touched a spring of imagination, over which my 
philosophy, as has been seen, had but little control. 
No sooner had the words, " thou shalt never die," 
struck on my ear, than the dream of the Garden 
came fully to my mind ; and, starting half-way 
from the couch, I stretched forth my hands to the 
cup. But, recollecting myself instantly, and fearing 
that I had betrayed to others a weakness fit only 
for my own secret indulgence, I sunk back again, 
with a smile of affected indifference on my couch — 
while the young minstrel, but little interrupted by 
my movement, still continued his strain, of which I 
heard but the concluding words : — 

" And Memory, too, with her dreams shall come, 
Dreams of a former, happier day, 
When Heaven was still the Spirit's home, 
And her wings had not yet fallen away ; 
"Glimpses of glory, ne'er forgot, 

That tell, like gleams on a sunset sea, 
What once hath been, what now is not, 
But, oh '. what again shall brightly be." 

Though the assurances of immortality contained 
in these verses would at any other moment — vain 
and visionary as I thought them — have sent my 
fancy wandering into reveries of the future, the 
effort of self-control I had just made enabled me to 
hear them with indifference. 

Having gone through the form of tasting his sec- 
ond cup, I again looked anxiously to the Hierophant, 
to ascertain whether I might be permitted to rise. 
His assent having been given, the young pages 



i " Enfin on disoitqu'il yavoit deux coupes, l'uneenhaut 
et l'autre en bas. Celui qui buvoit de la coupe d'en bas, 
avoit toujours soif, ses desirs s'augmentoit au lieu de s'etein- 
dre : mais celui qui buvoit de la coupe en haut, etoit rempli 
et content. Cette premiere coupe etoit la connoissance de la 
Nature, qui ne satisfait jamais pleinement ceux qui en son- 
dent les mysteres ; et la seconde coupe, dans laquelle on 
devoit boire pour n'avoir jamais soif, etoit la connoissance 
des mysteres du Ciel." Hist, des Juifs, liv. ix. chap. 16. 

2 The rijs adavacrtag cfxipuaicov, which, according to Dio- 
dorus Siculus, Isis prepared for her son Orus. — Lib. i. 



brought to my couch a robe and tunic, which, like 
their own, were of linen of the purest white ; and 
having assisted to clothe me in this sacred garb, they 
then placed upon my head a chaplet of myrtle, in 
which the symbol of Initiation, a golden grass- 
hopper, 3 was seen shining out from among the dark 
leaves. 

Though sleep hcd r'one much to refresh my 
frame, something more was still wanting to restore 
jts strength • and it was not without a smile at my 
own reveries reflected, how much more welcome 
than even the young page's cup s. " immortality was 
the unpretending, but real, repast now set before 
me — fresh friuJs from the Isle of Gardens 4 in the 
Nile, the delicate flesh of the desert antelope, and 
wine from the Vineyard of the Queens at Anthylla, 6 
which one of the pages fanned with a palm-leaf, to 
keep it cool. 

Having done justice to these dainties, it was with 
pleasure I heard the proposal of the Priest, that we 
should walk forth together, and meditate among the 
scenes without. I had not forgotten the splendid 
Elysium that last night welcomed me — those rich 
gardens, that soft unearthly music and light, and, 
above all, those fair forms I had seen wandering 
about — as if, in the very midst of happiness, still 
seeking it. The hope, which had then occurred to 
me, that, among those bright groups might haply be 
found the young maiden I sought, now returned 
with increased strength. I had little doubt that my 
guide was leading me to the same Elysian scene, 
and that the form, so fit to inhabit it, would again 
appear before my eyes. 

But far different, I found, was the region to 
which he now conducted me ; — nor could the 
whole world have produced a snene more gloomy, 
or more strange. It wore tne appearance of a 
small, solitary valley, enclosed, on every side, by 
rocks, which seemed to rise, almost perpendi- 
cularly, till they reached the very sky ; — for it 
was, indeed, the blue sky that I saw shining be- 
tween their summits, and whose light, dimmed thus 
and nearly lost in its long descent, formed the mel- 
ancholy daylight of this nether world. 6 Down 
the side of these rocky walls descended a cataract, 
whose source was upon earth, and on whose 



3 Hor. Jipoll.— The grasshopper was also consecrated to 
the sun, as being musical. 

4 The isle Antirrhodus, near Alexandria. Maillct. 

5 Vide Jlthcn. Deipnos. 

« " On s'etoit meme avise, depuis la premiere construction 
de ces demeures, de percer en plusieurs en droits jusqu'an 
haut les terres qui les couvroient ; non pas, a la verite, poar 
tirer mn jour qui n'auroit jamais ete suffisant, mais pour 
recevoir un air salutaire," &c. Sethos. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



683 



waters, as they rolled glassily over the edge above, 
a gieam of radiance rested, showing hew brilliant 
and pure was the sunshine they had left behind. 
From thence, gradually growing darker, and fre- 
quently broken by alternate chasms and projec- 
tions, the stream fell, at last, in a pale and thin mist 
— the phantom of what it had been on earth — into 
a small lake that lay at the base of the rock to re- 
ceive it. 

Nothing was ever so bleak and saddening as the 
appearance of this lake. The usual ornaments of 
the waters of Egypt were not wanting to it : the 
tall lotus here uplifted her silvery flowers, and the 
crimson flamingo floated over the tide. But they 
looked not the same as in the world above ; — the 
flower had exchanged its whiteness for a livid hue, 
and the wings of the bird hung heavy and colorless. 
Every thing wore the same half-living aspect ; and 
the only sounds that disturbed the mournful stillness 
were the wailing cry of a heron among the sedges, 
and that din of the falling waters, in their midway 
struggle, above. 

There was, indeed, an unearthly sadness in the 
whole scene, of which no heart, however light, 
could resist the influence. Perceiving how much 
I was affected by it, " Such scenes," remarked the 
Priest, " are best suited to that solemn complexion 
of mind, which becomes him who approaches the 
Great Mystery of futurity. Behold" — and, in say- 
ing thus he pointed to the opening over our heads, 
through which, though the sun had but just passed 
Ins meridian, I could perceive a star or two twinkling 
in the heavens — "in the same manner as from this 
gloomy depth we can see those fixed stars, 1 which 
are invisible now to the dwellers on the bright earth, 
even so, to the sad and self-humbled spirit, doth 
many a mystery of heaven reveal itself, of which 
they, who walk in the light of the proud world, 
know not !'' 

He now led me towards a rustic seat or alcove, 
beside which stood an image of that dark Deity, 2 
that God without a smile, who presides over the 
silent kingdom of the Dead. 3 The same livid and 
lifeless hue was upon his features, that hung over 
eveiy thing in this dim valley, and, with his right 
hand, he pointed directly downwards, to denote 
that his melancholy kingdom lay there. A plan- 

1 " On voyoit en plein jour par ces ouvertures les etoiles, 
et msme quelques planetes en leur plus grande latitude sep- 
tentrionule ; et les pretres avoient bientot prontJ ue ce phe- 
nomene, pour observer a diverses heures le passage des 
etoiles." Sethos. — Strabo mentions certain caves, or pits, 
constructed for the purpose of astronomical observations, 
which lay in the Heliopolitan prefecture, beyond Heliop- 
olis. 

a Serapis, Sol Inferus. — Athenodorus, scriptor vetustus, 
ap&d Clementem Alexandrium in Protreptico, ait "simu- 



tain 4 — that favorite tree of the genii of Death — 
stood behind the statue, and spread its branches over 
the alcove, in which the Priest now seated himself, 
and made a sign that I should take my place by 
his side. 

After a long pause, as if of thought and prep- 
aration, — " Nobly," said he, " young Greek, hast 
thou sustained the first trials of Initiation. What 
still remains, though of vital import to the soul, 
brings with it neither pain nor peril to the body. 
Having now proved and chastened thy mortal frame 
by the three ordeals of Fire, of Water, and of Air, 
the next task to which we are called is the purifi- 
cation of thy spirit — the effectual cleansing of that 
inward and immortal part, so as to render it fit for 
the reception of the last luminous revealment, when 
the Veils of the Sanctuary shall be thrown aside, 
and the Great Secret of Secrets unfolded to thy 
view ! — Towards this object, the primary and most 
important step is, instruction. What the three puri- 
fying elements thou hast passed through have done 
for thy body, instruction will effect for " 

"But that lovely maiden !" I exclaimed, burst- 
ing from my silence, having fallen, during his 
speech, into a deep revery, in which I had forgot- 
ten him, myself, the Great Secret, every thing — 
but her. 

Staffed by this profane interruption, he cast a 
look of alarm towards the statue, as if fearful lest 
the God should have heard my words. Then, turn- 
ing to me, in a tone of mild solemnity, " It is but 
too plain," said he, " that thoughts of the upper 
world, and of its vain, shadowy delights, still engross 
thee far too much to allow the lessons of Truth to 
sink profitably into thy heart. A few hours of 
meditation amid this solemn scenery — of that whole- 
some meditation, which purifies, by saddening — may 
haply dispose thee to receive, with due feelings of 
reverence, the holy and imperishable knowledge we 
have in store for thee. With this hope I now leave 
thee to thy own thoughts, and to that Gcd, before 
whose calm and mournful eye ail the vanities of the 
world, from which thou comest, wither !" 

Thus saying, he turned slowly away, and passing 
behind the statue, towards which he had pointed 
during the last sentence, suddenly, and as if by en- 
chantment, disappeared from my sight 

lacra Sempidis conspicua esse colore csruleoet nigricante.' 
Macrobius, in verbis descriptis, § 6, docet nos apud iEgyp- 
tios "simulacra solis infora fingi colore casrulco." Jablon- 
sld. 

3 Osiris. 

* This tree was dedicated to the Genii of the Shades, from 
its being an emblem of repose and cooling airs. "Cui im- 
minet musa? folium, quod ab Iside infers geniisque ei ad- 
dictis manu geri solium, unibram requiemque et auras fri- 
gidas subindigitare videtur." Zocga. 



684 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Being now left to my own solitary thoughts, I 
was fully at leisure to reflect, with some degree of 
coolness, upon the inconveniences, if not dangers, 
of 1 he situation into which my love of adventure 
had hurried me However prompt my imagination 
was always to kindle, in its own ideal sphere, I 
hav: ever found that, when brought into contact 
with reality, it as suddenly cooled ;— like those me- 
teors, that appear to be stars, while in the air, but 
the moment they touch earth, are extinguished. 
And such was the feeling of disenchantment that 
now succeeded to the wild dreams in which I had 
been indulging. As long as Fancy had the field of 
t-he future to herself, even immortality did not seem 
tcv; distant a race for her. But when human in- 
struments interposed, the illusion all vanished. From 
mortal lips the promise of immortality seemed a 
mockery, and even imagination had no wings that 
could carry beyond the grave. 

Nor was this disappointment the only feeling that 
pained and haunted me ; — the imprudence of the 
step, on which I had ventured, now appeared in 
its full extent before my eyes. I had here thrown 
myself into the power of the most artful priest- 
hood in tha world, without even a chance j% being 
able to escape from their toils, or to resist any 
machinations with which they might beset me. 
It appeared evident, from the state of preparation 
in which I had found all that wonderful apparatus, 
by which the terrors and splendors of Initiation 
are produced, that my descent into the pyramid 
was not unexpected. Numerous, indeed, and active 
as were the spies of the Sacred College of Memphis, 
it could little be doubted that all my movements, 
since my arrival, had been watchfully tracked ; 
and the many hours I had employed in wandering 
and exploring around the pyramid, betrayed a curi- 
osity and spirit of adventure which might well sug- 
gest to these wily priests the hope of inveigling an 
Epicurean into their toils. 

I was well aware of their hatred to the sect of 
which I was Chief; — that they considered the 
Epicureans as, next to the Christians, the most for- 
midable enemies of their craft and power. " How 
thoughtless, then," I exclaimed, " to have placed 
myself in a situation, where I am equally helpless 
against fraud and violence, and must either pretend 
to be the dupe of their impostures, or else submit to 
become the victim of their vengeance !" Of these 
alternatives, bitter is they both were, the latter 
appeared by far the more welcome. It was with a 
blush that I even looked back upon the mockeries 
I hail already yielded to ; and the prospect of being 



put through still further ceremonials, and of being 
tutored and preached to by hypocrites whom I so 
much despised, appeared to me, in my present mood 
of mind, a trial of patience, compared to which the 
flames and whirlwinds I had already encountered 
were pastime. 

Often and impatiently did I lookup, between 
those rocky walls, to the bright sky that appeared 
to rest upon their summits, as, pacing round and 
round, through every part of the valley, I endeav- 
ored to find some outlet from its gloomy precincts. 
But vain were all my endeavors ; — that rocky bar- 
rier, which seemed to end but in heaven, interposed 
itself everywhere. Neither did the image of the 
young maiden, though constantly in my mind, now \ 
bring with it the least consolation or h-.^e. Of what 
avail was it that she perhaps was an inhabitant of ' 
this region, if I could neither behold her smile, nor 
catch the sound of her voice — if, while among 
preaching priests I wasted away my hoa/s, her 
presence was, alas, diffusing its enchantment else- 
where. 

At length, exhausted, I lay down by the brink 
of the lake, and gave myself up to all the melan- 
choly of my fancy. The pale semblance of day- 
light, which had hitherto glimmered around, grew, , 
every moment, more dim and dismal. Even the 
rich gleam, at the summit of the cascade, had 
faded ; and the sunshine, like the water, exhausted 
in its descent, had now dwindled into a ghostly 
glimmer, far worse than darkness. The birds upon 
the lake, as if about to die with the dying light, 
sunk down their heads : and, as I looked to the 
statue, the deepening shadows gave such an expres- 
sion to its mournful features as chilled my very 
soul. 

The thought of death, ever ready to present itself 
to my imagination, now came, with a disheartening 
weight, such as I had never before felt. I almost 
fancied myself already in the dark vestibule of the 
grave — removed, forever, from the world above, 
and with nothing but the blank of an eternal sleep 
before me. It had happened, I knew, frequently, 
that the visitants of this mysterious realm were, 
after their descent from earth, never seen or heard 
of; — being condemned, for some failure in their ini- 
tiatory trials, to pine away their lives in those dark 
dungeons, with which, as well as with altars, this 
region abounded. Such, I shuddered to think, might 
probably be my own destiny ; and so appalling was 
the thought, that even the courage by which I had 
been hitherto sustained died within me, and I was 
already giving myself up to helplessness and de- 
spair. 

At length, after some hours of this gloomy 
musing, I heard a rustling in the sacred g?x>ve 

- I 



THE EPICUREAN. 



685 



behind the statue ; and soon after, the sound of 
the Priest's voice — more welcome than I had ever 
thought such voice could be — brought the assurance 
that I was not yet wholly abandoned. Finding 
his way to me through the gloom, he now led 
me to the same spot, on which we had parted so 
many hours beir*'j j and addressing me in a voice 
that retair. -v so Lace of displeasure, bespoke my 
attention, while he should reveal to me some of 
those divine truths, by whose infusion, he said, 
into the soul of man, its purification can alone be 
effected. 

The valley had now become so dark, that we 
could no longer, as we sat, discern each other's 
faces. There was a melancholy in the voice of my 
instructor that well accorded with the gloom around 
us : and, saddened and subdued, I now listened 
with resignation, if not with interest, to those sub- 
lime, but, alas, I thought, vain tenets, which, with 
all the warmth of a true believer, this Hierophant 
expounded to me. 

He spoke of the pre-existence of the soul 1 — of its 
abode, from all eternity, in a place of splendor and 
bliss, of which whatever we have most beautiful in 
our conceptions here is but a dim transcript, a 
clouded remembrance. In the blue depths of ether, 
he said, lay that " Country of the Soul" — its bound- 
ary alone visible in the line of milky light, which, 
as by a barrier of stars, separates it from the dark 
earth. " Oh, realm of purity ! Home of the yet 
unfallen Spirit ! — where, in the days of her first 
innocence, she wandered; ere yet her beauty 
was soiled by the touch of earth, or her resplendent 
wings had withered away. Methinks I see," he 
cried, " at this moment, those fields of radiance 2 — 
I look back, through the mists of life, into that 
luminous world, where the souls that have never 
lost their high, heavenly rank, still soar with- 
out a stain, above the shadowless stars, and there 
dwell together in infinite perfection and bliss !" 

As he spoke these words, a burst of pure, brilliant 
light, 3 like a sudden opening of heaven, broke 
through the valley ; and, as soon as my eyes were 
able to endure the splendor, such a vision of glory 
and loveliness opened upon them, as took even my 

i For a full account of the doctrines which are here repre- 
sented as having been taught to the initiated in the Egyptian 
mysteries, the reader may consult Dupuis, PrichartFs Ana- 
lysis of the Egyptian Mythology, &c. &c. " L'on decouvroit 
l'origine de Tame, sa chute surlaterre, a travers les spheres 
et les elemens, et son retour au lieu de son origine .... 
c'etoit ici la partie la plus metaphysique, et que ne pourroit 
guere entendre le commun des Inities, mais dont on lui don- 
noit le spectacle par des figures et des spectres allegoriques." 
Dupuis. 

a See Beausobre, lib. iii. c. 4, for the " terre bienheureuse 
et lurnineuse," which the Manicheans supposed God to in- 
habit. Plato, too, speaks (in Phajd.) of a pure land lying in 



skeptical spirit by surprise, and made it yield, at 
once, to the potency of the spell. 

Suspended, as I thought, in air, and occupying 
the whole of the opposite region of the valley, there 
appeared an immense orb of light, within which, 
through a haze of radiance, I could see distinctly 
fair groups of young female spirits, who, in silent, 
but harmonious movement, like that of the stars, 
wound slowly through a variety of fanciful evolu- 
tions ; seeming, as they linked and unlinked each 
other's arms, to form a living labyrinth of beauty 
and grace. Though their feet appeared to glide 
along a field ot light, they had also wings, of the 
most brilliant hue, which like rainbows over water- 
falls, when played with by the breeze, reflected, 
every moment, a new variety o: & »:?y. 

As I stood, gazing with wonder, the orb, with all 
its ethereal inmates, began gradually to recede into 
the dark void, lessening, as it went, and becoming 
more bright, as it lessened ; — till, at length, distant, 
to all appearance, as a retiring comet, this little 
world of Spirits, in one small point of intense 
radiance, shone its last and vanished. " Go," ex- 
claimed the rapt Priest, " ye happy souls, of whose 
dwelling a glimpse is thus given to our eyes, — go, 
wander in your orb, through the boundless heaven, 
nor ever let a thought of this perishable world come 
to mingle its dross with your divine nature, or allure 
you down earthward to that mortal fall by which 
spirits, no less bright and admirable, have been 
ruined !" 

A pause ensued, during which, still under the in- 
fluence of wonder, I sent my fancy wandering after 
the inhabitants of that orb — almost wishing myself 
credulous enough to believe in a heaven, of which 
creatures, so much like those I had worshipped on 
earth, were inmates. 

At length, the Priest, with a mournful sigh at 
the sad contrast he was about to draw between the 
happy spirits we had just seen and the fallen ones 
of earth, resumed again his melancholy History of 
the Soul. Tracing it gradually, from the first 
moment of earthward desire 4 to its final eclipse in 
the shadows of this world, he dwelt upon every 
stage of its darkening descent, with a pathos that 

the pure sky (ttjv yrjv icaOapav tv Ko.dapu KeiaOai ovpavy.) 
the abode of divinity, of innocence, and of life." 

3 The power of producing a sudden and dazzling effusion 
of light, which was one of the arts employed by the contrivers 
of the ancient Mysteries, is thus described in a few words 
by Apuleius, who was himself admitted to witness the Isiac 
ceremonies at Corinth: — "Nocte media vidi solem candido 
coruscantem hmiine." 

4 In the original construction of this work, there was an 
episode introduced here, (which I have since published in 
a more extended form,) illustrating the doctrine of the 
fall of the soul by the Oriental fable of the Loves of the 
Angels. 



686 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



sent sadness into the very depths of the heart. The 
first downward look of the spirit towards earth — the 
tremble of hey wings on the edge of Heaven — the 
giddy slide, at length, down that fatal descent — and 
the Lethean cup, midway in the sky, of which 
when she has once tasted, Heaven is forgot — 
through all these gradations he traced mournfully 
her fall, to that last stage of darkness, when wholly 
immersed in this world, her celestial nature be- 
comes changed, she no longer can rise above earth, 
nor even remember her former home, except by 
glimpses so vague, that, at length, mistaking for 
hope what is only, alas ! recollection, she believes 
those gleams to be a light from the Future, not the 
Past. 

" To retrieve this ruin of the once-blessed Soul 
| — to clear away from around her the clouds of 
I earth, and, restoring her lost wings, 1 facilitate their 
-"turn to Heaven — such," said the reverend man, 
" „s the great task of our religion, and such the 
triumph of those divine Mysteries, in whose inmost 
depths the life and essence of that holy religion lie 
treasured. However sunk, and changed, and cioud- 
etl may be the Spirit, yet as long as a single trace 
of her original light remains, there is still hope 

that " 

Here the voice of the Priest was interrupted by a 
strain of mournful music, of which the low, distant 
breathings had been, for some minutes, audible, bat 
which now gained upon the ear too thrillingly to let 
it listen to any more earthly sound. A faint light, 
too, at that instant broke through the valley — 
and I could perceive, not far from the spot where 
we sat, a female figure, veiled, and crouching 
to earth, as if subdued by sorrow, or under the 
influence of shame. 

The fr«ble light, by which I saw her, came from 
a pale, moonlight meteor which had gradually 
formed itself in the air as the m».sic approached, 
and now shed over the rocks ana the lake a glim- 
mer as cold as that by which the Dead, in their 
own kingdom, gaze upon each other. The. music, 
too, which appeared to rise from out of the lake, 
full of the breath of its dark waters, spoke a 



i In the language of Plato, Ilierocles. &c, to " restore to 
the soul its wings," is the main object both of religion and 
philosophy. 

Damascins, in his Life of Tsidorus, says, " Ex antiquissimis 
Philosophis Pyth-igorum et Pkitonem Isidorus ut Deos coluit, 
et coram animas alatas esse dixit quas in locum super- 
crEle^tcm inque campum veritatis ot pratnin clevatas, divinis^ 
putavit ideis pasei." Jlpud Phot. Bibliothec. 

2 la tricing the early connection of spectacles with the 
ceremonies of religion, Voltaire says, "II y a bien plus; les 
veritable? grandes tragedies, les representations imposnntes 
et lef'rlbles, etoientlesmystercssacres, qu'on celebroitdans 



despondency in every note which no language could 
express ; — and as I listened to its tones, and looked 
upon that fallen Spirit, (for such, the holy man 
whispered, was the form before us,) so entirely did 
the illusion of the scene take possession of me 2 , that, 
with almost painful anxiety, I now awaited the 
result. 

Nor had I gazed long before that form rose slowly 
from its drooping position ; — the air around it grew 
bright, and the pale meteor overhead assumed a more 
cheerful and living light. The veil, which had be- 
fore shrouded the face of the figure, became every 
minute more transparent, and the features, one by 
one, gradually disclosed themselves. Having trem- 
blingly watched the progress of the apparition, I 
now started from my seat, and half exclaimed, " it 
is she !" In another minute, this veil had, like a 
thin mist, melted away, and the young priestess of 
the Moon stood, for the third time, revealed before 
my eyes ! 

To rush instantly towards her was my first im- 
pulse — but the arm of the Priest held me firmly 
back. The fresh light, which had begun to flow in 
from all sides, collected itself in a flood of glory 
around the spot where she stood. Instead of melan- 
choly music, strains of the most exalted rapture 
were heard ; and the young maiden, buoyant as tne 
inhabitants of the fairy orb, amid a blaze of light 
like that which fell upon her in the Temple, as- 
cended slowly into the air. 

" Stay, beautiful vision, stay !" I exclaimed, as, 
breaking from the hold of the Priest, I flung myself 
prostrate on the ground — the only mode by which I 
could express the admiration, even to worship, with 
which I was filled. But the vanishing spirit heard 
me not : — receding into the darkness, like that orb, 
whose heavenward track she seemed to follow, her 
form lessened by degrees away, till she was seen no 
more : while, gazing, till the la;;' luminous speck 
had disappeared, I allowed myself a;i-;onsciotisly to 
be led away by my reverend guide, who, placing 
me once more on my bed of poppy-leaves, left me 
there to such repose as it was possible, after such a 
scene, to enjoy. 



les plus wastes temples du rnonde, en presence des seuls 
lnities; c'etoitlaque les habits, les decorations, les machines 
etoient propres mi sujet ; et le sujet etoit la vie presente et la 
vie future." Des divers Changemens arrives a VArt Lra- 
gique. 

To these scenic representations in the Egyptian mysteries, 
there is evidently an allusion in the vision of Ezekiel, where 
the Spirit shows him the abominations which the Israelites 
had learned in Egypt :— " Then said he unto me, Son of man, 
hast thou seen what the ancient> <f the house of Israel do 
in the dark, every man in the chambers of his imagery?" 
Chap. viii. 




Ln. ai i ■',-■' ' 

MoojisI 



THE EPICUREAN. 



fJ87 



CHAPTER X. 

The apparition with which I had been blessed in 
that Valley of Visions — for so the place where I 
had witnessed these wonders was called — brought 
back to my heart all the hopes and fancies in which, 
during my descent from earth, I had indulged. I 
had now seen once more that matchless creature, 
who had been my guiding star into this mysterious 
realm ; and that she was destined to be, in some 
way, connected with the further revelations that 
awaited me, I saw no reason to doubt. There was 
a sublimity, too, in the doctrines of my reverend 
teacher, and even a hope in the promises of immor- 
tality held out by him, which, in spite of reason, 
won insensibly both upon my fancy and my pride. 

The Future, however, was now but of secondary 
consideration ; — the Present, and that deity of the 
Present, woman, were the objects that engrossed 
my whole soul. It was, indeed, for the sake of 
such beings alone that J considered immortality de- 
sirable, no$ without them, would eternal life have 
appeared tj me worth a single prayer. To every 
further trial of my patience and faith, I now made 
up my mind to submit without a murmur. Some 
kind chance, I fondly persuaded myself, might yet 
bring me nearer to the object of my adoration, and 
enable me to address, as mortal woman, one 
who had hitherto been to me but as a vision, a 
shade. 

The period of my probation, however, was nearly 
at an end Both frame and spirit had now stood 
the trial ; and as the crowning test of the purifica- 
tion of the latter was that power of seeing into the 
world of spirits, with which I had proved myself, in 
the Valley of Visions, to be endowed, there now 
remained, to complete my Initiation, but this one 
night more, when, in the Temple of Isis, and in the 
presence of her unveiled image, the last grand rev- 
elation of the Secret of Secrets was to be laid open 
tome. 

I passed the morning of this day in company with 
the same venerable personage who had, from the 
first, presided over the ceremonies of my instruction ; 
and who, to inspire me with due reverence for the 
power and magnificence of his religion, now con- 
ducted me through the long range of illuminated 
galleries and shrines, that extend under the site 



i " Bernard, Comte de la Mafehe-Tri&visane, jnstruit par 
la lecture des livres anciens, dit, que Hermes trotiva sept 
tables dans la valleed'Hebron, sur lesquelles etoient graves 
.es prir.cipes des aits liberaux." Fables Egx/ptiennes. See 
Jablonski dp stilts Ilcrm. 

- For an account of the anima. worship of the Egyptians, 
see De Vautc, torn ii. 



upon which Memphis and the Pyramids stand, and 
form a counterpart under ground to that mighty 
city of temples upon earth. 

He then descended with me, still lower, into 
those winding crypts, where lay the Seven Tables 
of stone, 1 found by Heimes in the' valley of He- 
bron. " On these tables," said he, '•' is written all 
the knowledge of the antediluvian race — the de- 
crees of the stars from the beginning of time, the 
annals of a still earlier world, and all the marvellous 
secrets, both of heaven and earth, which would have 
been, 

'but for this key, 
Lost in the Universal Sea.' " 

Returning to iae region from which we had de- 
scended, we next visited, in succession, a series of 
small shrines representing the various objects pf 
adoration throughout Egypt, and thus furnishing to 
the Priest an occasion of explaining the mysterious 
nature of animal worship, and the refined doctrines 
of theology that lay veiled under its forms. Every 
shrine was consecrated to a particular faith, and 
contained a living image of the deity which it 
adored. Beside the goat of Mendes, 2 with his re- 
fulgent star upon his breast, I saw the crocodile, as 
presented to the eyes of its idolater at Arsince, with I 
costly gems 3 in its loathsome ears, and rich brace- 
lets of gold encircling its feet. Here, floating 
through a tank in the centre of a temple, the sacred 
carp of Lepidotum showed its silvery scales ; while, 
there, the Isiac serpents* trailed languidly over the 
altar, with that sort of movement which is thought 
most favorable to the aspirations of their votaries. 
In one of the small chapels we found a beautiful 
child, employed in feeding and watching over those 
golden beetles, which are adored for their bright- 
ness, as emblems of the sun ; while, in another, 
stood a sacred ibis upon its pedestal, so like, in plu- 
mage and attitude, to the bird of the young Priestess, 
that most gladly would I have knelt down and 
worshipped it for her sake. 

After visiting all these various shrines, and hear- 
ing the reflections which they suggested, I was next 
led by my guide to the Great Hall of the Zodiac, on 
whose ceiling was delineated, in Bright and undying 
colors, the map of the firmament, as it appeared at 
the first dawn of time. Here, in pointing out the 
track of the sun among the spheres, ho spoke of 
the analogy that exists between moxal and phy- 



3 Herodotus (F.utcrp.) tells us that the people about 
Thebes and Lake Moeris kept a number of tame crocodiles, 
which they worshipped, and dressed them out with gems 
and golden ornaments in their ears. 

4 " On auguroit bien de serpens isiaques, lorsqu'ils goU- 
toient 1'offrande et se traiaoient lentement autour de l'autel." 
De Panic. 



688 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



sical darkness — of the sympathy with which all 
spiritual creatures regard the sun, so as to sadden 
and decline when' he sinks into his wintry hemi- 
sphere, and to rejoice when he resumes his own 
empire of light. Hence, the festivals and hymns, 
with which most of the nations of the earth are 
wont to welcome the resurrection of his orb in 
spring, as an emblem and pledge of the reascent 
of the soul to heaven. Hence, the songs of sorrow, 
the mournful ceremonies 1 — like those Mysteries 
of the Night, 2 upon the Lake of Sals— in which 
they brood over its autumnal descent into the 
shades, as a type of the Spirit's fall into this world 
of death. 

In discourses such as these the hours passed 
away ; and though there was nothing in the light 
of this sunless region to mark to the eye the decline 
of day, my own feelings told me that the night 
drew near ; — nor, in spite of my incredulity, could 
I refrain from a slight flutter of hope, as that prom- 
ised moment of revelation drew nigh, when the 
Mystery of Mysteries was to be made all my own. 
This consummation, however, was less near than 
I expected. My patience had still further trials 
to encounter. It was necessary, I now found, that, 
during the greater part of the night, I should keep 
watch in the Sanctuary of the Temple, alone and 
in utter darkness — thus preparing myself, by medi- 
tation, for the awful moment, when the irradiation 
from behind the sacred Veils was to burst upon 
me. 

At the appointed hour, we left the Hall of the 
Zodiac, and proceeded through a long line of marble 
galleries, where the lamps were more thinly scat- 
tered as we advanced, till, at length, we found our- 
selves in total darkness. Here the Priest, taking 
me by the hand, and leading me down a flight of 
steps, into a place where the same deep gloom pre- 
vailed, said, with a voice trembling, as if from excess 
of awe, — " Thou art now within the Sanctuary of 
our goddess, Isis, and the veils, that conceal her 
sacred image, are before thee !" 

After exhorting me earnestly to that train of 
thought which best accorded with the spirit of the 
place where I stood, and, above all, to that full and 
unhesitating faith, with which alone, he said, the 
manifestation of such mysteries should be approach- 
ed, the holy man took leave of me, and reascended 
the steps; — while, so spell-bound did I feel by 
that deep darkness, that the last sound of his 
footsteps died upon my ear, before I ventured to 



i For an account of the various festivals at the different 
periods of the sun's progress, in the spring, and in the au- 
tumn, see Dupuis and Prichard. 

2 Vide Athcnag. Leg. pro Christ., p. 138. 



stir a limb from the position in which he had left 
me. ' 

The prospect of the long watch I had now to 
look forward to was dreadful. Even danger itself, 
if in an active form, would have been far preferable 
to this sort of safe, but dull, probation, by which pa- 
tience was the only virtue put to the proof. , Having 
ascertained how far the space around me was free 
from obstacles, I endeavored to beguile the time by 
pacing up and down within those limits, till I became 
tired of the monotonous echoes of my own tread. 
Finding my way, then, to what I felt to be a mas- 
sive pillar, and leaning wearily against it, I surren- 
dered myself to a train of thoughts and feelings, far 
different from those with which the good Hierophant 
had hoped to inspire me. 

" If these priests," thought I, " possess really the 
secret of life, why are they themselves the vic- 
tims of death ? why sink into the grave with the 
cup of immortality in their hands ? But no, safe 
boasters, the eternity they so lavishly promise is re- 
served for another, a future world — that ready re- 
source of all priestly promises — that depository of the 
airy pledges of all creeds. Another world ! — alas ! 
where doth it lie ? or, what spirit hath ever come to 
say that Life is there ?" 

The conclusion at which, half sadly, half pas- 
sionately, I arrived, was that, life being but a dream 
of the moment never to come again, every bliss so 
vaguely promised for hereafter ought to be secured 
by the wise man here. And, as no heaven I had 
ever heard of from these visionary priests opened half 
such certainty of happiness as that smile which I 
beheld last night — " Let me," I exclaimed, impa- 
tiently, striking the massy pillar till it rung, " let me 
but make that beautiful Priestess my own, and I 
here willingly exchange for her every chance of im- 
mortality, that the combined wisdom of Egypt's 
Twelve Temples can offer me !" 

No sooner had I uttered these words, than a tre- 
mendous peal, like that of thunder, 3 rolled over the 
Sanctuary, and seemed to shake its very walls. On 
every side, too, a succession of blue, vivid flashes 
pierced, like lances of light, through the gloom, re- 
vealing to me, at intervals, the mighty dome in 
which I stood — its ceiling of azure, studded with 
stars — its colossal columns, towering aloft, — and 
those dark, awful veils, whose massy drapery hung 
from the roof to the floor, covering the rich glories 
of the Shrine beneath their folds. 
* So weaiy had I grown of my tedious watch,, that 



3 See, for some curious remarks on the mode of imitating 
thunder and lightning in the ancient mysteries, De Pauw, 
torn. i. p. 323. The machine with which these effects were 
produced on the stage was called a Ceraunoscope. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



689 



this stormy and fitful illumination, during which the 
Sanctuary seemed to rock to its base, was by no 
means an unwelcome interruption of the monoto- 
nous trial my patience had to suffer. iUter a short 
interval, however, the flashes ceased; — the sounds 
died away, like exhausted thunder, through the abyss, 
and darkness and silence, like that of the grave, 
succeeded. 

Resting my back once more against the pillar, 
and fixing my eyes upon that side of the Sanctuary 
from which the promised irradiation was to burst, I 
now resolved to await the awful moment in patience. 
Resigned, and almost immoveable, I had remained 
thus for nearly another hour, when suddenly along 
the edges of the mighty Veils, I perceived a thin rim 
of light, as if from some brilliant object under them ; 
— resembling that border which encircles a cloud at 
sunset, when the rich radiance from behind is es- 
caping at its edges. 

This indication of concealed glories grew every 
instant more strong ; till, at last, vividly marked as 
it was upon the darkness, the narrow fringe of lustre 
almost pained the eye — giving promise of a fulness 
of splendor too bright to be endured. My expecta- 
tions were now wound to the highest pitch, and all 
the skepticism, into which I had been cooling down 
my mind, was forgotten. The wonders that had 
been presented to me since my descent from earth — 
that glimpse into Elysium on the first night of my 
coming — those visitants from the land of Spirits in 
the mysterious valley— all led me to expect, in this 
last and brightest revelation, such visions of glory 
and knowledge as might transcend even fancy itself, 
nor leave a doubt that they belonged less to earth 
than heaven. 

While, with an imagination thus excited, I stood 
waiting the result, an increased gush of light still 
more awakened my attention ; and I saw with an 
intenseness of interest, winch made my heart beat 
aloud, one of the corners of the mighty Veil raised 
slowly from the floor. I now felt that the Great 
Secret, whatever it might be, was at hand. A vague 
hope even crossed my mind — so wholly had imagina- 
tion now resumed her empire — that the splendid 
promise of my dream was on the very point of being 
realized ! 

With surprise, however, and, for the moment, 
with some disappointment, I perceived, that the 
massy corner of the Veil was but lifted sufficiently 
from the ground to allow a female figure to emerge 
from under it — and then fell over its mystic splendors 
as utterly dark as before. By the strong light, too, 
that issued when the drapery was raised, and illu- 
minated the profile of tho emerging figure, I either 
saw, or fancied that I saw, the same bright features 
that had already so often mocked me with their mo- 



mentary charm, and seemed destined, indeed, to 
haunt my fancy as unavailingly as even the fond, 
vain dream of Immortality itself. 

Dazzled as I had been by that short gush of 
splendor, and distrusting even my senses, when 
under the influence of so much excitement, I had 
but just begun to question myself as to the reality 
of my impression, when I heard the sounds of 
light footsteps approaching me through the gloom. 
In a second or two more, the figure stopped before 
me, and, placing the end of a riband gently in my 
hand, said, in a tremulous whisper, " Follow, and be 
silent." 

So sudden and strange was the adventure, that, 
for a moment, I hesitated — fearing that my eyes 
might possibly have been deceived as to the object 
they had seen. Casting a look towards the Veil, 
which seemed bursting with its luminous secret, I 
was almost doubting to which of the two chances 
I should commit myself, when I felt the riband in 
my hand pulled softly at the other extremity. This 
movement, like a touch of magic, at once decided 
me. Without any further deliberation, I yielded 
to the silent summons, and following my guide, 
who was already at some distance before me, 
found myself led up the same flight of marble steps, 
by which the Priest had conducted me into the 
Sanctuary. Arrived at their summit, I felt the 
pace of my conductress quicken, and giving one 
more look to the Veiled Shrine, whose glories we 
left burning uselessly behind us, hastened onward 
into the gloom, full of confidence in the belief, that 
she, who now held the other end of that clue, was 
one whom I was ready to follow devotedly through 
the world. 



CHAPTER XI. 

With such rapidity was I hurried along by my 
unseen guide, full of wonder at the speed with 
which she ventured through these labyrinths, that 
I had but little time left for reflection upon the 
strangeness of the adventure to which I had com- 
mitted myself. My knowledge of the character 
of the Memphian priests, as well as some fearful 
rumors that had reached me, concerning the fate 
that often attended unbelievers in their hands, 
awakened a momentary suspicion of treachery in 
my mind. But, when I recalled the face of my 
guide, as I had seen it in the small chapel, with 
that divine look, the very memory of which brought 
purity into the heart, I found my suspicions all vanish, 



690 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



and felt shame at having harbored them but an 
instant. 

In the mean while, our rapid course continued 
without any interruption, through windings even 
more capriciously intricate 1 than any I had yet 
passed, and whose thick gloom seemed never to 
have been broken by a single glimmer of light. 
My unseen conductress was still at some distance 
before me, and the slight clue, to which I clung 
as if it were Destiny's own thread, was still kept, 
by the speed of her course, at full stretch between 
us. At length, suddenly stopping, she said, in a 
breathless whisper, " Seat thyself here ;" and, at 
the same moment, led me by the hand to a sort of 
low car, in which, obeying her brief command, I 
lost not a moment in placing myself, while the 
maiden, no less promptly, took her seat by my 
side. 

A sudden click, like the touching of a spring, was 
then heard, and the car — which, as I had felt in 
entering it, leaned half-way over a steep descent 
— on being let loose from its station, shot down, 
almost perpendicularly, into the darkness, with a 
rapidity which, at first, nearly deprived me of 
breath. The wheels slid smoothly and noiselessly 
in grooves, and the impetus, which the car ac- 
quired in descending, was sufficient, I perceived, 
to carry it up an eminence that succeeded — from 
the summit of which it again rushed down another 
declivity, even still more long and precipitous 
than the former. In this manner we proceeded, 
by alternate falls and rises, till, at length, from the 
last and steepest elevation, the car descended upon 
a level of deep sand, where, after running for a 
few yards, it by degrees lost its motion, and 
stopped. 

Here the maiden, alighting again, placed the 
riband in my hands — and again I followed her, 
though with more slowness and difficulty than 
before as our way now led up a flight of damp 
and time-worn steps, whose, ascent seemed to the 
wearied and insecure foot interminable. Per- 
ceiving with what languor my guide advanced, I 



i In addition to the accounts which the ancients have left 
us of the prodigious excavations in all parts of Egypt — the 
fifteen hundred chambers under the Labyrinth — the subterra- 
nean stables of the Theba'id, containing a thousand horses — 
the crypts of Upper Egypt passing under the bed of the Nile, 
&c. &c— the stories and traditions current among the Arabs 
still preserVe the memory of those wonderful substructions. 
"Un Arabe," says Paul Lucas, ''qui etnitavec nous, ni'assnra 
qu'etam entre autrefois dans le Labyrinthe, il avoit marche 
dans les chambressoulerraincs jusqu'en un lieu on il y avoit 
unegrande place environnee de plusieurs niches qui ressem- 
bloit a de petites boutiques, d'ou Ton entroit dfns d'autres 
allees et dans chnmbres, sans pouvoir en trouver la fin." In 
speaking, too, of the arcades along the Nile, near Cosseir, 
" Us me dirent meme que ces souterraines etoient si profondes 



was on the point of making an effort to assist her 
progress, when the creak of an opening dooi 
above, and a faint gleam of light which, at the 
same moment, shone upon her figure, apprized me 
that we were at last arrived within reach of sun- 
shine. 

Joyfully I followed through this opening, and, by 
the dim light, could discern, that we were now in 
the sanctuary of a vast, ruined temple — having 
entered by a secret passage under the pedestal, upon 
winch an image of the idol of the place once stood. 
The first movement of the young maiden, after 
closing again the portal under the pedestal, was, 
without even a single look towards me, to cast her- 
self down upon her knees, with her hands clasped 
and uplifted, as if in thanksgiving or prayer. But 
she was unable, evidently, to sustain herself in this 
position ; — her strength could hold out no longer. 
Overcome by agitation and fatigue, she sunk sense- 
less upon the pavement. 

Bewildered as I was myself, by the strange events 
of the night, I stood for some minutes looking upon 
her in a state of helplessness and alarm. But, re- 
minded, by my own feverish sensations, of the 
reviving effects of the air, I raised her gently in my 
arms, and crossing the corridor that surrounded 
the sanctuary, found my way to the outer vestibule 
of the Temple. Here, shading her eyes from the 
sun, I placed her, reclining upon the steps, where 
the cool north-wind, then blowing freshly between 
the pillars, might play, with free draught, over her 
brow. 

It was, indeed — as I now saw, with certainty — 
the same beautiful and mysterious girl, who had 
been the cause of my descent into that subterranean 
world, and who now, under such strange and unac- 
countable circumstances, was my guide back again 
to the realms of day. I looked around to discover 
where we were, and beheld such a scene of gran- 
deur, as, could my eyes have been then attracted to 
any object but the pale form reclining at my side, 
might well have induced them to dwell on its splen- 
did beauties. 



qu'il y en avoient qui alloicnt a trois journees de la, et qu'ils 
condukoient dans un pays oil Ton voyoit de beaux jardins, 
qu'on y trouvoit de belles maisons," &c. <&c. 

See also in M. Qaatrcmire's Memoires sur V ' F.gijptc, torn. 
i. p. 142., an account of a subterranean reservoir, said to have 
been discovered at Ka'is, and of the expedition undertaken 
by a party of persons, in a long narrow boat, for the purpose 
of exploring it. "Leur voyage avoit eta de six jours, dont 
les quatre premiers furent employes a pen6trer les bords; 
les deux autres a revenir au lieu d'ou ils etoient partis. 
Pendant tout cet intervalle ils ne purentatteindre rextremi- 
te du bassin. L'enrir Ala-eddin-Tamboga, gouverneur de 
Bchnesa, ecrivit ces details at, sultan, qui en fut extreine- 
rnent surpris." 



THE EPICUREAN. 



691 



I was now standing, I found, on the small island 
in 'he centre of Lake Moeris ; 3 and that sanctuary, 
wnere we had just emerged from darkness, formed 
pt.lt of the ruins of an ancient temple, which wa?, 
(as I have since learned,) in the grander days of 
Memphis, a place of pilgrimage for worshippers 
from all parts of Egypt. The fair Lake, itself, out 
of whose waters once rose pavilions, palaces, and 
even lofty pyramids, was still, though divested of 
many of these wonders, a scene of interest and 
splendor such as the whole world could not equal. 
V* Idle the shores still sparkled with mansions and 
temples, that bore testimony to the luxury of a living 
race, — the voice of the Past, speaking out of un- 
numbered ruins, whose summits, here and there, rose 
blackly above the wave, 2 told of times long fled, and 
generations long swept away, before whose giant 
remains all the glory of the present stood humbled. 
Over the southern bank of the Lake hung the dark 
relics of the Labyrinth ; — its twelve Royal Palaces, 
representing the mansions of the Zodiac — its thun- 
dering portals 3 and constellated halls, having left 
nothing now behind but a few frowning ruins, 
which, contrasted with the soft groves of acacia and 
olive around them, seemed to rebuke the luxuriant 
smiles of nature, and threw a melancholy grandeur 
over the whole scene. 

The effects of the air, in reanimating the young 
Priestess, were less speedy than I had expected ; — 
her eyes were still closed, and she remained pale 
and insensible. Alarmed, I now rested her head 
(which had been, for some time, supported by my 
arm) against the base of one of the columns, with 
my cloak for its pillow, while I hastened to procure 
some water from the Lake. The temple stood high, 
and the descent to the shore was precipitous. But, 
my Epicurean habits having but little impaired my 
activity, I soon descended, with the lightness of a 
desert deer, to the bottom. Here, plucking from a 
;fty bean-tree, whose flowers stood, shining like 
gold, above the water, one of those large hollowed 
leaves that serve as cups 4 for the Hebes of the Nile, 
I filled it from the Lake, and hurried bad' with the 
cool draught towards the Temple. It was not, 
however, without some difficulty that I at last suc- 
ceeded in bearing my rustic chalice steadily up the 
steep ; more than once did an unlucky slip waste 

i The position here given to Lake Moeris, in making jt the 
immediate boundary of the city of Memphis to the south, 
corresponds exactly with the site assigned to it by Mail let: — 
'• Memphis avoit encore a son midi tin vaste reservoir, par oii 
tout <:e qui pent servir a la commodity et a Pagrement de la 
vie lui etoit voiture abondamment de toutes les parties de 
l'Egypte. Ce lac qui la terminoit de ce cote-la," &c. &c. — 
Tom. ii. p. 7. 

2 " On voit sur la rive orientale des antiquites qui sont 
presque entierement sous les eaux." — Belzoni. 



all its contents, and as often did I return impatiently 
to refill it. 

During this time, tho young maiden was fast 
recovering her animation and consciousness ; and, 
at the moment when I appeared above the edge of 
the steep, was just rising from the steps, with her 
hand pressed to her forehead, as if confusedly re- 
calling the recollection of what had occurred. No 
sooner did she observe me, than a short cry of alarm 
broke from her lips. Looking anxiously round, 
as though she sought for protection, and half- 
audibly uttering the words, " Where is he ?" she 
made an effort, as I approached, to retreat into 
the Temple. 

Already, however, I was by her side, and taking 
her hand, as she turned away from me, gently in 
mine, asked, " Whom dost thou seek, fait Priestess ?" 
—thus, for the first t.,^e, breaking the silence she 
had enjoined, and in a tone ;hat might have re- 
assured the most timid spirit. But my words had 
no effect in calming her apprehension. Trembling, 
and with her eyes still averted towards the Temple, 
she continued in a voice of suppressed alarm, — 
" Where can he be ? — that venerable Athenian, 
that philosopher, who " 

" Here, here," I exclaimed, anxiously, interrupt- 
ing her — <; behold him still by thy side — the same, 
the very same, who saw thee steal from under the 
Veils of the Sanctuary, whom thou hast guided by 
a clue through those labyrinths below, and who 
now only waits his command from those lips, to de- 
vote himself through life and death to thy service." 
As I spoke these words, she turned slowly round, 
and looking timidly in my face, while her own 
burned with blushes, said, in a tone of doubt and 
wonder, " Thou !" and then hid her eyes in her 
hands. 

I knew not how to interpret a reception so un- 
expected. That some mistake or disappointment 
had occurred was evident ; but so inexplicable did 
the whole adventure appear to me, that it was in 
vain to think of unravelling any part of it. Weak 
and agitated, she now tottered to the steps of the 
Temple, and there seating herself, with her fore- 
head against the cold marble, seemed for some 
moments absorbed in the most anxious thought ; 
while silent and watchful I awaited her decision, 

3 "Quorundam atttem domorntn (in Labyrintho) talis est 
situs, ut achiperientibus fores tonitruum intus terribile ex- 
istat." — Pliny. 

* Strabo. According to the French translator of Strabo, 
it was the fruit of the faba JEgyptiaca, not the leaf, that was 
used for this purpose. " Le Ki6u>ptov," he says, "devoit 
s'entendre de la capsule ou fruit de cette plante, dont les 
Egyptians se servoient comme d'un vase, imaginanl que 1'eau 
dn iS'il y devenoit dolicieuse." 



692 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



though, at the same time, with a feeling which the 
result proved to be prophetic — that my destiny- 
was, from thenceforth, linked inseparably with hers. 

The inward struggle by which she was agitated, 
though violent, was not of'long continuance. Start- 
ing suddenly from her seat, with a look of terror to- 
wards the Temple, as if the fear of immediate pur- 
suit had alone decided her, she pointed eagerly to- 
wards the East, and exclaimed, " To the Nile, 
without delay !" — clasping her hands, after she had 
thus spoken, with the most suppliant fervor, as if" to 
soften the abruptness of the mandate she had given, 
and appealing to me at the same time, with a 
look that would have taught Stoics themselves 
tenderness. 

I lost not a moment in obeying the welcome 
command. With a thousand wild hopes naturally 
crowding upon my fancy, at the thoughts of a 
voyage, under such auspices, I descended rapidly to 
the shore, and hailing one of those boats that ply 
upon the Lake for hire, arranged speedily for a 
passage down the canal to the Nile. Having learn- 
ed, too, from the boatmen, a more easy path up the 
rock, I hastened back to the Temple for my fair 
charge ; and, without a word or look, that could 
alarm, even by its kindness, or disturb the innocent 
confidence which she now evidently reposed in me, 
led her down by the winding path to the boat. 

Every thing around looked sunny and smiling 
as we embarked. The morning was in its first 
freshness, and the path of the breeze might clearly 
be traced over the Lake, as it went wakening up 
the waters from their sleep of the night. The gay, 
golden-winged birds that haunt these shores, were, 
in every direction, skimming along the Lake ; while, 
with a graver consciousness of beauty, the swan 
and the pelican were seen dressing their white 
plumago in the mirror of its wave. To add to 
the liveliness of the scene, there came, at intervals, 
on the breeze, a sweet tinkling of musical instru- 
ments from boats at a distance, employed thus 
early in pursuing the fish of these waters, 1 that 
allow themselves to be decoyed into the nets by 
music. 

The vessel I had selected for our voyage was one 
of those small pleasure-boats or yachts 2 — so much 
in use among the luxurious navigators of the Nile — 
in the centre of which rises a pavilion of cedar or 
cypress wood, adorned richly on the outside, with 
religious emblems, and gayly fitted up, within, for 
feasting and repose. To the door of this pavilion I 
nu«v led my companion, and, after a few words of 



i JElian, lit), vi. 32. 

a Called Thalameges, from the pavilion on the deck.— 
Vide Strabo 



kindness — tempered cautiously with as much re- 
serve as the deep tenderness of my feeling towards 
her would admit — left her to court that restoring 
rest, which the agitation of her spirits so much 
required. 

For myself, though repose was hardly less neces- 
sary to me, the state of ferment in which I had 
been so long kept, appeared to render it hopeless. 
Having thrown myself on the deck of the vessel, 
under an awning which the sailors had raised for 
me, I continued, for some hours, in a sort of vague 
day-dream — sometimes passing in review the scenes 
of that subterranean drama, and sometimes, with 
my eyes fixed in drowsy vacancy, receiving passive- 
ly the impressions of the bright scenery through 
which we passed. 

The banks of the camtl were then luxuriantly 
wooded. Under the tufts of the light and towering 
palm were seen the orange and he citron, inter- 
lacing their boughs ; while, here and there, huge 
tamarisks thickened the shade, and, at the very 
edge of the bank, the willow of Babylon stood bend- 
ing its graceful branches into the water. Oc- 
casionally, out of the depth of these groves, there 
shone a small temple or pleasure-house ; while, now 
and then, an opening in their line of foliage allowed 
the eye to wander over extensive fields, all covered 
with beds of those pale, sweet roses, 3 for which this 
district of Egypt is so celebrated. 

The activity of the morning hour was visible in 
every direction. Flights of doves and lapwings 
were fluttering among the leaves ; and the white 
heron, which had been roosting all night in some 
date-tree, now stood sunning its wings upon the 
green bank, or floated, like living silver, over the 
flood. The flowers, too, both of land and water, 
looked all just freshly awakened ; — and, most of all, 
the superb lotus, which, having risen along with the 
sun from the wave, was now holding up her chalice 
for a full draught of his light. 

Such were the scenes that now successively pre- 
sented themselves, and mingled with the vague rev- 
eries that floated through my mind, as our boat, 
with its high, capacious sail, swept along the flood. 
Though the occurrences of the last few days could 
not but appear to me one continued series of 
wonders, yet by far the greatest marvel of all was, 
that she, whoso first look had sent wildfire into my 
he&rt — whom I had thought of ever since with a 
restlessness of passion, that would have dared all 
danger and wrong to obtain its object — she was 
now at this moment resting sacredly w/iiin that 



3 As April is the season for gathering these roses (see 
Malte-Brun's Economical Calendar,) the Epicurean ;ould not, 
of course, mean to say that he saw them actually in flower 



THE EPICUREAN. 



693 



pavilion, while guarding her, even from myself, I 
lay motionless at its threshold. 

Meanwhile, the sun had reached his meridian 
height. The husy hum of the morning had died 
gradually away, and all around was sleeping in the 
hot stillness of noon. The Nile-goose, having fold- 
ed up her splendid wings, was lying motionless on 
the shadow of the sycamores in the water. Even 
tht< nimble lizards upon the bank 1 appeared to move 
less nimbly, as the light fell on their gold and azure 
hues. Overcome as I was with watching, and 
weary with thought, it was not long before I 
yielded to the becalming influence of the hour. 
Looking fixedly at the pavilion — as if once more to 
assure myself that I was in no dream or trance, but 
that the young Egyptian was really there — I felt 
my eyes close as I gazed, and in a few minutes 
sunk into a profound sleep. 



CHAPTER XII. 

It was by the canal through which we now 
sailed, 2 that, in the more prosperous days of Mem- 
phis, the commerce of Upper Egypt and Nubia was 
transported to her magnificent Lake, and from thence, 
having paid tribute to the queen of cities, was poured 
forth again, through the Nile, into the ocean. The 
course of this canal to the river was not direct, but 
ascending in a southeasterly direction towards the 
Said ; and in calms, or with adverse winds, the 
passage was tedious. But as the breeze was now 
blowing freshly from the north, there was every 
prospect of our reaching the river before nightfall. 
Rapidly, too, as our galley swept along the flood, 
j its motion was so smooth as to be hardly felt ; and 
the quiet gurgle of the waters, and the drowsy song 
of the boatman at the prow, were the only sounds 
that disturbed the deep silence v'hich prevailed. 

The sun, indeed, had nearly sunk behind the 
Libyan hills, before the sleep, into which these 
sounds had contributed to lull me, was broken ; and 
the first object on which my eyes rested, in wa- 
king, was that fair young Priestess — seated within a 
porch which shaded the door of the pavilion, and 



1 "L'or et l'azur brillent en bandes longitudjnaies sur 
leur corps entier, et leur queue est du plus beau bleu celeste." 
Sonnini. 

2 "Un canal," says Maillct, " tres-profond et tres-large y 
voituroit les eaux du Nil." 

3 " Anciennement on portoit les eaux du Nil jusqu'a des 
conUves fort eloignees, et surtout chez les princesses du sang 
des Ptolomees, mariees dans des families etrangeres." — De 
Pauva. 



bending intently over a small volume that lay un- 
rolled on her lap. 

Her face was but half-turned towards me ; and 
as she, once or twice, raised her eyes to the warm 
sky, whose light fell, softened through the trellis, 
over her cheek, I found all /those feelings of rever- 
ence, which she had inspired me with in the chapel, 
return. There was even a purer and holier charm 
around her countenance, thus seen by the natural 
light of day, than in those dim and unhallowed re- 
gions below. She was now looking, too, direct to 
the glorious sky, and her, pure eyes and that heav- 
en, so worthy of each other, met. 

After contemplating her for a few moments, with 
little less than adoration, I rose gently from my 
resting-place, and approached the pavilion. But the 
mere movement had startled her from her devotion, 
and, blushing and confused, she covered the volume 
with the folds of her robe. 

In the art of winning upon female confidence, I 
had long, of course, been schooled ; and, now that 
to the lessons of gallantry the inspiration of love was 
added, my ambition to please and to interest could 
hardly fail, it may be supposed, of success. I soon 
found, however, how much less fluent is the heart 
than the fancy, and how very different may be the 
operations of making love and feeling it. In the 
few words of greeting now exchanged between us, 
it was evident that the gay, the enterprising Epi- 
curean was little less embarrassed than the secluded 
Priestess ; — and, after one or two ineffectual efforts 
to converse, the eyes of both turned bashfully away, 
and we relapsed into silence. 

From this situation — the result of timidity on one 
side, and of a feeling altogether new on the other — 
we were, at length, relieved, after an interval of 
estrangement, by the boatmen announcing that the 
Nile was in sight. The countenance of the young 
Egyptian brightened at this intelligence ; and the 
smile with which I congratulated her upon the speed 
of our voyage was responded to by another from her, 
so full of gratitude, that already an instinctive sym- 
pathy seemed established between us. 

We were now on the point of entering that sacred 
river, of whose sweet waters the exile drinks in his 
dreams — for a draught of whose flood the royal 
daughters of the Ptolemies, 3 when far away, on for- 



The water thus conveyed to other lands was, as we may 
collect from Juvenal, chiefly intended for the use of the 
Temples of Isis, established in those countries. 
Si Candida jusserit lo, 
Ibit ad iEgypti fineni, calidaque petitas 
A Meroe portabit aquas, ut spargat in cede 
Isidis, antiquo qua; proxima surgit ovili. 

Sat. vi. 



694 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



eign thrones, have been known to sigh in the midst 
of their splendor. As our boat, with slackened sail, 
was gliding into the current, an inquiry from the 
boatmen, whether they should anchor for the night 
in the Nile, first reminded me of the ignorance in 
which I still remained, with respect to the motive or 
destination of our voyage. Embarrassed by their 
question, I directed my eyes towards the Priestess, 
whom I saw waiting for my answer with a look of 
anxiety, which this silent reference to her wishes at 
once dispelled Unfolding eagerly thf> volume with 
which I had seen her go much occupied, she took 
from between its folds a small leaf of papyrus, on 
which there appeared to be some faint lines of draw- 
ing, and after looking upon it thoughtfully for a 
few moments, placed it, with an agitated hand, in 
mine. 

In the mean time, the boatmen had taken in then- 
sail, and the yacht drove slowly down the river wi'th 
the current ; while, bj^ a light which had been kin- 
dled at sunset on the deck, I stood examining the 
leaf that the Priestess had given me — her dark eyes 
fixed anxiously on my countenance all the while. 
The lines traced upon the papyrus were so faint as to 
be almost invisible, and I was for some time wholly 
unable to form a conjecture as to their import. At 
length, however,* I succeeded in making out that 
they were a sort of map, or outlines — traced slightly 
and unsteadily with a Memphian reed — of a part 
of that mountainous ridge by which Upper Egypt is 
bounded to the east, together with the names, or 
rather emblems, of the chief towns in its immediate 
neighborhood. 

It was thither, I now saw clearly, that the young 
Priestess wished to pursue her course. Without 
further delay, therefore, I ordered the boatmen to 
set our yacht before the wind, and ascend the cur- 
rent. My command was promptly obeyed: the 
white sail again rose into the region of the breeze, 
and the satisfaction that beamed in every feature 
of the fair Egyptian showed that the quickness with 
which I had attended to her wishes was not unfelt 
by her. The moon had now risen ; and though the 
current was against us, the Etesian wind of the 
season blew strongly up the river, and we were soon 
floating before it, through the rich plains and groves 
of the Said. 



1 " Le nom du maitre y ctoit fccrit, pendant la nuit, en 
lettres de feu."— Maillct. 

2 Called Alassontes. For their brittleness Martial is an 
authority : — 

Tolle, puer, cnlices, tcpidique toreumata Nili, 
Et mihi secura pocula trade manu. 
" Sans parler ici ries coupes d'un verre porte jusqu'a la 
purete du crystal, ni de celles qu'on appeloit Alassontes, et 



The love with which this simple girl had inspired 
me, was partly, perhaps, from the mystic scenes 
and situations in wh ; ch I had seen her, not unmin- 
gled with a tinge of superstitious awe, under the in- 
fluence of which I felt the natural buoyancy of my 
spirit repressed. The few words that had passed 
between us on the subject of our route had some- 
what loosened this spell ; and what I wanted of vi- 
vacity and confidence was more than compensated 
by the tone of deep sensibility which love had awa- 
kened in their place. 

We had not proceeded far, before the glittering 
of lights at a distance, and the shooting up of fire- 
works, at intervals, into the air, apprized us that we 
were then approaching one of those night-fairs, or 
marts, which it is the custom, at this season, to hold 
upon the Nile. To me the scene was familiar ; but 
to my young companion it was evidently a new 
world ; and the mixture of alarm and delight with 
which she gazed, from under her veil, upon the 
busy scene into which we now sailed, gave an air 
of innocence to her beauty, which still more height- 
ened its every charm. 

It was one of the widest parts of the river ; and 
the whole surface, from one bank to the other, was 
covered with boats. Along the banks of a green 
island, in the middle of the stream, lay anchored the 
galleys of the principal traders — large floating ba- 
zaars, bearing each the name of its owner, 3 embla- 
zoned in letters of flame, upon the stern. Over 
their decks were spread out, in gay confusion, the 
products of the loom and needle of Egypt — rich car- 
pets of Memphis, and likewise those variegated veils, 
for which the female embroiderers of the Nile are so 
celebrated, and to which the name of Cleopatra lends 
a traditional charm. In each of the other galleys was 
exhibited some branch of Egyptian workmanship — 
vases of the fragrant porcelain of On — cups of that 
frail crystal, 2 whose hues change like those of the 
pigeon's plumage — enamelled amulets graven with 
the head of Anubis, and necklaces and bracelets of 
the black beans of Abyssinia. 3 

While Commerce was thus displaying her various 
luxuries in one quarter, in every other, the spirit of 
Pleasure, in all its countless shapes, swarmed over 
the waters. Nor was the festivity confined to the 
river alone ; as along the banks of the island, and on 



qu'on suppose avoir represents des figures dont les coulenrs 
changeoient suivant l'aspect sous lequel on les regardoit, a 
peu pres conime ce qu'on noninie vulgairement gorgc-de- 
pigcon," &c. — De Pauw. 

3 The bean of the Glycine, which is so beautiful as to be 
strung into necklaces and bracelets, is generally known by 
the name of the black bean of Abyssinia. — Niebukr 



THE EPICUREAN. 



695 



the shores, illuminated mansions were seen glittering 
through the trees, from whence sounds of music and 
merriment came. In some of the boats were bands 
of minstrels, who, from time to time, answered each 
other, like echoes, across the wave ; and the notes 
of the lyre, the flageolet, and the sweet lotus-wood 
flute, 1 were heard, in the pauses of revelry, dying 
along the waters. 

Meanwhile, from other boats stationed in the least 
lighted places, the workers of fire sent forth their 
wonders into the air. Bursting out suddenly from 
time to time, as if in the very exuberance of joy, 
these sallies of flame appeared to reach the sky, and 
there, breaking into a shower of sparkles, shed such 
a splendor around, as brightened even the white 
Arabian hills — making them shine as doth the brow 
of Mount Atlas at night, 2 when the fire from his own 
bosom is playing around its snows. 

The opportunity this mart afforded us, of provid- 
ing ourselves with some less remarkable habili- 
ments than those in which we had escaped from 
that nether world, was too seasonable not to be 
gladly taken advantage of by both. For myself, 
the strange mystic garb which I wore was suffi- 
ciently concealed by my Grecian mantle, which I 
had fortunately thrown round me on the night of 
my watch. But fae thin veil of my companion 
was a far less efficient disguise. She had, indeed, 
flung away the golden beetles from her hair ; but 
the sacred robe of her order was still too visible, and 
the stars of the bandelet shone brightly through her 
veil. 

Most gladly, therefore, did she avail herself of 
this opportunity of a change ; and, as she took from 
out a casket — which, with the volume I had seen 
her reading, appeared to be her only treasure — a 
small jewel, to give in exchange for the simple gar- 
ments she had chosen, there fell out, at the same 
time, the very cross of silver which I had seen her 
kiss, as may be remembered, in the monumental 
chapel, and which was afterwards pressed to my 
own lips. This link between us, (for such it now 
appeared to my imagination,) called up again in my 
heart all the burning feelings of that moment ; — 
and, had I not abruptly turned away, my agitation 
would have but too plainly betrayed itself. 

The object, for which we had delayed in this gay 
scene, having been accomplished, the sail'was again 



1 See M. Villote.au on the musical instruments of the 
Egyptians. 

a Solinus speaks of the snowy summit of Mount Atlas 
glittering with flames at night. In the account of the Peri- 
plus of Hanno, as well as in that of Eudoxus, we read, that 
as those navigators were coasting this part of Africa, tor- 
rents of light were seen to fall on the sea. 

• " Per lacrymas, vero, Isidis intelligo effluvia qutedam 



spread, and wo proceeded on our course up the 
river. The sounds and fhe lights we had left be- 
hind died gradually away, and we now floated 
along in moonlight and silence once more. Sweet 
dews, worthy of being called " the tears of Isis," 3 
fell refreshingly through the air, and every plant 
and flower sent its fragrance to meet them. The 
wind, just strong enough to bear us smoothly 
against the current, scarce stirred the shadow of 
the tam&nsKs on the water. As the inhabitants 
from all quarters were collected at the night-fair, 
the Nile was more than usually still and solitary 
Such a silence, indeed, prevailed, that, as we glid'.d 
near the shore, we could hear the rustling of the 
acacias, 4 as the chameleons ran up their stems. It 
was, altogether, such a night as only the climate of 
Egypt can boast, when the whole scene aiv und lies 
lulled in that sort of bright tranquillity, which may 
be imagined to light the slumbers of those happy 
spirits, who are said to rest in the Valley of the 
Moon, 5 on their way to heaven. 

By such a light, and at such an hour, seated, side 
by side, on the deck of that bark, did we pursue 
our course up the lonely Nile — each a mystery to 
the other — our thoughts, our objects, our very names 
a secret ; — separated, too, till now, by destinies so 
different ; the one, a gay voluptuary of the Gar- 
den of Athens ; the other, a secluded Priestess 
of the Temples of Memphis ; — and the only 
relation yet established between us being that 
dangerous one of love, passionate love, on one side, 
and the most feminine and confiding dependence on 
the other. . 

The passing adventure of the night-fair had not 
only dispelled a little our mutual reserve, but had 
luckily furnished us with a subject on which we 
could converse without embarrassment. From this 
topic I took care to lead her, without any inter- 
ruption, to others — being fearful lest our former 
silence should return, and the music of her voice 
again be lost to me. It was only, indeed, by thus 
indirectly unburdening my heart that I was enabled 
to avoid the disclosure of all I thought and felt ; 
and the restless rapidity with which I flew from 
subject to subject was but an effort to escape from 
the only one in which my heart was really inter- 
ested. 

" How bright and happy," said I — pointing up 



Lunce, quibus tantam vim videntur tribuisse iEgypti." Jjor 
Uonski. — He is of opinion that the superstition of the JVuc- 
ta, or miraculous drop, is a relic of the veneration paid to 
the dews, as the tears of Isis. 

4 Travels of Captain Mangles. 

5 Plutarch. Dupuis, torn. x. The Manicheans held the 
same belief. — See Beausobrc, p. 565. 



696 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



to Sothis, the fair Star of the Waters, 1 which was 
just then shining brilliantly over our heads — " How 
bright and happy this world ought to be, if, as your 
Egyptian sages assert, yon pure and beautiful lu- 
minary was its birth-star !" 2 Then, still leaning 
back, and letting my eyes wander over the firma- 
ment, as if seeking to disengage them from the fas- 
cination which they dreaded — " To the study," I 
exclaimed, " for ages, of skies like this, may the 
pensive and mystic character of your nation be 
traced. That mixture of pride and melancholy 
which naturally arises at the sight of those eternal 
lights shining out of darkness ; — that sublime, but 
saddened, anticipation of a Future, which steals 
sometimes over the soul in the silence of such an 
hour, when, though Death appears to reign in the 
deep stillness of earth, there are yet those beacons 
of Immortality burning in the sky." 

Pausing, as I uttered the word "immortality," 
with a sigh to think how little my heart echoed to 
my lips, I looked in the face of my companion, 
and saw that it had lighted up, as I spoke, into a 
glow of holy animation, such as Faith alone gives ; 
— such as Hope herself wears, when she is dream- 
ing of heaven. Touched by the contrast, and gaz- 
ing upon her with mournful tenderness, I found my 
arms half opened, to clasp her to my heart, while 
the words died away inaudibly upon my lips, — 
" Thou, too, beautiful maiden ! must thou, too, die 
forever ?" 

My self-command, I felt, had nearly deserted 
me. Rising abruptly from my seat, I walked to 
the middle of the deck, and stood, for» some mo- 
ments, unconsciously gazing upon one of those fires, 
which — according to the custom of all who travel 
by night on the Nile — our boatmen had kindled, 
to scare away the crocodiles from the vessel. But 
it was in vain that I endeavored to compose my 
spirit. Every effort I made but more deeply con- 
vinced me, that, till the mystery which hung round 
that maiden should be solved — till the secret, with 
which my own bosom labored, should be disclosed — 
it was fruitless to attempt even a semblance of tran- 
quillity. 

My resolution was therefore taken ; — to lay open, 
at once, the feelings of my own heart, as far as 
such revealment might be hazarded, without start- 
ling the timid innocence of my companion. Thus 
resolved, I resumed my seat, with more com- 
posure, by her side ; and taking from my bosom 
the small mirror which she had dropped iu the 
Temple, and which I had ever since worn sus- 
pended round my neck, presented it with a trem- 



1 'YSpayuyoi 
tarck. de Isid. 



the epithe applied to this star by Plu- 



bling hand to her view. The boatmen had just 
kindled one 01 their night-fires near us, and its light, 
as she leaned forward to look at the mirror, fell up- 
on her face. 

The quick blush of surprise with which she re- 
cognised it to be hers, and her look of bashful yet 
eager inquiry, in raising her eyes to mine, were ap- 
peals to which I was not, of course, tardy in an- 
swering. Beginning with the first moment when I 
saw her in the Temple, and passing hastily, but 
with words that burned as they went, over the im- 
pression which she had then left upon my heart 
and fancy, I proceeded to describe the particulars 
of my descent into the pyramid — my surprise and 
adoration at the door of the chapel — my encounter 
with the Trials of Initiation, so mysteriously pre- 
pared for me, and all the various visionary wonders 
I had witnessed in that region, till the moment when 
I had seen her stealing from under the Veils to ap- 
proach me. 

Though, in detailing these events, I had said but 
little of the feelings they had awakened in me — 
though my lips had sent back many a sentence, un- 
uttered, there was still enough that could neither be 
subdued nor disguised, and which, like that light 
from under the veils of her own Isis, glowed through 
every word that I spoke. When I told of the 
scene in the chapel — of the silent interview which 
I had witnessed between the dead and the living — 
the maiden leaned down her head and wept, as 
from a heart full of tears. It seemed a pleasure to 
her, however, to listen ; and, when she looked at 
me again, there was an earnest and affectionate 
cordiality in her eyes, as if the knowledge of my 
having been present at that mournful scene had 
opened a new source of sympathy and intelligence 
between us. So neighboring are the fountains of 
Love and of Sorrow, and so imperceptibly do they 
often mingle their streams. 

Little, indeed, as I was guided by art or design, in 
my manner and conduct towards this innocent girl, 
not all the most experienced gallantry of the Gar- 
den could have dictated a policy half so seductive 
as that which my new master, Love, now taught 
me. The same ardor which, if shown at once, and 
without reserve, might probably have startled a 
heart so little prepared for it, being now checked 
and softened by the timidity of real love, Won its 
way without alarm, and, when most diffident of 
success, was then most surely on its way to triumph. 
Like one whose slumbers are gradually broken by 
sweet music, the maiden's heart was awakened 
without being disturbed. She followed the course 



2 e H 2w0£wj avaro\rj yevececos Kara^avaa ttjs sis tav 
Kocjiov. — Porphyr. de Antro Nymph. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



697 



of the charm, unconscious whither it led, nor was 
even aware of the flame she had lighted in another's 
bosom, till startled by the reflection of it glimmering 
in her own. 

Impatient as I was to appeal to her generosity 
and sympathy, for a similar proof of confidence to 
that which I had just given, the night was now too 
far advanced for me to impose upon her such a task. 
After exchanging a few words, in which, though 
little met the eax s ^here was, on both sides, a tone 
and manner that spoke far more than language, we 
took a lingering leave of each other for the night, 
with eveiy prospect, I fondly hoped, of being still 
together in our dreams. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

It was so near the dawn of day when we parted 
that we found the sun sinking westward when we 
rejoined each other. The smile, so frankly cordial, 
with which she met me, might have been taken for 
the greeting of a long-mellowed friendship, did not 
the blush and the cast-down eyelid that followed 
betray symptoms of a feeling newer and less calm. 
For myself, lightened as I was, in some degree, by 
the avowal which I had made, I was yet too con- 
scious of the new aspect thus given to our intercourse, 
not to feel some little alarm at the prospect of re- 
turning to the theme. We were both, therefore, 
alike willing to allow our attention to be diverted, 
by the variety of strange objects that presented 
themselves on the way, from a subject that evidently 
both were alike unwilling to approach. 

The river was now all stirring with commerce 
and life. Every instant we met with boats descend- 
ing the current, so wholly independent of aid from 
sail or oar, that the mariners sat idly on the deck as 
they shot along, either singing or playing upon their 
double-reeded pipes. The greater number of these 
boats came laden with those large emeralds, from 
the mine in the desert, whose colors, it is said, are 
brightest at the full of the moon ; while some brought 
cargoes of frankincense from the acacia groves near 
the Red Sea. On the decks of others, that had been, 
as we learned, to the Golden Mountains 1 beyond 



i Vide Wilford on Egypt and the Nile, Asiatic Researches. 

2 " A l'epoque de la crue le Nil Vert charric les planches 
d'un hois qui a une odeur semblable a celle de l'encens.' 
Quatrcmere. 

8 JUaillet. 



Syene, were heaped blocks and fragments of that 
sweet-smelling wood, 2 which is yearly washed down, 
by the Green Nile of Nubia, at the season of the 
floods. 

Our companions up the stream were far less nu- 
merous. Occasionally a boat, returning lightened 
from the fair of last night, shot rapidly past us, with 
those high sails that catch every breeze from over 
the hills ; — while, now and then, we overtook one 
of those barges full of bees, 3 that are sent at this 
! season to colonize the gardens of the ^oiith, and 
take advantage of the first flowers after the inunda- 
tion has passed away. 

For a short time, this constant variety of objects 
enabled us to divert so far our conversation as to 
keep it from lighting upon the one, sole subject, 
round which it constantly hovered. But the effort, 
as might be expected, was not long successful. As 
evening advanced, the whole scene became more 
solitary. We less frequently ventured to look upon ' 
each other, and our intervals of silence grew more 
long. 

It was near sunset, when, in passing a small 
temple on the shore, whose porticoes were now full 
of the evening light, we saw issuing from a thicket 
of acanthus near it, a train of young maidens grace- 
fully linked together in the dance by stems of the 
lotus held at arms' length between them. Their 
tresses were also wreathed with this gay emblem 
of the season, and in such profusion were its white 
flowers twisted around their waists and arms, 4 that 
they might have been taken, as they lightly bounded 
along the bank, for Nymphs of the Nile, then freshly 
risen from their bright gardens under the wave. 

After looking for a few minutes at this sacred 
dance, the maiden turned away her eyes, with a 
look of pain, as if the remembrances it recalled 
were of no welcome nature. This momentary re- 
trospect, this glimpse into the past, appeared to offer 
a sort of clue to the secret for which I panted ; — 
and accordingly I proceeded, as gradually and deli- 
cately as my impatience would allow, to avail my- 
self of the opening. Her own frankness, however, 
relieved me from the embarrassment of much ques- 
tioning. She appeared even to feel that the confi- 
dence I sought was due to me ; and beyond the 
natural hesitation of maidenly modesty, not a shade 
of reserve or evasion appeared. 

To attempt to repeat, in her own touching words, 
the simple story which she now related to me, would 



4 " On les voit comme jadis cueillir dans les champs des 
tiges du lotus, signes dn debordement et presages de Tabon- 
dance ; ils s'enveloppent les bras ct le corps ayec les longues 
tiges fleuries, et parcourent les rues," &c. — Description des 
Tombeaux des Rots, par J\I. Costaz. 



698 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



be like endeavoring to note down some unpremedita- 
ted strain of music, with all those fugitive graces, 
those felicities of* the moment, which no art ran re- 
store, as they first met the ear. From a feeling, too, 
of humility, she had omitted in her short narrative 
i several particulars relating to herself, which I after- 
« wards learned ; — while others, not less important, 
she but slightly passed over, from a fear of offending 
the prejudices of her heathen hearer. 

I shall, therefore, give her story, not as she, her- 
self, sketched it, but as it was afterwards filled up by 
a pious and venerable hand — far, far more worthy 
than mine of being associated with the memory of 
such purity. 



STORY OF ALETIIE. 

" The mother of this maiden was the beautiful 
Theora of Alexandria, who, though a native of that 
city, was descended from Grecian parents. When 
very young, Theora was one of the seven maidens 
selected to note down the discourses of the eloquent 
Orio'en, who, at that period, presided over the School 
of Alexandria, and was in all the fulness of his fame 
both among Pagans and Christians. Endowed richly 
with the learning of both creeds, he brought the 
natural light of philosophy to illustrate the mysteries 
of faith, and was then only proud of his knowledge 
of the wisdom of this world, when he found it min- 
ister usefully to the triumph of divine truth. 

" Although he had courted in vain the crown of 
martyrdom, it was held, through his whole life, sus- 
pended over his head ; and, in more than one per- 
secution, he had shown himself cheerfully ready to 
die for that holy faith which he lived but to testify 
and uphold. On one of these occasions, his tor- 
mentors, having habited him like an Egyptian priest, 
placed him upon the Btf >ps of the Temple of Serapis, 
and commanded that le should, in the manner of 
the Pagan ministers, present palm-branches to the 
multitude who went up iuto the shrine. But the 
courageous Christian disappointed their views. Hold- 
ing forth the branches with an unshrinking hand, he 
cried aloud, ' Come hither, and take the branch, — 
not of an Idol Temple, but of Christ.' 

" So indefatigable was this learned Father in his 
studies, that, while composing his Commentary on 
the Scriptures, 1 he was attended by seven scribes or 
notaries, who relieved each other in recording the 
dictates of his eloquent tongue ; while the same 
number of young females, selected for the beauty of 



i It was during the composition of his great critical work, 
the Hexapla, that Origcn employed these female scribes. 



their penmanship, were employed in arranging and 
transcribing the precious leaves. 

" Among the scribes so selected, was the fair 
young Theora, whose parents, though attached to 
the Pagan worship, were not unwilling to profit by 
the accomplishments of their daughter, thus occupied 
in a task, which they looked on as purely mechani- 
cal. To the maid herself, however, her employment 
brought far other feelings and consequences. She 
read anxiously as she wrote, and the divine truths, 
so eloquently illustrated, found their way, by de- 
grees, from the page to her heart. Deeply, too, as 
the written words affected her, the discourses from 
the lips of the great teacher himself, which she had 
frequent opportunities of hearing, sunk still more 
deeply into her mind. There was, at once, a sub- 
limity and gentleness in his views of religion, which, 
to the tender hearts and lively imaginations of wo- 
men, never failed to appeal with .convincing power. 
Accordingly, the list of his female pupils was nu- 
merous ; : iiu the names of Barbara, Juliana, Ilerais, 
and others, bear honorable testimony to his influence 
over that sex. 

" To Theora the feeling, with which his discourses 
inspired her, was like a new soul — a consciousness 
of spiritual existence, never before felt. By the 
eloquence of the comment she was awakened into 
admiration of the text ; and when, by the kindness 
of a Catechumen of the school, who had been struck 
by her innocent zeal, she, for the first time, became 
possessor of a copy of the Scriptures, she could not 
sleep for thinking of her sacred treasure. With a 
mixture of pleasure and fear she hid it from all eyes, 
and was like one who had received a divine guest 
under her roof, and felt fearful of betraying its di- 
vinity to the world. 

" A heart so awake would have been with ease 
secured to the faith, had her opportunities of hearing 
the sacred word continued. But circumstances 
arose to deprive her of this advantage. The mild 
Origen, long harassed and thwarted hi his labors by 
the tyranny of Demetrius, Bishop of Alexandria, 
was obliged to relinquish his school and fly from 
Egypt. The occupation of the fair scribe was, 
therefore, at an end : her intercourse with the fol- 
lowers of the new faith ceased ; and the growing en- 
thusiasm of her heart gave way to more worldly 
impressions. 

" Among other earthly feelings, lovo conduced 
not a little to wean her thoughts from the true 
religion. "While still very young, she became the 
wife of a Greek adventurer, who had come to 
Egypt as a purchaser of that rich tapestry, 2 in 



Non ego pratulerim Babylonica picta superbe 
Texta, Semiramia qua; variantur acu. Martial. 






THE EPICUREAN. 



G99 



which the needles of Persia are rivalled by the 
looms of tho Nile. Having taken his young bride 
to Memphis, which was still the great mart of this 
merchandise, he there, in the midst of his specu- 
lations, d:ed — leaving his widow on the point of 
becoming a mother, while, as yet, but in her nine- 
teenth year. 

" For single and unprotected females, it has 
been, at all times, a favorite resource, to seek for 
employment in the service of some of those great 
temples hy which so large a portionof the wealth 
and power of Egypt is absorbed.* In most of 
these institutions there exists an order of Priest- 
esses, which, though not hereditary, like that of the 
Priests, is provided for by ample endowments, and 
confers that dignity and station, with which, in a 
government so theocratic, Religion is sure to invest 
even her humblest handmaids. From the general 
policy of the Sacred College of Memphis, we may 
take for granted, that an accomplished female, like 
Theora, found but little difficulty in being elected 
one of the Priestesses of Isis ; and it was in the 
service of the subterranean shrines that her ministry 
chiefly lay. 

" Here, a month or two after her admission, she 
gave birth to Alethe, who first opened her eyes 
among the uiiholy pomps and specious miracles of 
this mysterious region. Though Theora, as we have 
seen, had been diverted by other feelings from her 
first enthusiasm for tho Christian faith, she had 
never wholly forgot the impression then made upon 
her. The sacred volume, which the pious Cate- 
chumen had given her, was still treasured with 
care ; and, though she seldom opened its pages, 
there was always an idea of sanctity associated 
with it in her memory, and often would she sit to 
look upon it with reverential pleasure, recalling 
the happiness sho had felt wh.cn it was first made 
her own. 

" The leisure of her new retreat, and the lone 
melancholy of widowhood, led her. still more fre- 
quently to indulge in such thoughts, and to recur 
to those consoling truths which she had heard in 
the school of Alexandria. She now began to peruse 
eagerly the sacred volume, drinking deep of the 
fountain of which she before but tasted, and feel- 
. ing — what thousands cf mourners, since her, have 
! felt — that Christianity is the true and only religion 
of the sorrowful. 

" This study of her secret hours became still more 
dear to her, as well from tho peril with which, at 
that period, it was attended, as from the necessity 

i Do Pauw, who differs in opinion from those who sup- 
posed women to be eligible to the higher sacerdotal offices in 
EgvP 1 - 'hus enumerates the tasks to which their superin- 
tendence was, as he thinks, confined: — '• Les femmes n'ont 



she felt herself under of concealing from those 
around her the precious light that had been thus 
kindled in her own heart. Too timid to encounter 
the fierce persecution which awaited all who were 
suspected of a leaning to Christianity, she continued 
to officiate in tho pomps and ceremonies of the 
Temple ; — though, often, with such remorse of soul, 
that she would pause, in the midst of the rites, and 
pray inwardly to God, that he would forgive this 
profanation of his Spirit. 

" In the mean time her daughter, the young 
Alethe, grew up still lovelier than herself, and added, 
every hour, both to her happiness and her fears. 
When arrived at a sufficient age, she was taught, 
like the other children of the Priestesses, to take a 
share in the service and ceremonies of the shrines. 
The duty of some of these young servitors 1 was to 
look after the flowers for the altar ; — of others, to 
take care that the sacred vases were filled every 
day with fresh water from the Nile. The task of 
some was to preserve, in perfect polish, those silver 
images of the Moon winch the priests carried in 
processions ; while others were, as we have seen, 
employed in feeding the consecrated animals, and 
in keeping their plumes and scales bright for the 
admiring eyes of their worshippers. 

" The office allotted to Alethe — the most honor- 
able of these minor ministries — was to wait upon 
the sacred birds of the Moon, to feed them daily 
with those eggs from the Nile which they loved, 
and provide for their use that purest water, which 
alone these delicate birds will touch. This em- 
ployment was the delight of her childish hours 5 
and that ibis, which Alciphron (the Epicurean) 
saw her dance round in the Temple, was, of all 
the sacred flock, her especial favorite, and had been 
daily fondled and fed by her from infancy. 

" Music, as being one of the chief spells of this 
enchanted region, was an accomplishment required 
of all its ministrants ; and the harp, the lyre, and 
the sacred flute, sounded nowhere so sweetly as 
through these subterranean gardens. The chief 
object, indeed, in the education of the youth of 
the Temple, was to fit them, by every grace of art 
and nature, to give effect to the illusion of those 
shows and phantasms, in which the entire charm 
and secret of Initiation lay. 

" Among the means employed to support the old 
system of superstition, against the infidelity and, 
still more, the new Faith that menaced it, was an 
increased display of splendor and marvels in those 
mysteries for which Egypt has so long been cele- 

pu tout au plus dans l'ordre secondare s'nequitter que de 
quelques emplois sans consequence , comme de nourrir des 
scarabees, des musanignes et d'autres petils anunaux 
sacres." — Tom. i. sect. 2. 



700 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



bralcd. Of these ceremonies so many imitations 
had. mi ler various names, multiplied throughout 
Europe, that at length the parent superstition ran 
a risk of being eclipsed by its progeny ; and, in 
order still to rank as the first Priesthood in the 
world, it became necessary for those of Egypt to 
remain still the best impostors. 

M Accordingly, every contrivance that art could 
devise, or labor execute — every resource that the 
wonderful knowledge of the Priests, in pyrotechny, 
mechanics, and dioptrics, could command — was 
brought into action to heighten the effect of their 
Mysteries, and give an air of enchantment to every 
Jhing connected with them. 

" The final scene of beatification — the Elysium, 
into which the Initiate was received — formed, of 
course, the leading attraction of these ceremonies ; 
and to render it captivating alike to the senses of 
the man of pleasure, and the imagination of the 
spiritualist, was the great object to which the at- 
tention of the Sacred College was devoted. By the 
influence of the Priests of Memphis over those of 
the other Temples they had succeeded in extending 
their subterranean frontier, both to the north and 
south, so as to include, within their ever-lighted 
Paradise, some of the gardens excavated for the use 
of the other Twelve Shrines. 

" The beauty of the young Alethe, the touching 
sweetness of her voice, and the sensibility that 
breathed throughout her every look and movement, 
rendered her a powerful auxiliary in such appeals to 
the imagination. She had been, accordingly, in 
her very childhood, selected from among her fair 
companions, as the most worthy representative of 
spiritual loveliness, in those pictures of Elysium — 
those scenes of another world — by which not only 
the fancy, but the reason, of the excited Aspirants 
was dazzled. 

" To the innocent child herself these shows 
were pastime. But to Theora, who kuew too well 
the imposition to which they were subservient, this 
profanation of all that she loved was a perpetual 
source of horror and remorse. Often would she — 
when Alethe stood smiling before her, arrayed, per- 
haps, as a spirit of the Elysian world — turn away, 
with a shudder, from the happy child, almost 
fancying she saw already the shadows of sin de- 
scending over that innocent brow, as she gazed 
upon it. 

" As the intellect of the young maid became 
more active and inquiring, the apprehensions and 
difficulties of the mother increased. Afraid to 
communicate her own precious secret, lest she 
should involve her child in the dangers that en- 
compassed it, she yet felt it to be no less a cruelty 
than a crime to leave bo- wholly immersed in the 



darkness of Paganism. In this dilemma, the only 
resource that remained to her was to select, and 
disengage from the dross that surrounded them, 
those pure particles of truth which lie at the 
bottom of all religions ; — those feelings, rather 
than doctrines, of which God has never left his 
creatures destitute, and which, in all ages, have 
furnished, to those who sought after it, some clue to 
his glory. 

" The unity and perfect goodness of the Creator; 
the fall of the human soul into corruption, its strug- 
gles with the dtarkness of this world, and its final 
redemption and reascent to the source of all spirit ; 
— these natural solutions of the problem of our 
existence, these elementary grounds of all religion 
and virtue, which Theora had heard illustrated by 
her Christian teacher, lay also, she knew, /eried 
under the theology of Egypt : and to impress them, 
in their abstract purity, upon the mind of hfti 
susceptible pupil, was, in default of more heaveiuy 
lights, her sole ambition aud care. 

f( It was generally their habit, after devoting their 
mornings to the service of the Temple, to pass their 
evenings and nights in one of those small mairions 
above ground, allotted, within the precincts of the 
Sacred College, to some of the most favored 
Priestesses. Here, oat of the reach of those gross 
superstitions, which pursued them, at every step, 
below, she endeavored to inform, as far as she could 
venture, the mind of her beloved girl ; and found 
it lean as naturally and instinctively to truth, 
as plants long shut up in darkness will, when 
light is let in upon them, incline themselves to 
its rays. 

" Frequently, as they sat together on the terrace 
at night, admiring that glorious assembly of stars, 
whose beauty first misled mankind into idolatry, 
she would explain to the young listener by what 
gradations of error it was that the worship, thus 
transferred from the Creator to the creature, sunk 
still lower and lower in the scale of being, till man, 
at length, presumed to deify man, and by the most 
monstrous of inversions, heaven was made the mere 
mirror of earth, reflecting back all its most earthly 
features. 

" Even in the Temple itself, the anxious moth- 
er would endeavor to interpose her purer lessons 
among the idolatrous ceremonies in which they 
were engaged. When the favorite ibis of Alethe 
took its station upon the shrine, and the young 
maiden was seen approaching, with all the gravity 
cf worship, the very bird which she had played 
with but an hour before — when the acacia-bough, 
which she herself had plucked, seemed to acquire 
a sudden sacredness in her eyes, as soon as the 
priest had breathed upon it — on all such occasions 



THE EPICUREAN. 



701 



Theora, though with fear and trembling, would ven- 
ture to suggest to the youthful worshipper the dis- 
tinction that should be drawn between the sensible 
object of adoration, and that spiritual, unseen 
Deity, of which it was but the remembrancer or 
type. 

" With sorrow, however, she soon discovered that, 
in thus but partially letting in light upon a mind 
far too ardent to rest satisfied with such glimmer- 
ings, she but bewildered the heart which she meant 
to guide, and cut down the feeble hope around 
which its faith twined, without substituting any 
other support in its place. As the beauty, too, of 
Alethe began to attract all eyes, new fears crowded 
upon the mother's heart ; — fears, in which she was 
but too much justified by the characters of some of 
those around her. 

" In this sacred abode, as may easily be conceived, 
morality did not always go hand in hand with reli- 
gion. The hypocritical and ambitious Orcus, who 
was, at this period, High Priest of Memphis, was 
a man, in every respect, qualified to preside over 
a system of such splendid fraud. He had reached 
that effective time of life, when enough of the 
warmth and vigor of youth remains to give anima- 
tion to the counsels of age. But, in his instance, 
youth had left only the baser passions behind, while 
age but brought with it a more refined maturity of 
mischief. The advantages of a faith appealing 
almost wholly to the senses, were well understood 
by him ; nor had he failed either to discover that, in 
order to render religion subservient to his own inter- 
ests, he must shape it adroitly to the interests and 
passions of others. 

" The state of anxiety and remorse in which the 
mind of the hapless Theora was kept by the scenes, 
however artfully veiled, which she daily witnessed 
around her, became at length intolerable. No perils 
that the cause of truth could bring with it would be 
half so dreadful as this endurance of sinfulness and 
deceit. Her child was, as yet, pure and innocent ; 
but, without that sentinel of the soul, Religion, how 
long might she continue so ? 

' ; This thought at once decided her : all other 
fears vanished before it. She resolved instantly to 
lay open to Alethe the whole secret of her soul ; to 
make this child, who was her only hope on earth, 
the sharer of all her hopes hi heaven, and then fly 
with her, as soon as possible, from this unhallowed 
spot, to the far desert — to the mountains — to any 
place, however desolate, where God and the con- 
sciousness of innocence might be with them. 

" The promptitude with which her young pupil 
caught from her the divine truths was even beyond 
what she expected. It was like the lighting of one 
torch at another, so prepared was Alethe's mind for 



the illumination. Amply, indeed, was the anxious 
mother now repaid for all her misery, by this per- 
fect communion of love and faith, and by the delight 
with which she saw her beloved child — like the 
young antelope, when first led by her dam to the 
well — drink thirstily by her side, at the source of all 
life and truth. 

" But such happiness was not long to last. The 
anxieties that Theora had suffered began to prey 
upon her health. She felt her strength daily de- 
cline ; and the thoughts of leaving, alone and un- 
guarded in the world, that treasure which she had 
just devoted to Heaven, gave her a feeling of despair 
which but hastened the ebb of life. Had she put in 
practice her resolution of flying from this place, her 
child might have been now beyond the reach of all 
she dreaded, and in the solitude of the desert would 
have found at least safety from wrong. But the 
very happiness she had felt in her new task diverted 
her from this project ; — and it was now too late, for 
she was already dying. 

" She still continued, however, to conceal the 
state of her health from the tender and sanguine 
girl, who, though observing the traces of disease on 
her mother's cheek, little knew that they were the 
hastening footsteps of death, nor even thought of 
the possibility of ever losing what was so dear to 
her. Too soon, however, the moment of separa- 
tion arrived ; and while the anguish and dismay 
of Alethe were in proportion to the security in 
' which she had indulged, Theora, toe ? elt, with 
bitter regret, that she had sacrificed to her tond con- 
sideration much precious time, and that there now 
remained but a few brief and painful moments, for 
the communication of all those wishes and instruc- 
tions on which the future destiny of the young 
orphan depended. 

" She had, indeed, time for little more than to 
place the sacred volume solemnly in her hands ; to 
implore that she would, at all risks, fly from this 
unholy place ; and, pointing in the direction of 
the mountains of the Said, to name, with her last 
breath, the venerable man, to whom, under Heaven, 
she looked for the protection and salvation of her 
child. 

" The first violence of feeling to which Alethe 
gave way was succeeded by a fixed and tearless 
grief, which rendered her insensible, for some time, 
to the dangers of her situation.. Her sole comfort 
consisted in visiting that monumental chapel where 
the beautiful remains of Theora lay. There, 
night after night, in contemplation of those placid 
features, and in prayers for the peace of the de- 
parted spirit, did she pass her lonely and — however 
sad they were — happiest hours. Though the mystic 
emblems that decorated that chapel were but ill- 



702 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



suited to the slumber of a Christian, there was one 
among them, the Cross, which, by a remarkable 
coincidence, is an emblem alike common to the 
Gentile and the Christian — being, to the former, a 
shadowy type of that immortality, of which, to the 
latter, it is a substantial and assuring pledge. 

" Nightly, upon this cross, which she had often 
seen tier lost mother kiss, did she breathe forth a so- 
lemn and heartfelt vow, never to abandon the faith 
which that departed spirit had bequeathed to her. 
To such enthusiasm, indeed, did her heart at such 
moments rise, that, but for the last injunctions from 
those pallid lips, she would, at once, have avowed 
her perilous secret, and boldly pronounced the 
words, ' I am a Christian,' among those benighted 
shrines ! 

■'.But the will of her, to whom she owed more 
than life, was to be obeyed. To escape from this 
haunt, of superstition must now, she felt, be her first 
object ; and, in planning the means of effecting it, 
her mind, day and night, was employed. It was 
with a loathing not to be concealed, that she now 
found herself compelled to resume her idolatrous 
services at the shrine. To some of the offices of 
Theora she succeeded, as is the custom, by in- 
heritance ; and in the performance of these tasks — 
sanctified as they were in her eyes by the pure 
spirit she had seen engaged in them — there was a 
sort of melancholy pleasure in which her sorrow 
found relief. But the part she was again forced to 
take, in the scenic shows of the Mysteries, brought 
with it a sense of degradation and wrong which she 
could no longer endure. 

" Already had she formed, in her own mind, a 
plan of escape, in which her acquaintance with all 
the windings of this mystic realm gave her confi- 
dence, when the solemn reception of Alciphron, as 
an Iuiticite, took place. 

" From the first moment of the landing of that 
philosopher at Alexandria, he had become an object 
of suspicion and watchfulness to the inquisitorial 
Greus, whom phho-^phy, in any shape, naturally 
alarmed, but to whom the sect over which the 
young Athenian presided was particularly obnoxious. 
The accomplishments of Alciphron, his popularity, 
wherever he went, and the bold freedom with which 
he indulged his wit at the expense of religion, were 
all faithfully reported to the High Priest by his 
spies, and awakened in his mind no kindly feelings 
towards the stranger. In dealing with an infidel, 
such a personage as Orcus could know no other 
alternative but that of either converting or destroy- 
ing him ; and though his spite, as a man, would 
have been more gratified by the latter proceeding, 
his pride, as a priest, led him to prefer the triumph 
ol the former. 



" The first descent of the Epicurean into the 
pyramid became speedily known, and the alarm was 
immediately given to the priests below. As soon as 
they had discovered that the young philosopher of 
Athens was the intruder, and that he not only still 
continued to linger round the pyramid, but was ob- 
served to look often and wistfully towards the portal, 
it was concluded that his curiosity would impel him 
to try a second descent ; and Orcus, blessing the 
good chance which had thus brought the wild bird 
into his net, resolved not to suffer an oppoit unity so 
precious to be wasted. 

" Instantly, the whole of that wonderful ma- 
chinery, by which the phantasms and illusions of 
Initiation are produced, were put in active prepara- 
tion throughout that subterranean realm ; and the 
increased stir and vigiA: ace awakened among its in- 
mates, by this more than ordinary display of the re- 
sources of priestcraft, rendered the accomplishment 
of Alethe's purpose, at such a moment, peculiarly 
difficult. Wholly ignorant of the important si. are 
which it had been her own fortune to take in at- 
tracting the young philosopher down to this region, 
she but heard of him vaguely, as the Chief of a great 
Grecian sect, who had been led, by either curiosity 
or accident, to expose himself to the first trials of 
Initiation ; and whom the priests, she could see, 
were endeavoring to ensnare in their toils, by every 
art and lure with which their dark science had 
gifted them. 

.'•' To her mind, the image of a philosopher, such 
as Alciphron had been represented to her, came as- 
sociated with ideas of age and reverence ; aud, more 
than once, tiie possibility of his being made instru- 
mental to her deliverance flashed a hope across her 
heart in which she could not refrain from indulging. 
Often had she been told by Theora of the many 
Gentile sages, who had laid their wisdom down 
humbly at the fcot of the Cross; and though this 
Initiate, she feared, could hardly be among the 
number, yet the rumors which she had gathered 
from the servants of the Temple, of his undisguised 
contempt for the errors of Heathenism, led her to 
hope she might find tolerance, if not sympathy, in 
her appeal to him. 

" Nor was it solely with a view to her own 
chance of deliverance that she thus connected him 
in her thoughts with the plan which she meditated. 
The look of proud and self-gratulating malice, with 
which the High Priest had mentioned this ' Infidel,' 
as he styled him, when giving her instructions in the 
scene she was to act before the philosopher in the 
valley, too plainly informed l^°r of the dark destiny 
that hung over him. She knew how many were 
the hapless candidates for Initiation who had been j 
doomed to a durance worse than that of tiie grave 



THE EPICUREAN. 



'03 



for but a word, a whisper, breathed against the 
sacred absurdities that they witnessed ; and it was 
evident to her that the venerable Greek (for such 
her fancy represented Aiciphron) was no less in- 
terested in escaping from the snares and perils of 
this regiov, than herself. 

" H ± c.va resolution was, at all events, fixed. 
That visionary scene, in which she had appeared 
before Aiciphron — little knowing how ardent were 
the heart and imagination over which her beauty, at 
that moment, exercised its influence — was, she sol- 
emnly resolved, the very last unholy service, that 
superstition or imposture should ever command of 
her. 

" On the following' night the Aspirant was to 
watch in the Great Temple of Isis. Such an op- 
portunity of approaching and addressing him might 
never come again. Should he, from compassion for 
her situation, or a sense of the danger of his own, 
consent to lend his aid to her flight, most gladly 
would she accept it — well assured that no danger 
or treachery she might risk could be half so odious 
and fearful as those which she left behind. Should 
he, on the contrary, reject the proposal, her deter- 
mination was equally fixed — to trust to that God 
whose eye watches over the innocent, and go forth 
alone. 

" To reach the island in Lake Moeris was her 
first great object ; and there occurred fortunately, at 
this time, a mode of effecting her purpose, by wmch 
both the difficulty and dangers of the attempt would 
be much diminished. The day of the annual visita- 
tion of the High Priest to the Place of Weeping' — 
as that island in the centre of the Lake is called — 
was now fast approaching ; and Alethe knew that 
the self-moving car, by which the High Priest and 
one of the Hierophants are conveyed down to the 
chambers under the Lake, stcod then waiting in 
readiness. By availing herself of this expedient, she 
would gain the double advantage both of facilitating 
her own flight, and retarding the speed of her pur- 
suers. 

" Having paid a last visit to the tomb of her be- 
loved mother, and wept there, long and passionately, 
till her heart almost failed in the struggle — having 
paused, too, to give a kiss to her favorite ibis, which, 
although too much a Christian to worship, she was 
still child enough to love — she went early, with a 
trembling step, to the Sanctuary, and there hid her- 
self in one of the recesses of the Shrine. Her in- 
tention was to steal out from thence to Aiciphron, 
while it was yet dark, and before the illumination 
of the great Statue behind the Veils had began. 
But her fears delayed her till it was almost too late ; 

i Vide Wilfurdy Asiatic Researches, vol. iii. p. 340. 



— already was the image lighted up, and still she 
remained trembling in her hiding-place. 

'•' In a few minutes more the mighty Veils would 
have been withdrawn, and the glories of that scene 
of enchantment laid open — when, at length, sum- 
moning all her courage, and taking advantage of a 
momentary absence of those employed in preparing 
this splendid mockery, she stole from under the Veil, 
and found her way, through the gloom, to the Epi- 
curean. There was then no time for explanation ; 
— she had but to trust to the simple words, ' Follow, 
and be silent ;' and the implicit readiness with which 
she found them obeyed filled her with no less sur- 
prise than the philosopher himself had felt in hearing 
them. 

" In a second or two they were on their way 
thiough the subterranean windings, leaving the 
ministers of Isis to waste their splendors on vacancy, 
through a long series of miracles and visions which 
they now exhibited — unconscious that he, whom 
the) were taking such pains to dazzle, was already, 
under the guidance of the young Christian, far re- 
moved beyond the reach of their deceiving spells." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Such was the singular story, of which this inno- 
cent girl now gave ine, in her own touching lan- 
guage, the outline. 

The sun was just rising as she finished her nar- 
rative. Fearful of encountering the expression of 
those feelings with which, she could not but observe, 
I was affected by her recital, scarcely had she con- 
cluded the last sentence, when, rising abruptly from 
her seat, she hurried into the pavilion, leaving me 
with the words fast crowding for utterance to my 
lips. 

Oppressed by the various emotions thus sent back 
upon my heart, I lay down on the deck in a stale 
of agitation, that defied even the most distant ap- 
proaches of sleep. While every word she had ut- 
tered, every feeling she expressed, but miuistered 
new fuel to that flame which consumed me, and to 
describe which, passion is far too weak a word, 
there was also much of her recital that disheartened 
and alarmed me. To find a Christian thus under 
the garb of a Memphian Priestess, was a discovery 
that, had my heart been less deeply interested, 
would but have more powerfully stimulated my im- 
agination and pride. But, when I recollected the 



704 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



austerity of the faith she had embraced— the tender 
and sacred tie associated with it in her memoiy, 
and the devotion of woman's heart to objects thus 
consecrated — her very perfections but widened the 
distance between us, and all that most kindled my 
passion at the same time chilled my hopes. 

Were we to be left to each other, as on this silent 
river, in such undisturbed communion of thoughts 
and feelings, I knew too well, I thought, both her 
sex's nature and my own, to feel a doubt that love 
would ultimately triumph. But the severity of the 
guardianship to which I must resign her — that of 
some monk of the desert, some stern Solitary — the 
influence such a monitor would gain over her mind 
— and the horror with which, ere long, he might 
teach her to regard the reprobate infidel upon whom 
she now smiled — in all this prospect I saw nothing 
but despair. After a few short hours, my dream 
of happiness would be at an end, and such a 
dark chasm must then open between our fates, as 
would dissever them, wide as earth from heaven, 
asunder. 

It was true, she was now wholly in my power. 
I feared no witnesses but those of earth, and the 
solitude of the desert was at hand. But though I 
acknowledged not a heaven, I worshipped her who 
was, to me, its type and substitute. If, at any mo- 
ment, a single thought of wrong or deceit, towards 
one so sacred arose in my mind, one look from her 
innocent eyes averted the sacrilege. Even pas- 
sion itself felt a holy fear in her presence — like the 
flame trembling in the breeze of the sanctu- 
ary — and Love, pure Love, stood in place of Reli- 
gion. 

As long as I knew not her story, I could indulge, 
at least, in dreams of the future. But, now — what 
expectation, what prospect remained? My single 
chance of happiness lay in the hope, however de- 
lusive, of being able to divert her thoughts from the 
fatal project she meditated ; of weaning her, by 
persuasion and argument, from that austere faith, 
which I had before hated and now feared ; and of 
attaching her, perhaps, alone and unlinked as she 
was in the world, to my own fortunes forever ! 

In the agitation of these thoughts, I had started 
from my resting place, and continued to pace up 
and down, under a burning sun, till, exhausted both 
by thought and feeling, I sunk down, amid that 
blaze of light, into a sleep, which to my fevered 
brain seemed a sleep of fire. 

On awaking, I found the veil of Alethe laid care- 
fully over my brow ; while she, herself, sat near 
me, under the shadow of the sail, looking anxiously 
upon that leaf, which her mother had given her, 
and employed apparently in comparing its outlines 
with the course of the river, as well as with the 



forms of the rocky hills by which we were passing 
She looked pale and troubled, and rose eagerly to 
meet me, as if she had long and impatiently waited 
for my waking. 

Her heart, it was plain, had been disturbed from 
its security, and was beginning to take alarm at its 
own feelings. But, though vaguely conscious of the 
peril to which she was exposed, her reliance, as is 
usual in such cases, increased with her danger, and 
upon me, far more than on herself, did she seem to 
depend for saving her. To reach, as soon as pos- 
sible, her asylum in the desert, was now the urgent 
object of her entreaties and wishes ; and the self- 
reproach which she expressed at having, for a single 
moment, suffered her thoughts to be diverted from 
this sacred purpose, not only revealed the truth, that 
she had forgotten it, but betrayed even a glimmer- 
ing consciousness of the cause. 

Her sleep, she said, had been broken by ill-omened 
dreams. Every moment the shade of her mother 
had stood before her, rebuking, with mournful looks, 
her delay, and pointing, as she had done in death, 
to the eastern hills. Bursting into tears at this ac- 
cusing recollection, she hastily placed the leaf, 
which she had been examining, in my hands, and 
implored that I would ascertain, without a moment's 
delay, what portion of our voyage was still unper- 
formed, and in what space of time we might hope 
to accomplish it. 

I had, still less than herself, taken note of either 
place or distance ; and could we have been left to 
glide on in this dream of happiness, should never 
have thought of pausing to ask where it would end. 
But such confidence was far soo sacred to be de- 
ceived ; and, reluctant as I naturally felt, to enter 
on an inquiry which might soon dissipate even my 
last hope, her wish was sufficient to supersede even 
the selfishness of love, and on the instant I pro- 
ceeded to obey her will. 

There stands on the eastern bank of the Nile, to 
the north of Antinoe, a high and steep rock, im- 
pending over the flood, which has borne, for ages, 
from a prodigy connected with it, the name of the 
Mountain of the Birds. Yearly, it is said, at a 
certain season and hour, large flocks of birds as- 
semble in the ravine, of which this rocky mountain 
forms one of the sides, and are there observed to go 
through the mysterious ceremony of inserting each 
its beak into a particular cleft of the rock, till the 
cleft closes upon one of their number, when all the 
rest of the birds take wing, and leave the selected 
victim to die. 

Through the ravine, rendered famous by this 
charm — for such the multitude consider it — there 
ran, in ancient times, a canal from the Nile, to 
some great and forgotten city, now buried in the 



THE EPICUREAN. 



705 



desert To a short distance from the river this 
caual still exists, but, after having passed through 
the defile, its scanty waters disappear, and are 
wbdly lost under the sands. 

It was in the neighborhood of this place, as I 
could collect from the delineations on the leaf — 
where a flight of birds represented the name of the 
mountain — that the abode of the Solitary, to whom 
Alethe was about to consign herself, was situated. 
Little as I knew of the geography of Egypt, it at 
once struck me, that we had long since left this 
mountain behind ; 2 and, on inquiring of our boat- 
men, I found my conjecture confirmed. We had, 
indeed, passed it on the preceding night : and, as 
the wind had been, ever since, blowing strongly 
from the north, and the sun was already sinking to- 
wards the horizon, we must be now, at least, a 
day's sail to the southward of the spot. 

This discoven T , I confess, filled my heart with a 
feeling of joy which I found it difficult to conceal. 
It seemed as if fortune was conspiring with love in 
my behalf, and, by thus delaying the moment of 
our separation, afforded me a chance at least of 
happiness. Her look and manner, too, when in- 
formed of our mistake, rather encouraged than 
chilled this secret hope. In the first moment of 
astonishment, her eyes opened upon me with a 
suddenness of splendor, under which I felt my own 
wink as though lightning had crossed them. But 
she again, as suddenly, let their lids fall, and, after a 
quiver of her Up, which showed the conflict of feel- 
ing then going on within, crossed her arms upon 
her bosom, and looked down silently upon the deck ; 
her whole countenance sinking into an expression, 
sad, but resigned, as if she now felt that fate was on 
the side of wrong, and saw Love already stealing 
between her soul and heaven. 

I was not slow, of course, in availing myself of 
what I fancied to be the irresolution of her mind. 
But, still, fearful of exciting alarm by any appeal to 
feelings of regard or tenderness, I but addressed 
myself to her imagination, and to that love of 
novelty and wonders, which is ever ready to be 
awakened within the youthful breast. We were 
now approaching that region of miracles, Thebes. 
" In a day or two, 5 ' said I, " we shall see, towering 
above the waters, the colossal Avenue of Sphinxes, 
and the bright Obelisks of the Sun. We shall visit 
the plain of Memnon, and behold those mighty 



1 The voyages on the Nile are, under favorable circum- 
stances, performed with considerable rapidity. " En cinq ou 
six jours," says Maillet, ''on pourroit aisement remonter de 
rembonchure dn Nil a ses cataractes, ou descendre des cata- 
ractes jusqu'a la mer." The great uncertainty of the navi- 
gation is proved by what Belzoni tells us : — " Nous ne mimes 
cette fois que deux jours et derai pour faire le trajet du Caire 



statues that fling their shadows 2 at sunrise over the 
Libyan hills. We shall hear the image of the Son 
of the Morning responding to the first touch of light, 
From thence, in a few hours, a breeze like this will 
transport us to those sunny islands near the cata- 
racts ; there, to wander, among the sacred palm- 
groves of Phike, or sit, at noontide hour, in those 
cool alcoves, 3 which the waterfall of Syene shadows 
under its arch. Oh, who is there that, with scenes 
of such loveliness within reach, would turn coldly 
away to the bleak desert, and leave this fair world, 
with all its enchantments, shining unseen and unen- 
joyed? At least*' — I added, taking tenderly her 
hand hi mine — " let a few more days be stolen from 
the dreary fate to which thou hast devoted thyself, 
and then " 

She had heard but the last few words — the rest 
had been lost upon her. Startled by the tone of 
tenderness into which, in despite of all my resolves, 
I had suffered my voice to soften, she looked for an 
instant with passionate earnestness into my face ; — 
then, dropping upon her knees with her clasped 
hands upraised, exclaimed, — " Tempt me not, in 
the name of God I implore thee, tempt me not to 
swerve from my sacred duty. Oh ! take me in- 
stantly to that desert mountain, and I will bless thee 
forever." 

This appeal, I felt, could not be resisted — even 
though my heart were to break for it. Having 
silently intimated my assent to her prayer, by a 
slight pressure of her hand as I raised her from the 
deck, I proceeded immediately, as we were still in 
full career for the south, to give orders that our 
sail should be instantly lowered, and not a moment 
lost in retracing our course. 

In giving these directions, however, it, for the 
first time, occurred to me, that, as I had hired this 
yacht in the neighborhood of Memphis, wfcere it 
was probable the flight of the young Priestess would 
be most vigilantly tracked, we should run the risk 
of betraying to the boatmen the place of her retreat ; 
— and there was now a most favorable opportunity 
for taking precautions against this danger. De- 
siring, therefore, that we should be landed at a small 
village on the shore, under pretence of paying a 
visit to some shrine in the neighborhood, I there 
dismissed our barge, and was relieved from fear of 
further observation, by seeing it again set sail, and 
resume its course fleetly up the current. 



a Melawi, auquel, dans notre second voyage, nous avions 
employe dix-huit jours." 

2 " Elles ont pres de vingt metres (61 pieds) d'elivation ; 
et au lever du soleil, leurs ombres immenses s'ctendent in 
loin sur la chaine Libyenne." Description generate ds 
Thebes, par MM. Jollois et DcsviUiers. 

? Paul Lucas. 



45 



706 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



From the boats of all descriptions that lay idle 
beside the bank, I now selected one, in every re- 
spect, suited to my purpose — being, in its shape and 
accommodations, a miniature of our former vessel, 
but, at the same time, so light and small as to be 
manageable by myself alone, and requiring, with 
the advantage of the current, little more than a 
hand to steer it. This boat I succeeded, without 
much difficulty, in purchasing, and, after a short 
delay, we were again afloat down the current ; — the 
sun just then sinking, in conscious glory, over his 
own golden shrines in the Libyan waste. 

The evening was calmer u,nd more lovely than 
any that had yet smiled upon our voyage ; and, as 
we left the shore, a strain of sweet melody came 
soothingly over our ears. J.t was the voice of a 
young Nubian girl, whom we saw kneeling before 
an acacia, upon the bank, and singing, while her 
compan'ons stood around, the wild song of invoca- 
tion, which, in her country, they address to that 
enchanted tree : — • 

" Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 

We pray, we pray to thee ; 
By the glow of thy golden fruit, 
And the violet hue of thy flower, 

And the greeting mute 

Of thy bough's salute 
To the stranger who seeks thy bower. 1 

" Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 

How the traveller blesses thee, 
When the night no moon allows, 
And the sunset hour is near, 

And thou bend'st thy boughs 

To kiss his brows, 
Saying, 'Come, rest thee here.' 

Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 

Thus bow thy head to me !" 

In the burden of this song the companions of the 
young Nubian joined ; and we heard the words, 
" Oh ! Abyssinian tree," dying away on the breeze, 
long after the whole group had been lost to our 
eyes. 

Whether, in the new arrangement which I had 
made for our voyage, an motive, besides those 
which I professed, had a share, I can scarcely, even 
myself — so bewildered were then my feelings — 
determine. But no sooner had the current borne 
us away from all human dwellings, and we were 
alone on the waters, with not a soul near, than I 
felt how closely such solitude draws hearts toge- 
ther, and how much more we seemed to belong to 
each other, than when there were eyes around 
us. 

The same feeling, but without the same sense of 

* See an account of this sensitive tree, which bends down 
its branches to those who approach it, in M. Joinard's De- 
scription of Syene and the Cataracts. 



its danger, was manifest in every look and word of 
Aiethe. The consciousness of the one great effort 
which she had made appeared to have satisfied her 
heart on the score of duty — while the devotedness 
with which she saw I attended to her every wish, 
was felt with all that trusting gratitude which, in 
woman, is the day-spring of love. She was, there- 
fore, happy, innocently happy ; and the confiding, 
and even affectionate, unreserve of her manner, 
while it rendered my trust more eacred, made it 
also far more difficult. 

It was only, however, upon subjects unconnected 
with our situation or fate, that she y .elded to such 
interchange of thought, or that her voice ventured 
to answer mine. The moment I alluded to the 
destiny that awaited us, all her cheerfulness fled, 
and she became saddened and silent. When I de- 
scribed to her the beauty of my own native land — 
its founts of inspiration and fields of glory — her 
eyes sparkled with sympathy, and sometimes even 
softened into fondness. But when I ventured to 
whisper, that, in that glorious country, a life full of 
love and liberty awaited her ; when I proceeded to 
contrast the adoration and bliss she might command, 
with the gloomy austerities of the life to which she 
was hastening — it was like the coming of a sudden 
cloud over a summer sky. Her head sunk, as she 
listened ; — I waited in vain for an answer ; and 
when, half playfully reproaching her for this silence, 
I stooped to take her hand, I could feel the warm 
tears fast falling over it. 

But even this — feeble as was the hope it held out 
— was still a glimpse of happiness. Though it fore- 
boded that I should lose her, it also whispered that 
I was loved. Like that lake, in the land of Roses, 2 
whose waters are half sweet, half bitter, 3 I felt 
my fate to be a compound of bliss and pain — but its 
very pain well worth all ordinary bliss. 

And thus did the hours of that night pass along ; 
while every moment shortened our happy dieam, 
and the current seemed to flow with a swifter pace 
than any that ever yet hurried to the sea. Not a 
feature of the whole scene but lives, at this moment, 
freshly in my memory ; — the broken starlight on 
the water ; — the rippling sound of the boat, as, 
without oar or sail, it went, like a thing of enchant- 
ment, down the stream ; — the scented fire, burning 
beside us upon the deck, and then that face, on 
which its light fell, revealing, at every moment, 
some new charm — some blush or look, more beau- 
tiful than the last ! 

Often, while I sat gazing, forgetful of all else, 
in this world, our boat, left wholly to itself, would 

2 The province of Arsinoe, now Fioum. 

3 Paul Lucas. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



707 



drive from its course, and bearing us away to the 
bank, get entangled in the water flowers, or be 
caught in some eddy, ere I perceived where we 
were. Once, too, when the rustling of my oar 
among the flowers had startled away from the bank 
some wild antelopes, that had stolen, at that still 
hour, to drink of the Nile, what an emblem did I 
think it of the young heart then beside me — tasting, 
fir the first time, of hope and love, and so soon, 
alas, to be scared from their sweetness forever ! 



CHAPTER XV. 

The night was now far advanced — the bend of 
our course towards the left, and the closing in of the 
eastern hills upon the river, gave warning of our 
approach to the hermit's dwelling. Every minute 
now appeareS like the last of existence ; and I felt 
a sinking of despair at my heart, which would have 
been intolerable, had not a resolution that suddenly, 
and as if by inspiration, occurred to me, presented a 
glimpse of hope, which, in some degree, calmed my 
feelings. 

Much as I had, all my life, despised hypocrisy — 
the very sect I had embraced being chiefly recom- 
mended to me by the war they continued to wage 
upon the cant of all others — it was, nevertheless, 
in hypocrisy that I now scrupled not to take refuge 
from that calamity which to me was far worse than 
either shame or death, my separation from Alethe. 
In my despair, I adopted the humiliating plan — 
deeply humiliating as I felt it to be, even amid the 
joy with which I welcomed it — of offering myself 
to this hermit as a convert to his faith, and thus 
becoming the fellow-disciple of Alethe under his 
care ! 

From the moment I resolved upon this plan my 
spirit felt lightened. Though having fully before 
my eyes the mean labyrinth of imposture into 
which it would lead me, I thought of nothing but 
the chance of our continuing still together. In this 
hope, all pride, all philosophy, was forgotten, and 
every thing seemed tolerable, but the prospect of 
losing her. 

Thus resolved, it was with somewhat less reluc- 
tant feelings that I now undertook, at the anxious 
desire of my companion, to ascertain f ,he site of 
that well-known mountain in the neighborhood of 
which the anchoret's dwelling lay. We had already 
passed one or two stupendous rocks, which stood, 



detached, like fortresses, over the river's brink, and 
which in some degree corresponded with the de- 
scription on the leaf. So little was there of life now 
stirring along the shores, that I had begun almost to 
despair of any ass'stanee from inquiry, when, on 
looking to the western bank, I saw a boatman 
among the sedges, towing his small boat, with some 
difficulty, up the current. Hailing him as we pass- 
eo, 1 asked, — " Where stands the Mountain of the 
Birds?' 1 — and he had hardly time, as he pointed 
above us, to answer '"There," when we perceived 
that we were just then entering into the shadow, 
which this mighty rock flings across the whole of 
the flood. 

In a few momeuts we had reached the mouth of 
the ravine, of which the Mountain of the Birds 
forms one of the sides, and through which the 
scanty canal from the Nile flows. At the sight of 
this awful chasm, within some of whose dreary re- 
cesses (if we had rightly interpreted the leaf) the 
dwelling of the Solitary was to be found, our voices 
sunk at once into a low whisper, while Alethe 
turned round to me with a look of awe and eager- 
ness, as if doubtful whether I had not already dis- 
appeared from her side. A quick movement, how- 
ever, of her hand towards the ravine, told too plain- 
ly that her purpose was still unchanged. Imme- 
diately checking, therefore, with my oars, the 
career of our boat, I succeeded, after no small exer- 
tion, in turning it out of the current of the river, and 
steering into this bleak and stagnant canal. 

Our transition from life and bloom to the very 
depth of desolation was immediate. While the water 
on one side of the ravine lay buried in shadow, the 
white skeleton-like crags of the other stood aloft in 
the pale glare of moonlight. The sluggish stream 
through which we moved yielded sullenly to the 
oar, and the shriek of a few water-birds, which we 
had roused from their fastnesses, was succeeded by 
a silence, so dead and awful, that our lips seemed 
afraid to disturb it by a breath ; and half-whispered 
exclamations, " How dreary !" — " How dismal !" — 
were almost the only words exchanged between 
us. 

We had proceeded for some time through this 
gloomy defile, when, at a short distance before us, 
among the rocks upon which the moonlight fell, 
we could perceive, on a ledge elevated but a little 
above the canal, a small hut or cave, which, from 
a tree or two planted around it, had some appear- 
ance of being the abode of a human being. " This, 
then," thought I, " is the home to which she is des- 



i There has been much controversy among the Arabian 
writers, with respect to the site of this mountain, for which 
see Qualrcmere, torn. i. art. rfinoun. 



708 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



lined !" — A chill of despair came again over my 
heart, and the oars, as I sat gazing, lay motionless 
in my hands. 

I found Alethe, too, whose eyes had caught the 
same object, drawing closer to my side than she had 
yet ventured. Laying her hand agitatedly upon 
mine, " We must here," said she, " part, forever." 
I turned to her as she .spoke ; there was a tender- 
ness, a despondency, in her countenance, that at 
once saddened and inflamed my soul " Part !" I 
exclaimed, passionately — " No ! — the same God 
shall receive us both. Thy faith, Alethe, shall, from 
this hour, be mine ; and I will live and die hi this 
desert with thee !" 

Her surprise, her delight, at these words was nke 
a momentary delirium. The wild, anxious smile, 
with which she looked into my face, as if to ascer- 
tain whether she had indeed heard my words aright, 
bespoke a happiness too much for reason to bear. 
At length, the fulness of her heart found relief in 
tears ; and, murmuring forth an incoherent blessing 
on my name, she let her head fall languidly and 
powerlessly on my arm. The light from our boat- 
fire shone upon her face. I saw her eyes, which she 
had closed for a moment, again opening upon mo 
with the same tenderness, and — merciful Providence, 
how I remember that moment ! — was on the point 
of bending down my lips towards hers, when, sud- 
denly, in the air above us, as if coming direct from 
heaven, there burst forth a strain of choral music, 
that with its solemn sweetness filled the whole 
valley 

Breaking away from my caress at these super- 
natural sounds, the maiden threw herself trembling 
upon her knees, and, not daring to look up, ex- 
claimed wildly, " My mother, oh my mother !" 

It was the Christian's morning hymn that we 
heard ; — the same, as I learned afterwards, that, on 
their high terrace at Memphis, she had been taught 
by her mother to sing to the rising sun. 

Scarcely less startled than my companion, I 
looked up, and saw, at the very summit of the rock 
above us, a light, appearing to come from a small 
opening or window, through which those sounds 
likewise, that had appeared to me so supernatural, 
issued. There could be no doubt, that we had now 
found — if not the dwelling of the anchoret — at least, 
the haunt of some of the Christian brotherhood of 
these rocks, by whose assistance we could not fail to 
find the place of his retreat. 

The agitation, into which Alethe had been thrown 
by the first burst of that psalmody, soon yielded to 
the softening recollections which it brought back ; 
and a calm came over her brow, such as it had 
never before worn, since we met. She seemed to 
feel as if she had now reached her destined haven, 



and hailed, as the voice of heaven itself, those 
solemn sounds by which she was welcomed to it 

In her tranquillity, however, I was very far from 
yet sympathizing. Full of impatience to learn all 
that awaited her as well as myself, I pushed our 
boat close to the base of the rock, so as to bring it 
directly under that lighted window on the summit, 
to explore my way up to which was now my im- j 
mediate object. Having hastily received my in- | 
strurtions from Alethe, and made her repeat again ( 
the name of the Christian whom we sought, I ! 
sprang upon the bank, and was not long in discover- 
ing a sort of path, or stairway, cut rudely out of the 
rock, and leading, as I found, by easy windings, up 
the steep. 

After ascending for some t,. iC, I arrived at a level 
space or ledge, which the hand of labor had suc- 
ceeded in converting into a garden, 1 and which was 
planted, here and there, with fig-trees and palms. 
Around it, too, I could perceive, through the glim- 
mering light, a number of small caves or grottoes, 
into some of which, human beings might find an en- 
trance ; while others appeared of no larger dimen- 
sions than those tombs of the Sacred Birds which 
are seen ranged around Lake Moeris. 

I was still, I found, but half-way up the ascent, 
nor was there visible any further means of continu- 
ing my course, as the mountain from hence rose, 
almost perpendicularly, like a wall. At length, 
however, on exploring more closely, I discovered 
behind the shade of a fig-tree a large ladder of 
wood, resting firmly against the rock, and affording 
an easy and safe ascent' up the steep. 

Having ascertained thus far, I again descended 
to the boat for Alethe, whom I found trembling 
already at her short solitude ; and having led 
her up the stairway to this quiet garden, left her 
lodged there securely, amid its holy silence, while 
I pursued my way upward to the light upon the 
rock. 

At the top of the long ladder I found myself on 
another ledge or platform, somewhat smaller than 
the first, but planted in the same manner, with 
trees, and, as I could perceive by the mingled light 
of morning and the moon, embellished with flowers. 
I was now near the summit ; — there remained but 
another short ascent, and, as a ladder against the 
rock supplied, as before, the means of scaling it, I 
was in a few minutes at the opening from which 
the light issued. 

I had ascended gently, as well from a feeling of 
awe at the whole scene, as from an unwillingness 



1 The monks of Mount Sinai (Shaw says) have covered 
over near four acres of the naked rocks with fruitful gar- 
dens and orchards. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



709 



to disturb rudely the rites on which I intruded. 
approach, therefore, being unheard, an oppor- 
tuoity was, for some moments, afforded me of ob- 
serving the group within, before my appearance at 
i was discovered. 
In the w the apartment, which seemed 

to have been once a Pagan oratory, there was col- 
I an assembly of about seven or eight persons, 
male, some female, kneeling in silence round 
altar — while, among them, as if presiding 
solemn ceremony, stood an aged man, 
who, at the moment of my arrival, was presenting 
to one of the female worshippers an alabaster cup, 
ied, with profound reverence, to her 
lips. The venerable countenance of the minister, 
nounced a short prayer over her head, 
an expression of profound feeling that showed 
how wholly he was absorbed in that rite ; and when 
she had drunk of the cup — which I saw had en- 
i the image of a head, 1 with a glory 
i it — the holy man bent down and kissed her 
forehead. 2 

After thi ; salutation, the whole group 

rose sdently from their knees ; and it was then, for 
the first time, that, by a cry of terror from one of 
the women, the appearance of a stranger at the 
window was discovered. The whole assembly 
seemed startled and alarmed, except him, that su- 
perior person, who, advancing from the altar, with 
an unmoved look, raised the latch of the door ad- 
. to the window, and admitted me. 
There was, in this old man's features, a mixture 
of elevation and sweetness, of simplicity and energy, 
h commanded at once attachment and homage ; 
half hoping, half fearing, to find in him the 
destined guardian of Alethe, I looked anxiously in 
his face, as I entered, and pronounced the name 
:" — " Melanius is my name, young 
aswered; " and whether in friend- 
:-r in enmity thou comest, Melanius blesses 
Thus saying, he made a sign with his right 
hand above my head, while, with involuntary re- 
spect, I bowed tx3n*v-\th the benediction. 

• : Let this volume,*' I replied, " answer for the 
peaeefulness of my mission" — at the same time, 
placing in his hands the copy of the Scriptures 
which had been his own gift to the mother of Alethe, 
and which her child now brought as the credential 



i There was usually, Tertullian tells us, the image of 

on the communion-cups. 

- • We are rather disposed to infer," says the late Bishop 

leolu, in his very sensible work on Tertullian. "that, 

at the conclusion of all their meetings for the purpose of 

devotion, the early Christians were accustomed to g ; ve the 



of her claims on his protection. At the sight of this 
sacred pledge, which he instantly recognised, the 
solemnity that had at first marked his reception of 
me softened into tenderness. Thoughts of other 
times appeared to pass through his mind ; and as, 
with a sigh of recollection, he took the book from 
my hands, some words on the outer leaf caught his 
eye. They were few — but contained, most proba- 
bly, the last wishes of the dying Theora ; for, as he 
read them over eagerly, I saw tears in his aged 
eyes. {J The trust," he said, with a faltering voice, 
s: is precious and sacred, and God will enable, I hope, 
his servant to guard it faithfully." 

During this short dialogue, the other persons of 
the assembly had departed — being, as I afterwards 
learned, brethren from the neighboring bank of the 
Nile, who came thus secretly before daybreak, 3 to 
join in worshipping their God. Fearful lest their 
descent down the rock might alarm Alethe, I hur- 
ried briefly over the few words of explanation that 
remained, and leaving the venerable Christian to 
follow at his leisure, hastened anxiously down to 
rejoin the young maiden. 



CHAPTER XVI 

Melanius was one of the first of those zealous 
Christians of Egypt, who, following the recent ex- 
ample of the hermit, Paul, bade farewell to all the 
comforts of social existence, and betook themselves 
to a life of contemplation in the desert. Less selfish, 
however, in his piety, than most of these ascetics, 
Melanius forgot not the world in leaving it. He 
knew that man was not born to live wholly for him- 
self ; that his relation to human kind was that of 
the link to the chain, and that even his solitude 
should be turned to the advantage of others. In 
flying, therefore, from the din and disturbance of 
life, he sought not to place himself beyond the reach 
of its sympathies, but selected a retreat where he 
could combine all the advantages of solitude with 
those opportunities of being useful to his fellow-men. 



kiss of peace, in token of the brotherly love subsisting be- 
tween them." 

3 It was among the accusations of Celsus against the 
Christians, that they held their assemblies privately, ami 
contrary to law ; and one of the speakers, in the curious 
work of .Minucius Felix, calls the Christians " latebrosa et 
lucilugax natio." 



710 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



which a neighborhood to their populous haunts 
would afford. 

That taste for the gloom of subterranean recesses, 
which the race of Misraim inherit from their Ethi- 
opian ancestors, had, by hollowing out all Egypt 
into caverns and crypts, supplied these Christian 
anchorets with an ample choice of retreats. Ac- 
cordingly, some found a shelter in the grottoes of 
Elethya ; — others, among the royal tombs of the 
Thebaid. In the middle of the Seven Valleys, 1 
where the sun rarely shines, a few have fixed their 
dim and melancholy retreat ; while others have 
sought the neighborhood of the red Lakes of Nitria, 2 
and there, like those Pagan solitaries of old, who 
fixed their dwelling among the palm-trees near the 
Dead Sea, pass their whole lives in musing amidst 
the sterility of nature, and seem to find, in her deso- 
lation, peace. 

It was on one of the mountains of the Said, to 
the east of the river, that Melanius, as we have 
seen, chose his place of seclusion— having all the 
life and fertility of the Nile on one side, and the 
lone, dismal barrenness of the desert on the other. 
Half way down this mountain, where it impends 
over the ravine, he found a series of caves or grot- 
toes dug out of the rock, which had, in other times, 
ministered to some purpose of mystery, but whose 
use had long been forgotten, and their recesses 
abandoned. 

To this place, after the banishment of his great 
master, Origen, Melanius, with a few faithful fol- 
lowers, retired, and there, by the example of his 
innocent life, as well as by his fervid eloquence, 
succeeded in winning crowds of converts to his 
faith. Placed, as he was, in the neighborhood of 
the rich city, Antinoe, 3 though he mingled not 
with its multitude, his name and his fame were 
ever among them, and, to all who sought after in- 
struction or consolation, the cell of the hermit was 
always open. 

Notwithstanding the rigid abstinence of his own 
habits, he was yet careful to provide for the com- 
forts of others. Content with a rude pallet of straw, 
himself, he had always for the stranger a less 
homely resting-place. From his grotto, the way- 
faring and the indigent never went unrefreshed ; 
and, with the aid of some of his brethren, he had 
formed gardens along the ledges of the mountain, 
which gave an air of life and cheerfulness to his 



1 See Macrizifs account of these valleys, given by Qua- 
tremerc, torn. i. p. 450. 

2 For a striking description of this region, see " Ramescs" 
a work which, though in general too technical and elaborate, 
shows, in many passages, to what picturesque effects the 
scenery and mythology of Egypt may bo made subservient. 



rocky dwelling, and supplied him with the chief 
necessaries of such a climate — fruit and shade. 

Though the acquaintance he had formed with 
the mother of Alethe, during the short period of 
her attendance at the school of Origen, was soon 
interrupted, and never afterwards renewed, the 
interest which he had then taken in her fate was 
far too lively to bo forgotten. He had seen the 
zeal with which her young heart welcomed in- 
struction ; and the thought that so promising a can- 
didate for heaven should have relapsed into idolatry, 
came often, with disquieting apprehension, over his 
mind. 

It was, therefore, with true pleasure, that, but a 
year or two before Theora's death, he had learned 
by a private communication from her, transmitted 
through a Christian enbalmer of Memphis, that 
" not only had her own heart taken root in the 
faith, but that a new bud had flowered with the 
same divine hope ; and that, ere long, he might see 
them both transplanted to the desert." 

The coming, therefore, of Alethe was far less a 
surprise to him, than her coming thus alone was a 
shock and a sorrow ; and the silence of their first 
meeting showed how painfully both remembered 
that the tie which had brought them together was 
no longer of this world — that the hand, which 
should have been then joined with theirs, was 
mouldering in the tomb. I now saw, that even 
religion like his was not proof against the sadness 
of mortality. For, as the old man put aside the 
ringlets from her forehead, and contemplated in 
that clear countenance the reflection of what her 
mother had been, there mingled a mournfulness 
with his piety, as he said, " Heaven rest her soul !" 
which showed how little even the certainty of a 
heaven for those we love can reconcile us to tho 
pain of having lost them on earth* 

The full light of day had now risen upon the 
desert, and our host, reminded, by the faint looks 
of Alethe, of the many anxious hours we had 
passed without sleep, proposed that we should 
seek, in the chambers of the rock, such rest as a 
hermit's dwelling could offer. Pointing to one of 
the largest of these openings, as he addressed 
me — " Thou wilt find," he said, " in that grotto 
a bed of fresh doum leaves, and may the conscious- 
ness of having protected the orphan sweeten thy 
sleep !" 



3 From the position assigned to Antinoe" in this work, we 
should conclude that it extended much farther to the north, 
than the few ruins of it that remain would seem to indicate, 
and that the distance between the city and the Mountain 
of the Birds was considerably less than what it appears to 
be at present. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



711 



I felt how dearly this praise had been earned, 
and already almost repented of having deserved 
it. There was a sadness in the countenance of 
Alethe, as I took leave of her, to which the fore- 
bodings of my own heart but too faithfully re- 
sponded ; nor could I help fearing, as her hand 
parted lingeringly from mine, that I had, by this 
sacrifice, placed her beyond my reach fqrever. 

Having lighted for me a lamp, which, in these 
recesses, even at noon, is necessary, the holy man 
led me to the entrance of the grotto. And here, I 
blush to say, my career of hypocrisy began. With 
the sole view of obtaining another glance at Alethe, 
I turned humbly to solicit the benediction of 
the Christian, and, having conveyed to her, while 
bending reverently down, as much of the deep 
feeling of my soul as looks could express, I then, 
with a desponding spirit, hurried into the cavern. 

A short passage led me to the chamber within — 
the walls of which I found covered, like those of 
the grottoes of Lycopolis, with paintings, which, 
though executed long ages ago, looked as fresh as 
if their colors were but laid on yesterday. They 
were, all of them, representations of rural and 
domestic, scenes ; and, in the greater number, the 
melancholy imagination of the artist had called in, 
as usual, the presence of Death, to throw his shadow 
over the picture. 

My attention was particularly drawn to one series 
of subjects, throughout the whole of which the same 
group — consisting of a youth, a maiden, and two 
aged persons, who appeared to be the father and 
mother of the girl — were represented in all the de- 
tails of their daily life. The looks and attitudes of 
the young people denoted that they were lovers ; 
and, sometimes, they were seen sitting under a 
canopy of flowers, with their eyes fixed on each 
other's faces, as though they could never look 
away ; sometimes, they appeared walking along 
the banks of the Nile, — 

on one of those sweet nights 

When Isis, the pure star of lovers, 1 lights 
Her bridal crescent o'er the holy stream- 
When wandering youths and maidens watch her beam, 
And number o'er the nights she hath to run, 
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun. 2 

Through all these scenes of endearment the two 
elder persons stood by : — their calm countenances 
touched with a share of that bliss, in whose perfect 
light the young lovers were basking. Thus far, all 
was happiness ; — but the sad lesson of mortality 
| was yet to come. In the last picture of the series, 
I one of the figures was missing. It was that of the 

j * Vide Plutarch, de Isid. 

3 " Conjunctio solis cum luna, quod est veluti utriusque 
connubium." Jablonski. 



young maiden, who had disappeared from among 
them. On the brink of a dark lake stood the three 
who remained ; while a boat, just departing for the 
City of the Dead, told too plainly the end of their 
dream of happiness. 

This memorial of a sorrow of other times — of a 
sorrow, ancient as death itself— was not wanting 
to deepen the melancholy of my mind, or to add 
to the weight of the many bodings that pressed 
upon it. 

After a night, as it seemed, of anxious and un- 
sleeping thought, I rose from my bed and returned 
to the garden. I found the Christian alone — seat- 
ed, under the shade of one of his trees, at a small 
table, on which there lay a volume unrolled, while 
a beautiful antelope was sleeping at his feet. Struck 
by the contrast which he presented to those haughty 
priests, whom I had seen surrounded by the pomp 
and gorgeousness of temples, " Is this, then," thought 
I, "the faith before which the world now trem- 
bles — its temple the desert, its treasury a book, 
and its High Priest the solitary dweller of the 
rock?" 

He had prepared for me a simple, but hospitable ' 
repast, of which fruits from bis own garden, the 
white bread of Olyra, and the juice of the honey- 
cane, formed the most costly luxuries. His man- 
ner to me was even more cordial and fatherly than 
before ; but the absence of Alethe, and, still more, 
the ominous reserve, with which he not only, him- 
self, refrained from all mention of her name, but 
eluded the few inquiries, by which I sought to lead 
to it, seemed to confirm all the apprehensions I had 
felt in parting from her. 

She had acquainted him, it was evident, with 
the whole history of our flight. My reputation as 
a philosopher — my desire to become a Christian — 
all was already known to the zealous anchoret, and 
the subject of my conversion was the very first on 
which he entered. Oh, pride of philosophy, how 
wert thou then humbled, and with what shame did 
I stand in the presence of that venerable man, not 
daring to let my eyes encounter his, while, with 
unhesitating trust in the sincerity of my intention, 
he welcomed me to a participation of his holy hope, 
and imprinted the Kiss of Charity on my infidol 
brow ! 

Embarrassed as I could not but feel by the hu- 
miliating consciousness of hypocrisy, I v/as even still 
more perplexed by my almost total ignorance of the 
real tenets of the faith to which I professed myself 
a convert. Abashed and confused, and whh a 
heart sick at its own deceit, I listened to the 
animated and eloquent gratulations of the Christian, 
as though they were words in a dream, witho it any 
link or meaning ; nor could disguise but by the 



712 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



mockery of a reverent bow, at every pause, the 
total want of self-possession, and even of speech, 
under which I labored. 

A few minutes more of such trial, and I must 
have avowed my imposture. But the holy man 
perceived my embarrassment ; — and, whether mis- 
taking it for awe, or knowing it to be ignorance, re- 
lieved me from my perplexity by, at once, changing 
the theme. Having gently awakened his antelope 
from its sleep, " You have doubtless," he said, 
" heard of my brother-anchoret, Paul, who, from 
his cave in the marble mountains, near the Red 
Sea, sends hourly the blessed ' sacrifice of thanks- 
giving' to heaven. Of his walks, they tell me, a 
lion is the companion f but, for me," he added with 
a playful and significant smile, " who try my powers 
of taming but on the gentler animals, this feeble 
child of the desert is a far fitter playmate." Then, 
taking his staff, and putting the time-worn volume 
which he had been perusing into a large goat-skin 
pouch, that hung by his side, " I will now," said 
he, " conduct thee over my rocky kingdom, that 
thou mayest see in what drear and barren places 
that ' sweet fruit of the spirit,' Peace, may be 
gathered." 

To speak of peace to a heart throbbing, as mine 
did, at that moment, was like talking of some dis- 
tant harbor to the mariner sinking at sea. In vain 
did I look around for some sign of Alethe ; — in vain 
make an effort even to utter her name. Conscious- 
ness of ray own deceit, as well as a fear of awaken- 
ing in the mind of Melanius any suspicion that 
might tend to frustrate my only hope, threw a fetter 
over my spirit, and checked my tongue. In humble 
silence, therefore, I followed ; while the cheerful 
old man, with slow, but firm step, ascended the 
rock, by the same ladders which I had mounted on 
the preceding night. 

During the time when the Decian Persecution 
was raging, many Christians, as he told me, of the 
neighborhood had take*i refuge under his protec- 
tion, in these grottoes ; and the small chapel upon 
the summit, where I had found his flock at prayer, 
was, in those awful times of suffering, their usual 
place of retreat, where, by drawing up these lad- 
ders, they were enabled to secure themselves from 
pursuit. 

The view, from the top of the rock, extending 
on either side, embraced the two extremes of fer- 
tility and desolation ; nor could the Epicurean 
and the Anchoret, who now stood gazing from 
that height, be at any loss to indulge their respec- 
tive tastes, between the living luxuriance of the 



i M Chdteaubriand has introduced Paul and his lion into 
the Martyrs, liv. xi. 



world on one side, and the dead, pulseless repose of 
the desert on the other. When we turned to the 
river, what a picture of animation presented it- 
self! Near us to the south, were the graceful 
colonnades of Antinoe, its proud, populous streets, 
and triumphal monuments. On the opposite shore, 
rich plains, all teeming with cultivation to the 
water's edg*, seemed to offer up, as from verdant 
altars, their fruits to the sun ; while, beneath us, 
the Nile, 

the glorious stream, 

That late between its banks was seen to glide — 
With shrines and marble cities, on each side, 
Glittering, like jewels strung along a chain — 
Had now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain 
And valley, like a giant from his bed 
Rising with outstretch'd limbs superbly spread. 

From this scene, on one side of the mountain, we had 
but to turn round our eyes to the other, &fc£ it was 
as if Nature herself had become suddenly extinct ; 
— a wide waste of sands, bleak and interminable, 
wearying out the sun with its sameness of desola- 
tion ; — black, burnt-up rocks, that stood as bar- 
riers, at which life stopped ; — while the only signs 
of animation, past or present, were the footprints, 
here and there, of an antelope or ostrich, or the 
bones of dead camels, as they lay whitening at a 
distance, marking out the track of the caravans over 
the waste. 

After listening, while he contrasted, in a few 
eloquent words, the two regions of life and death on 
whose confines we stood, I again descended with 
my guide to the garden that we had left. From 
thence, turning into a path along the mountain-side, 
he led me to another row of grottoes, facing the 
desert, which had been once, he said, the abode of 
those brethren in Christ, who had fled with him to 
this solitude from the crowded world — but which 
death had, within a few short months, rendered 
tenantless. A cross of red stone, and a few faded 
trees, were the only traces these solitaries had left 
behind. 

A silence of some minutes succeeded, while we 
descended to the edge of the canal ; and I saw op- 
posite, among the rocks, that solitary cave which 
had so chilled me with its aspect on the preceding 
night. Beside the bank we found one of those rus- 
tic boats, which the Egyptians construct of planks 
of wild thorn, bound rudely together with bands of 
papyrus. Placing ourselves in this boat, and rather 
impelling than rowing it across, we made our way 
through the foul and shallow flood, and landed di- 
rectly under the si* \ pf the cave. 

This dwelling jthsituated, as I have already 
mentioned, on a lentp of the rock ; and, being pro- 
vided with a sort of window or aperture to admit 



THE EPICUREAN. 



71.1 



the light of heaven, was accounted, I found, far 
more cheerful than the grottoes on the other side of 
the ravine. But there was a dreariness in the whole 
region around, lo which light only lent additional 
horror. The dead whiteness of the rocks, as they 
stood, like ghosts, in the sunshine ; — that melan- 
choly pool, half lost in the sands ; — all gave to my 
mind the idea of a wasting world. To dwell in 
a place so desolate seemed to me a living death ; 
and when the Christian, as we entered the cave, 
said, " Here is to be thy home," prepared as I had 
been for the worst, all my resolution gave way ; — 
every feeling of disappointed passion and humbled 
pride, which had been gathering round my heart for 
the last few hours, found a vent at once, and I burst 
into tears. 

Accustomed to human weakness, and perhaps 
guessing at some of the sources of mine, the good 
Hermit, without appearing to take any notice of 
this emotion, proceeded to expatiate, with a cheer- 
ful air, on, what he called, the comforts of my 
dwelling. Sheltered from the dry, burning wind of 
the south, my porch would inhale, he said, the fresh 
breeze of the Dog-star. Fruits from his own moun- 
tain-garden should furnish my repast. The well 
of the neighboring rock would supply my beverage ; 
and " here," he continued — lowering his voice into 
a mere solemn tone, as he placed upon the table 
the volume which he had brought — " here, my son, 
is that ' well of living waters,' in which alone thou 
wilt find lasting refreshment or peace !" Thus 
saying, he descended the rock to his boat ; and, 
after a few plashes of his oar had died upon my ear, 
the solitude and silence that reigned around me was 
complete. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

What a fate was mine ! — but a few weeks since, 
presiding over that gay Festival of the Garden, with 
all the luxuries of existence tributary in my train ; 
and now — self-humbled into a solitary outcast — the 
hypocritical pupil of a Christian anchoret — without 
even the excuse of religious fanaticism, or any other 
madness, but that of love, wild love, to extenuate 



i "Je vis dans le (Insert des hirondelles d'un gris clair 
j oomme le sable sur lequel elles volent." — Denon. 

2 In alluding to Whiston's idea of a comet having caused 
the deluge, M. Girard, having remarked that the word Ty- 
phon means a deluge, adds, "On ne peut entendre par le 
terns du regne de Typhon qui celui pendant lequel le deluge 



my fall ! Were there a hope that, by this humili- 
ating waste of existence, I might purchase now 
and then a momentary glimpse of Alethe, even the 
depths of the desert, with such a chance, would be 
welcome. But to live — and live thus — without her, 
was a misery which I neither foresaw nor could 
endure. 

Hating even to look upon the den to which I 
was doomed, I hurried out into the air, and found 
my way, along the rocks, to the desert. The sun 
was going down, with that blood-red hue, which 
he so often wears, in this climate, at his setting. 
I saw the sands, stretching out, like a sea, to the 
horizon, as if their waste extended to the very 
verge of the world — and, in the bitterness of my 
feelings, rejoiced to see so large a potion of crea- 
tion rescued, even by this barren liberty, from the 
encroaching grasp of man. The thought seemed to 
relieve my wounded pride, and, as I wandered over 
the dim and boundless solitude, to be thus free, 
even amidst blight and desolation, appeared to me a 



The only living thing I saw was a restless swal- 
low, whose wings were of the same hue with the 
gray sands over which he fluttered. 1 " Why 
(thought I) may not the mind, like this bird, par- 
take of the color of the desert, and sympathize in 
its austerity, its freedom, and its calm?" — thus 
vainly endeavoring, between despondence and de- 
fiance, to encounter with some degree of fortitude 
what yet my heart sickened to contemplate. But 
the effort was unavailing. Overcome by that vast 
solitude, whose repose was not the slumber of peace, 
but rather the sullen and burning silence of hate, I 
felt my spirit give way, and even love itself yielded 
to despair. 

Taking my seat on a fragment of a rock, and 
covering my eyes with my hands, I made an effort 
to shut out the overwhelming prospect. But all 
in vain — it was still before me, with every additional 
horror that fancy could suggest ; and when, again 
looking forth, I beheld the last red ray of the sun, 
shooting across the melancholy and lifeless waste, it 
appeared to me like the light of that comet which 
once desolated this world, 2 and thus luridly shone 
out over the ruin that it had made ! 

Appalled by my own gloomy imaginations, I 
turned towards the ravine ; and, notwithstanding 
the disgust with which I had fled from my dwell- 
ing, was not ill pleased to find my way, over the 



inonda la terre, terns pendant lequel on dut observer la co- 
mete qui l'occasionna, et dont 1'apparition fut, non settlement 
pour les peuples de I'Egypte, et de l'Ethiopie, mais encore 
pour tous peuples le presage funeste do leur destruction 
presque totale." — Description de la Valla de C Egartmcnt. 



714 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



rocks, to it again. On approaching the cave, to 
my astonishment, I saw a light within. At such a 
moment, any vestige of life was welcome, and I 
hailed the unexpected appearance with pleasure. 
On entering, however, I found the chamber all as 
lonely as I had left it. The light I had seen came 
from a lamp that burned brightly on the table ; 
beside it was unfolded the volume which Melanius 
had brought, and upon the open leaves — oh, joy and 
surprise — lay the well-known cross of Alethe ! 

What hand, but her own, could have prepared 
this reception for me ? — The very thought sent a 
hope into my heart, before which all despondency 
fled. Even the gloom of the desert was forgotten, 
and my rude cave at once brightened into a bower. 
She had here reminded me, by this sacred memo- 
rial, of the vow which I had pledged to her under 
the Hermit's rock ; and I now scrupled not to re- 
iterate the same daring promise, though conscious 
that through hypocrisy alone I could fulfil it. 

Eager to prepare myself for my task of impos- 
ture, I sat down to the volume, which I now found 
to be the Hebrew Scriptures ; and the first sentence, 
on which my eyes fell, was — " The Lord hath com- 
manded the blessing, even Life for evermore !" 
Startled by these words, in whicu it appeared to me 
as if the Spirit of my dream had again pronounced 
his assuring prediction, 1 I raised my eyes from the 
page, and repeated the sentence over and over, as if 
to try whether in these sounds there lay any charm 
or spell, to reawaken that faded illusion in my soul. 
But, no — the rank frauds of the Memphian priest- 
hood had dispelled all my trust in the promises of 
religion. My heart had again relapsed into its gloom 
of skepticism, and, to the word of " Life," the only 
answer it sent back was, " Death !" 

Being impatient, however, to possess myself of the 
elements of a faith, upon which — whatever it might 
promise for hereafter — I felt that all my happiness 
here depended, I turned over the pages with an 
earnestness and avidity, such as never even the 
most favorite of my studios had awakened in me. 
Though, like all who see&. Sit the surface of learn- 
ing, I flow desultorily over the leaves, lighting only 
on the more prominent and shining points, I yet 
found myself, even in this undisciplined career, ar- 
rested, at every page, by the awful, the supernatural 
sublimity, the alternate melancholy and grandeur of 
the images that crowded upon me. 

I had, till now, known the Hebrew theology but 
through the platonizing refinement of Philo; — as, 



i " Many people," said Origcn, " have been brought over 
to Christianity by the Spirit of God giving a sudden turn to 
their minds, and offering visions to thein either by day or 
night." On this Jortin remarks :—" Why should it be 



in like manner, for my knowledge of the Christian 
doctrine I was indebted to my brother Epicureans, 
Lucian and Celsus. Little, therefore, was my mind 
prepared for the simple majesty, the. high tone of 
inspiration — the poetry, in short, of heaven that 
breathed throughout these oracles. Could admira- 
tion have kindled faith, I should, that night, have 
been a believer ; so elevated, so awed, was my im- 
agination by that wonderful book — its warnings of 
wo, its announcements of glory, and its unrivalled 
strains of adoration and sorrow. 

Hour after hour, with the same eager and desul- 
tory curiosity, did I turn over the leaves ; — and 
when, at length, I lay down to rest, my fancy was 
still haunted by the impressions it had received. I 
went again through the various scene* 4 which I 
had read ; again called up, in sleep, the bright im- 
ages that had passed before me ; and when awa- 
kened at early dawn by the solemn Hymn from the 
chapel, imagined that I was still listening to the 
sound of the winds, sighing mournfully through the 
harps of Israel on the willows. 

Starting from my bed, I hurried out upon the 
rock, with a hope that, among the tones of that 
morning choir, I might be able to distinguish the 
sweet voice of Alethe. But the strain had ceased ; 
— I caught only the last notes of the Hymn, as, 
echoing up that lonely valley, they died awa^&into 
the silence of the desert. 

With the first glimpse of light I was again eager- 
ly at my study, and, notwithstanding the frequent 
distraction both of my thoughts and looks towards 
the distant, half-seen grottoes of the Anchoret, con- 
tinued my task with unabating perseverance through- 
out the day. Still alive, however, only to the elo- 
quence, the poetry of what I studied, of its claims to 
authority, as a history, I never once paused to con- 
sider. My fancy alone being interested by it, to 
fancy alone I referred all that it contained : and, 
passing rapidly from annals to prophecy, from nar- 
ration to song, regarded the whole but as a tissue of 
oriental allegories, in which the deep melancholy of 
Egyptian associations was interwoven with the rich 
and sensual imagery of the East. 

Towards sunset I saw the venerable Hermit, on 
his way, across the canal, to my cave. Tnough he 
was accompanied only by his graceful antelope, 
which came snuffing the wild air of the desert, as if 
scenting its home, I felt his visit, even thus, to be 
a most welcome relief. It was the hour, he said, 
of his evening ramble up the mountain — of his 



thought improbable that Pagans of good dispositions, but not 
free from prejudices, should have been called by divine ad- 
monitions, by dreams or visions, which might be a support 
to Christianity in those days of distress V 



THE EPICUREAN. 



accustomed visit to those cisterns of the rock, 
from which he drew nightly his most precious 
beverage. While he spoke, I observed in his hand 
one of those earthen cups, 1 in which it is the 
custom of the inhabitants of the wilderness to col- 
ect the fresh dew among the rocks. Having pro- 
posed that I should accompany him in his walk, 
he proceeded to lead me, in the direction of the 
desert, up the side of the mountain that rose above 
my dwelling, and which formed the southern wall 
or screen of the defile. 

Near the summit we found a seat, where the old 
man paused to rest. It commanded a full view 
over the desert, and was by the side of one of those 
hollows in the rock, those natural reservoirs, in 
which are treasured the dews of night for the 
refreshment of the dwellers in the wilderness. 
Having learned from me how far I had advauced 
in my study — " In yonder light," said he, pointing 
to a small cloud in the east, which had been formed 
en the horizon by the haze of the desert, and was 
now faintly reflecting the splendors of sunset — 
"in the midst of that light stands Mount Sinai, of 
whose glory thou hast read ; upon whose summit 
was the scene of one of those awful revelations, in 
which the Almighty has renewed from time to 
time his communication with Man, and kept alive 
the remembrance of his own Providence ha this 
world." 

After a pause, as if absorbed in the immensity of 
the subject, the holy man continued his sublime 
theme. Looking back to the earliest annals of time, 
he showed how constantly every relapse of the 
human race into idolatry has been followed by 
some manifestation of Divine power, chastening 
the strong and proud by punishment, and winning 
back the humble by love. It was to preserve, he 
said, unextinguished upon earth, that great and 
vital truth — the Creation of the world by one Su- 
preme Being — that God chose, from among the na- 
tions, an humble and enslaved race — that he brought 
them out of their captivity " on eagles' wings," and, 
still surrounding every step of their course with 
miracles, has placed them before the eyes of all 
succeeding generations, as the depositaries of his will 
and the ever-duriug memorials of his power.' J 



i Palludius, who lived some time in Egypt, describes the 
monk Ptolemteus, who inhabited the desert of Scete, as 
collecting in earthen cups the abundant dew from the 
rocks." — Bibliothec. Pat. torn. xiii. 

2 The brief sketch here given of the Jewish dispensation 
agrees very much with the view taken of it by Dr. Sumner, 
in the first chapters of his eloquent work, the " Records of 
the Creation." 

3 In the original, the discourses of the Hermit are given 
much more at length. 

* "It is impossible to deny," says Dr. Sumner, " that the 



Passing, then, in review the long train of inspired 
interpreters, whose pens' and whose tongues were 
made the echoes of the Divine voice, 3 he traced 
throughout the events of successive ages, the grad- 
ual unfolding of the dark scheme of Providence — 
darkness without, but all light and glory within. 
The glimpses of a coming redemption, visible even 
through the wrath of Heaven ; — the long series of 
prophecy through which this hope runs, burning 
and alive, like a spark along a chain; — the slow 
and merciful preparation of the hearts of mankind 
for the great trial of their faith and obedience that 
was at hand, not only by miracles that appealed to 
the living, but by prophecies launched into the 
future to carry conviction to the yet unborn ; — 
" through all these glorious and beneficent grada- 
tions we may track," said he, " the manifest foot- 
steps of a Creator, advancing to his grand, ultimate 
end, the salvation of his creatures." 

After some hours devoted to these holy instruc- 
tions, we returned to the ravine, and Melanius left 
me at my cave ; praying, as he parted from me — 
with a benevolence which I but ill, alas ! deserved 
— that my soul might, under these lessons, be " as 
a watered garden," and, ere long, " bear fruit unto 
life eternal." 

Next morning, I was again at my study, and 
even more eager in the awakening task than before. 
With the commentary of the Hermit freshly in my 
memory, I again read through, with attention, the 
Book of the Law. But in vain did I seek the 
promise of immortality in its pages. 4 " It tells 
me," said I, " of a God coming down to earth, but 
of the ascent of Man to heaven it speaks not. The 
rewards, the punishments it announces, lie all on 
this side of the grave ; nor did even the Omnipotent 
offer to his own chosen servants a hope beyond 
the impassable limits of this world. Where, then, 
is the salvation of which the Christian spoke? or, 
if Death be at the root of the faith, can Life spring 
out of it ?" 

Again, in the bitterness of disappointment, did I 
mock at my own wiling self-delusion — again rail 
at the arts of that traitress, Fancy, ever ready, like 
the Delilah of this wondrous book, to steal upon the 
slumbers of Reason, and deliver him up, shorn and 



sanctions of the Mosaic Law are altogether temporal 

It is, indeed, one of the facts that can only be explained by 
acknowledging that he really acted under a Divine commis- 
sion, promulgating a temporary law for a peculiar purpose,* 
— a much more candid and sensible way i f treating this 
very difficult point, than by either endeavoring, .Ike War- 
burton, to escape from it into a paradox, or, still worse, con 
triving, like Dr. Graves, to increase its difficulty by expla- 
nation. — Vide " On the Pentateuch." il:c also Heme's /»- 
traduction, &c, vol. i. p. 225. 



716 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



powerless, to his foes. If deception, thought I, be 
necessary, at least let me not practise it on myself ; 
— in the desperate alternative before me, let me 
rather he even hypocrite than dupe. 

These self-accusing reflections, cheerless as they 
rendered my task, did not abate, for a single mo- 
ment, my industry in pursuing it. I read on and 
on, with a sort of sullen apathy, neither charmed 
by style, nor transported by imagery — the fatal 
blight in my heart having communicated itself to 
my imagination and taste. The curses and the 
blessings, the glory and the ruin, which the historian 
recorded and the prophet had predicted, seemed all 
of this world — all temporal and earthly. That mor- 
tally, of which the fountain-head had tasted, tinged 
the whole stream ; and when I read the words, " all 
are of the dust, and all turn to dust again," 1 a feel- 
ing, like the wind of the desert, came witheringly 
over me. Love, Beauty, Glory, every thing most 
bright and worshipped upon earth, appeared to be 
sinking before my eyes, under this dreadful doom, 
into one general mass of corruption and silence. 

Possessed by the image of desolation I had thus 
called up, I laid my head upon the book, in a parox- 
ysm of despair. Death, in all his most ghastly 
varieties, passed before me ; and I had continued 
thus for some time, as under the influence of a fear- 
ful vision, when the touch of a hand upon my 
shoulder roused me. Looking up, I saw the An- 
choret standing by my side ; — his countenance 
beaming with that sublime tranquillity, which a hope, 
beyond this earth, alone can bestow. How I did 
envy him !• 

We again took our way to t>he seat upon the 
mountain — the gloom within my own mind making 
every thing around me more gloomy. Forgetting 
my hypocrisy _ any feelings, I proceeded at once 
to make an avowai to him of all the doubts and fears 
which my study of the morning had awakened. 

" Thou art yet, my son," he answered, " but on 
the threshold of our faith. Thou hast seen but the 
first rudiments of the Divine plan ; — its full and 

i While Voltaire, Volney, &c., refer to the Ecclesiastes, 
as abounding with tenets of materialism and Epicurism, M. 
Des Voeux and others find in it strong proofs of belief in a 
future state. The chief difficulty lies in the chapter from 
which this text is quoted ; and the mode of construction by 
which some writers attempt to get rid of it — namely, by 
putting these texts into the mouth of a foolish reasoner— 
appears forced and gratuitous. — Vide Dr. Hale's Analysis. 

2 This opinion of the Hermit may lie supposed to have 
been derived from his master, Origen ; but it is not easy to 
ascertain the exact doctrine of Origen on this subject. In 
the Treatise on Prayer attributed to him, he asserts that God 
the Father alone should be invoked — which, says Bayle, is 
to "encherir sur les Heresies des Sociniens." Notwith- 
standing this, however, and some other indications of, what 
was afterwards called, Arianism, (such as the opinion of the 
divinity being received by communication, which Milner 



consummate perfection hath not yet opened upon 
thy mind. However glorious that manifestation 
of Divinity on Mount Sinai, it was but the fore- 
runner of another, still more glorious, which, in 
the fulness of time, was to burst upon the world ; 
when all, that before had seemed dim and incom- 
plete, was to be perfected, and the promises, 
shadowed out by the ' spirit of prophecy,' realised ; 
— when the seal of silence, under which the Future 
had so long lain, was to be broken, and the glad 
tidings of life and immortality proclaimed to the 
world !" 

Observing my features brighten at these words, 
the pious man continued. Anticipating some of 
the holy knowledge that was in store for me, he 
traced, through all its wonders and mercies, the 
great work of Redemption, dwelling in detail upon 
every miraculous circumstance connected with it — 
the exalted nature of the Being, by whose niiinstry 
it was accomplished, the noblest and first created 
of the Sons of God, 2 inferior only, to the one, self- 
existent Father ; — the mysterious incarnation of 
this heavenly messenger ; — the miracles that au- 
thenticated his divine mission ; — the example of 
obedience to God and love to man, which he set, as 
a shining light, before the world forever ; — and, 
lastly and chiefly, his death and resurrection, by 
which the covenant of mercy was sealed, and " life 
and immortality brought to light." 

" Such," continued the Hermit, " was the Me- 
diator, promised through all time, to ' make recon- 
ciliation for iniquity,' to change death into life, and 
bring ' healing on his wings' to a darkened world. 
Such was the last crowning dispensation of that 
God of benevolence, in whose hands sin and death 
are but instruments of everlasting good, and who, 
through apparent evil and temporary retribution, 
bringing all things ' out of darkness into his mar- 
vellous light,' proceeds watchfully and unchangingly 
to the great, final object of his providence — the res- 
toration of the whole human race to purity and 
happiness !" 3 

asserts to have been held by this Father,) Origen was one 
of the authorities quoted by Athanasius in support of his 
high doctrines of co-eternity and co-essentiality. What 
Priestley says is, perhaps, the best solution of these incon- 
sistencies : — " Origen, as well as Clemens Alexandrinus, has 
been thought to favor the Arian principles; but he did it 
only in words, and not in ideas" — Early Opinions, Src 
Whatever uncertainty, however, there may exist with 
respect to the opinion of Origen himself on this subject, 
there is no doubt that the doctrines of his immediate fol- 
lowers were, at least, Anti-Athanasian. " So many Bishops 
of Africa," says Priestley, " were, at this period (between 
the year 255 and 258) Unitarians, that Athanasius says, 
' The Son of God' — meaning his divinity — ' was scarcely 
any longer preached in the churches.' " 

3 This benevolent doctrine — which not only goes f;ir to 
solve the great problem of moral and physical evil, but which 



THE EPICUREAN. 



717 



With a mind astonished, if not touched, by these 
discourses, I returned to my cave, and found the 
lamp, as before, ready lighted to receive me. The 
volume which I had been hitherto studying, was re- 
placed by another, which lay open upon the table, 
with a branch of fresh palm between its leaves. 
Though I could not doubt to whose gentle and 
guardian hand I was indebted for this invisible 
watchfulness over my studies, there was yet a 
something in it, so like spiritual interposition, that it 
struck me with awe : — and never more than at this 
moment, when, on approaching the volume, I saw, 
as the light glistened over its silver letters, 1 that it 
was the very Book of Life of which the Hermit had 
spoken ! 

The midnight hymn of the Christians had sound- 
ed through the valley, before I had yet raised my 
eyes from that sacred volume ; and the second hour 
of the sun found me again over its pages' 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

xs this mode of existence I ! .^d now passed some 
days ; — my mornings devoted to reading, my nights 
to listening, under the wide canopy of heaven, to 
the holy eloquence of Melanius. The perseverance 
with which I inquired, and the quickness with 
which I learned, soon succeeded in deceiving my 
benevolent instructor, who mistook curiosity for 
zeal, and knowledge for belief. Alas ! cold, and 
barren, and earthly was that knowledge — the word 
without the spirit, the shape without the life. Even 
when, as a relief from hypocrisy, I persuaded my- 
self that I br'eved, it was but a brief delusion, 
a faith, whose hope crambled at the touch — 
like the fruit of the desert-shrub, 2 shining and 
empty ! 

But, though, my soul was still dark, the good 

would, if received more generally, tend to soften the spirit of 

uncharitableness, so fatally prevalent among Christian sects 

—was maintained by that great light of the early Church, 

Origen, and has not wanted supporters among more modern 

Theologians. That Tillotson was inclined to the opinion 

i appears from his sermon preached before the queen. Paley 

j is supposed to have held the same amiable doctrine ; and 

Newton (the author of the work on the Prophecies) is also 

among the supporters of it. For a full account of the argu- 

, ments in favor of this opinion, derived both from reason and 

j the express language of Scripture, see Dr. Southtcood Smith's 

very interesting work, "On the Divine Government." See 

also SMag-ee on atonement, where the doctrine of the advocates 

of Universal Restoration is thus briefly, and, I believe, fairly 

explained : — "Beginning with the existence of an infinitely 



Hermit saw not into its depths. The very facility 
of my belief, which might have suggested some 
doubt of its sincerity, was but regarded, by his 
innocent zeal, as a more eignal triumph of the 
truth. His own ingenuousness led him to a ready 
trust in others ; and the examples of such conver- 
sions as that of the philosopher, Justin, who, during 
a walk by the sea-shore, received the light into his 
soul, had prepared him for illuminations of the 
spirit, even more rapid than mine. 

During all this time, I neither saw nor heard 
of Alethe ; — nor could my patience have endured 
through so long a privation, had not those mute 
vestiges of her presence, that welcomed me every 
night on my return, made me feel that I was still 
living under her gentle influence, and that her 
sympathy hung round every step of my progress. 
Once, too, when I ventured to speak her name to 
Melanius, though he answered not my inquiry, 
there was a smile, I thought of promise upon his 
countenance, which love, far ir.cre alive than faith, 
was ready to interpret as it desired. 

At length — it was on the sixth or seventh 
evening of my solitude, when I lay resting at the 
door of my cave, after the study of the day — -I 
was startled by hearing my name called loudly 
from the opposite rocks ; and looking up, saw, 
upon the cliiF near the deserted grottoes, Melanius 
and — oh ! I could not doubt — my Alethe by his 
side ! 

Though I had never, since the first night of my 
return from the desert, ceased to flatter myself with 
the fancy that I was still living in her presence, the 
actual sight of her once more made me feel for 
what a long age we had been separated. She was 
clothed all in white, and, as she stood in the last 
remains of the sunshine, appeared to my too pro- 
phetic fancy like a parting spirit, whose last foot- 
steps on earth that pure glory encircled. 

With a delight only to be imagined, I saw them 
descend the rocks, and, placing themselves in the 
boat, proceed directly towards my cave. To dis- 
guise from Melanius the mutual delight with which 

powerful, wise, and good Being, as the first and fundamental 
principle of rational religion, they pronounce the essence of 
this Being to be love, and from this infer, as a demonstrable 
consequence, that none of the creatures formed by such a 

Being will ever be made eternally miserable Since 

God (they say) would act unjustly in inflicting eternal misery 
for temporary crimes, the sufferings of the wicked can be but 
remedial, and will terminate in a complete purification from 
moral disorder, and in their ultimate restoration to virtue 
and happiness." 

1 The Codex Cottonianus of the New Testament is written 
in silver letters on a purple ground. The Codex Cottonianus 
of the Septuagint version of the Old Testament is supposed 
to be the identical copy that belonged to Origen. 

2 Vide Hamilton's ^g^uptiaca. 



718 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



~1 



we again met was impossible ; — nor did Alethe 
even attempt to make a secret of her joy. Though 
blushing at her own happiness, as little could her 
frank nature conceal it, as the clear waters of 
Ethiopia can hide their gold. Every look, every 
jvord, bespoke a fulness of affection, to which, 
doubtful as I was of our tenure of happiness, I 
knew not how to respond. 

I was not long, however, left ignorant of the 
bright fate that awaited me ; but, as we wandered 
or rested among the rocks, learned every thing that 
had been arranged since our parting. She had 
made the Hermit, I found, acquainted with all that 
had passed between us ; had told him, without re- 
serve, every incident of our voyage — the avowals, 
the demonstrations of affection on one side, and the 
deep sentiment that gratitude had awakened on the 
ether. Too wise to regard affections so natural 
with severity — knowing that they were of heaven, 
and but made evil by man — the good Hermit had 
heard of our attachment with pleasure ; and, fully 
satisfied as to the honor and purity of my views, 
by the fidelity with which I had delivered my trust 
into his hands, saw, in my affection for the young 
orphan, but a providential resource against that 
friendless solitude in which his death must soon 
leave her. 

As, listening eagerly, I collected these particulars 
from their discourse, I could hardly trust my ears. 
It seemed a happiness too great to be true, to be 
real ; nor can words convey an idea of the joy, 
the shame, the wonder with which I listened, while 
the holy man himself declared that he awaited but 
the moment, when he should find me worthy of be- 
coming a member of the Christian Church, to give 
me iiiso the hand of Alethe in that sacred union, 
which alone sanctifies love, and makes the faith, 
which fledges, holy. It was but yesterday, he 
added, tha. his young charge, herself," after a pre- 
paration of prayer and repentance, such as even 
her pure spirit required, had been admitted, by the 
sacred ordinance of baptism, into the bosom of the 
faith ; — and the white garment she wore, and the 
ring of gold on her finger, 1 " were symbols," he 
added, " of that New Life into which she had been 
initiated." 

I raised my eyes to hers as he spoke, but with- 
drew them again, dazzled and confused. Even her 
beauty, to my imagination, seemed to have under- 
gone some brightening change ; and the contrast 



1 See, for the custom among the early Christians of wear- 
ing white for a few days after baptism, Jimbros. de Myst. — 
With respect to the ring, the Bishop of Lincoln says, in his 
work on Tertn!iian, l 'The natural inference from these words 
( Tert- de Pudi.ci.tid) appears to be, that a ring used to be given 
In baptism ; but 1 have found no other trace of such a custom." 



between that open and happy countenance, and the 
unblest brow of the infidel that stood before her £ 
abashed me into a sense of unworthiness, and almost 
checked my rapture. 

To that night, however, I look back, as an epoch 
in my existence. It proved that sorrow is not the 
only awakener of devotion, but that joy may some- 
times quicken the holy spark into life. Returning 
to my cave, with a heart full, even to oppression, 
of its happiness, I could find no other relief to my 
overcharged feelings, than that of throwing myself 
on my knees, and uttering, for the first time in my 
life, a heartfelt prayer, that if, indeed, there were 
a Being who watched over mankind, he wou'd send 
down one ray of his truth into my darkened soul, 
and make it worthy of the blessings, both here and 
hereafter, proffered to it ! 

My days now rolled on in a perfect dream of 
happiness. Every hour of the morning was wel- 
comed as bringing nearer and nearer the blest time 
of sunset, when the Hermit and Alethe never failed 
to visit my now charmed cave, where her smile 
left, at each parting, a light that lasted till her 
return. Then, our rambles, together, by starlight, 
over the mountain ; our pauses, from time to time, 
to contemplate the wonders of the bright heaven 
above us ; our repose by the cistern of the rock ; 
and our silent listening, through hours that seemed 
minutes, to the holy eloquence of our teacher ; — 
all, all was happiness of the mest heartfelt kind, 
and such as even the doubts, the cold lingering 
doubts, that still hung, like a mist, around my heart, 
could neither cloud nor chill. 

As soon as the moonlight nights returned, we 
used to venture into the desert ; and those sands, 
which had lately looked so desolate, in my eyes, 
now assamed even a cheerful and smiling aspect. 
To the light, innocent heart of Alethe, every thing 
was a source of enjoyment. For her, even tho 
desert had its jewels and flowers ; and, sometimes, 
her delight was to search among the sands for 
those beautiful pebbles of jasper 2 that abound in 
them ; — sometimes her eyes would sparkle with 
pleasure on finding, perhaps, a stunted marigold, 
or one of those bitter, scarlet flowers, 3 that lend 
their dry mockery of ornament to the desert. In 
all these pursuits and pleasures the good Hermit 
took a share — mingling occasionally with them 
the reflections of a benevolent piety, that lent its 
own cheerful hue to all the works of creation, and 



2 Vide Clarke. 

3 " Les Mcsembry anthem vm wodiflnmm et ZygoplryMnm 
coccineum, plantes grasses des an*,., rojetees, a cause de 
leuracrete, par les chameanx, les chevrcs, etles gazelles " — 
Jll. Delile upon the Plants of Egypt. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



719 



law the consoling truth, " God is Love," written 
legibly even-where. 

Such was, for a few weeks, my blissful life. 



Oh, mornings of hope 



nights of happiness 



with what melancholy pleasure do I retrace your 
. and how reluctantly pass to the sad events 
that followed ! 

During this time, in compliance with the wishes 
of Melanius, who seemed unwilling that I should 
become wholly estranged from the world, I used 
occasionally to pay a visit to the neighboring city. 






noe, wdic: 



beiugf-the capital of the Theb.ad. 



centre of all the luxury of Upper Egypt. 
B:t he v. so changed was my every feeling by the 
lg passion which now possessed me, thai 
I sauntered alouj. wholly uninterested by either 
the scenes or the people that surrounded me, and, 
• that rocky solitude where my Alethe 
l»reat Is to be the wilderness, and that the 

world. 

Even the thoughts of my cwn native Athens, 
that at every step were called up, by the light 
Grecian architecture of this imperial city, did not 
awaken one single regret in my heart — one wish 
to exchange even an hour of my desert for the best 
es and honors that awaited me in the Garden. 
I saw the arches of triumph ; — I walked under the 
superb portico, which encircles the whole city with 
- lade : — I stood in the Circus of the Sun, 
by whose rose-colored pillars the mysterious move- 
ments of the Xile are measured ; — on all these 
proud monuments of glory and art, as well as on 
the gay multitude that enlivened them, I looked 
with . ng eye. If they awakened in me 

any thought, it was the mournful idea, that, one 
.hhebes and Heliopolis, this pageant would 
pass away, leaving nothing behind but a few moul- 
ig ruins — like sea-shells found where the ocean 
has been — to tell that the great tide of Life was 
once there ! 

Butj . different thus to all that had for- 

attracted me, there were subjects, once alien 

to my heart, on which it was now most tremblingly 

• and some rumors which had reached me, 

in one of my visits to the city, of an expected 

ige in the policy of the Emperor towards the 

Christians, failed my mind with apprehensions as 

new as they were dreadful to me. 

Tire toleration and even favor which the Chr:> 
tians enjoyed, during the first four years of the 
of Valerian, had removed from them all fear 
of a renewal of those horrors, which they had ex- 
perienced under the rule of his predecessor, Decins. 
Of late, however, some less friendly dispositions had 

: V.J? Sa ran/ and Qus.tr: 



manifested themselves. The bigots of the court, 
taking alarm at the rapid spread of the new faith, 
had succeeded in filling the mind of the monarch 
with that religious jealousy, which is the ever-ready 
parent of cruelty and injustice. Anions these coun- 
sellors of evil was Macrianus, the Prmtorlan Prefect, 
who was, by birth, an Egyptian, and had long 
made himself notorious — so akin is superstition to 
intolerance — by his addiction to the dark practices 
of demon-worship and magic. 

From this minister, who was nc.r high in the 
favor of Valerian, the new measures of severity 
the C ristians were expected to emanate. 
All tongues, in all quarters, were busy with the 
news. In the streets, in the public gardens, on the 
steps of the temples, I saw, everywhere, groups of 
inquirers collected, and heard the name of Macria- 
nus upon every tongue. It was dreadful, too, to 
observe, in the countenances of those who spoke, 
tire variety of feeling with which the rumor was 
discussed, according as they feared or desired its 
truth — according as they were likely to be among 
the torturers or the victims. 

Alarmed, though still ignore ^of the whole extent 
of the danger, I hurried back to the ravine, and, 
going at once to the grotto of Melanius, detailed to 
him every particular of the intelligence I had col- 
lected. He listened to me with a composure, which 
I mistook, alas ! for confidence in his own security ; 
and, naming the hour for oux evening walk, retired 
into his grotto. 

At the accustomed time, accompanied by Alethe, 
he came to my cave. It was evident that he had 
not communicated to her the intelligence which I 
had brought, for never hath brow worn such hap- 
piness as that which now played around hers : — 
it was, alas ! not of this earth. Melanius, himself, 
b composed, was thoughtful ; and the solem- 
nity, almost approaching to melancholy, with which 
he placed the hand of Alethe in mine — in the per- 
formance, too, of a ceremony that ought to have 
filled my heart with joy — saddened and alarmed 
me. Tnis ceremony was our betrothment, the act 
of plighting our faith to each other, which we now 
solemnized on the rock before the door of my cave, 
in the face of that calm, sunset heaven, whose one 
star stood as our witness. After a blessing from 
the Hermit upon our spousal pledge, I placed the 
ring — the earnest of our future union — on her fin- 
ger; and, in the blush, with which she surrendered 
to me her whole heart at that instant, forgot every 
but my happiness, and felt secure even against 
fate! 

We took our accustomed walk, that evening, 
over the rocks and on the desert. So bright was 
the moon — more like the daylight, indeed, of other 



720 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



climes — that we could plainly see the tracks of the 
wild antelopes ill the sand ; and it was not without 
a slight tremble of feeling in his voice, as if some 
melancholy analogy occurred to him as he spoke, 
that the good Hermit said, " I have observed, in the 
course of my walks, 1 that wherever the track of 
that gentle animal appears, there is, almost always, 
found the foot-print of a beast of prey near it." 
He regained, however, his usual cheerfulness before 
we parted, and fixed the following evening for an 
excursion, on the other side of the ravine, to a point 
looking, he said, " towards that northern region of 
the desert, where the hosts of the Lord encamped 
in their departure out of bondage." 

Though, when Alethe was present, all my fears 
even for herself were forgotten in that perpetual 
element of happiness, which encircled her like the 
air that she breathed, no sooner was I alone, than 
vague terrors and bodings crowded upon me. In 
vain did I endeavor to reason away my fears, by 
dwelling only on the most cheering circumstances 
— on the reverence with which Melanius was re- 
garded, even by the Pagans, and the inviolate se- 
curity with which he had lived through the most 
perilous periods, not only safe himself, but affording 
sanctuary in the depths of his grottoes to others. 
Though somewhat calmed by th^se considerations, 
yet, when at length I sunk off to sleep, dark, hor- 
rible dreams took possession of my mind. Scenes 
of death and of torment passed confusedly before 
me; and, when I awoke, it was with the fearful 
impression that all these horrors were real. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

At length, the day dawned — that dreadful day ! 
Impatient to be relieved from my suspense, I threw 
myself into my boat — the same in which we had 
performed our happy voyage — and, as fast as oars 
could speed me, hurried away to the city. I found 
the suburbs silent and solitary, but, as I approached 
the Forum, loud yells, like those of barbarians in 
combat, struck on my ear, and, when I entered it — 
great God, what a spectacle presented itself ! The 
imperial edict against the Christians had arrived 



i " Je rernarquai, avec une reflexion triste, qu'un animal 
de proie accompagne presque toujours les pas de ce joli ct 
frele individu." 

2 " These Christians who sacrificed to idols to save them- 
selves were called by various names, Thurificati, Saerificati, 



during the night, and already the wild fury of big- 
otry was let loose. 

Under a canopy, in the middle of the Forum, 
was the tribunal of the Governor. Two statues — 
one of Apollo, the other of Osiris-^— stood at the 
bottom of, the steps that led up to his judgme?it- 
seat. Before these idols were shrines, to which the 
devoted Christians were dragged from all quartern 
by the soldiers and mob, and there compelled to 
recant, by throwing incense into the flame, or, on 
their refusal, hurried away to torture and death. 
It was an appalling scene ; — the consternation, the 
cries of some of the victims — the pale, silent reso- 
lution of others ; — the fierce shouts of laughter that 
broke from the multitude, when the dropping of the 
frankincense on the altar proclaimed some denier 
of Christ f and the fiend-like triumph with which 
the courageous Confessors, who avowed their faith, 
were led away to the flames ; — never could I have 
conceived such an assemblage of horrors ! 

Though I gazed but for a few minutes, in those 
minutes I felt and fancied enough for years. Al- 
ready did the form of Alethe appear to flit before 
me through that tumult ; — I heard them shout her 
name ; her shriek fell on my ear ; and the very 
thought so palsied me with terror, that I stood fixed 
and statue-like on the spot. 

Recollecting, however, the fearful preciousness 
of every moment, and that — perhaps, at this very 
instant — some emissaries of blood might be on their 
way to the Grottoes, I rushed wildly out of the 
Forum, and made my way to the quay. * 

The streets were now crowded ; but I ran head- 
long through the multitude, and was already under 
the portico leading down to the river — already 
saw the boat that was to bear me to Alethe — when 
a Centurion stood sternly in my path, and I was J 
surrounded and arrested by soldiers ! It was in 
vain that I implored, that I struggled with them 
as for life, assuring them that I was a stranger — 
that I was an Athenian — that I was — not a 
Christian. The precipitation of my flight was 
sufficient evidence against me, and unrelentingly, 
and by force, they bore me away to the quarters 
of their Chief. 

It was enough to drive me at once to madness 1 
Two hours, two frightful hours, was I kept waiting 
the arrival of the Tribune of their Legion 3 — my 
brain burning with a thousand fears and imagin- 
ations, which every passing minute made but more 



Mittcntes, Negator esS' &c. Baronius mentions a bishop of 
this period, (253,) Marcellinus, who, yielding to the threats 
of the Gentiles, threw incense upon the altar.— Vide Arnob. 
contra Gent. lib. vii. 
3 A rank, similar to that of Colonel. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



721 



likely to be realized. All I could collect, too, from 
the conversations of those around me, but added to 
the agonizing apprehensions with which I was racked. 
Troops, it was 6aid, had been sent in all directions 
through the neighborhood, to briug in the rebellious 
Christians, and make them bow before the Gods of 
the Empire. With horror, too, I heard of Orcus — 
Ore us, the High Priest of Memphis — as one of the 
principal instigators of this sanguinary edict, and as 
here present in Antinoe, animating and directing its 
execution. 

In this state of torture I remained till the arrival 
of the Tribune- Absorbed in my own thoughts, I 
had not perceived his entrance ; — till, hearing a 
voice, in a tone of friendly surprise, exclaim, " Al- 
ciphron !" I looked up, and in this legionary Chief 
recognised a young Roman of rank, who had held 
a military command, the year before, at Athens, 
aud was one of the most distinguished visiters of the 
Garden. It was no time, however, for courtesies : — 
he was proceeding with all cordiality to greet me, 
but, having heard him order my instant release, 
I could wait for no more- Acknowledging his kind- 
ness but by a grasp of the hand, I flew off, like one 
frantic, through the streets, and, in a few minutes, 
was on the river. 

My sole hope had been to reaeh the Grottoes be- 
fore any of the detached parties should arrive, and, 
by a timely flight across the desert, rescue, at least, 
Alethe from their fury. The ill-fated delay that had 
Occurred rendered this hope almost desperate ; but 
the tranquillity 1 found everywhere as I proceeded 
down the river, and my fond confidence in the 
sacredness of the Hermit's retreat, kept my heart 
from sinking altogether under its terrors. 

Between the current and my oars, the boat flew, 
with the speed of wind, along the waters, and I 
was already near the rocks of the ravine, when I 
j saw, fuming out of the canal into the river, a barge 
crowded with people, and glittering with arms I 
How did I ever survive the shock of that sight ? 
The oars dropped, as if struck out of my hands, in- 
to the water, and I sat, helplessly gazing, as that 
terrific vision approached. In a few minutes, the 
current brought us together ; — and I saw, on the 
deck of the barge, Alethe herself and the Hermit 
surrounded by soldiers ! 

We were already passing each other, when, with 
j a desperate effort, I sprang from my boat and lighted 
j upon the edge of their vessel. I knew not what I 
{ did, for despair was my only prompter. Snatching 
i at the sword of one of the soldiers, as I stood totter- 
ing on the edge, I had succeeded in wresting it out 
of his hands, when, at the same moment, I received 
a thrust of a lance from one of his comrades, and 
fell backward into the river. I can just remember 



46 



I rising again and making a grasp at the side of the 
j vessel ; — but the shock, and the faintness from my 
j wound, deprived me of all consciousness, and a 
| shriek from Alethe, as I sank, is all I can recollect 
of what followed. 

Would I had then died ! — Yet, no, Almighty 
j Being — I should have died in darkness, and I have 
i lived to know Thee ! 

On returning to my senses, I found myself re- 
clined on a couch, in a splendid apartment, the 
whole appearance of which being Grecian, I, for a 
moment, forgot all that had passed, and imagined 
myself in my own homo at Athens. But too soon 
the whole dreadful certai aty flashed upon me ; and, 
starting wildly — disabled as I was — from my couch, 
I called loudly, and with the shriek of a maniac, 
upon Alethe. 

I was hi the house, I then found, of my friend 
and disciple, the young Tribune, who had made the 
Governor acquainted with my name and condition, 
and had received me under his roof, when brought, 
bleeding and insensible, to Antinoe. From him I 
now loarned at once — for I could not wait for de- 
tails — the sum of all that had happened in that 
dreadful interval. Melanius was no more — Alethe 
still alive, but in prison ! 

" Take me to her" — I had but time to say — 
" take me to her instantly, and let me die by her 
side" — when, nature again failing under such 
shocks, I relapsed into insensibility. In this state 
I continued for near an hour, and, on recovering, 
found the Tribune by my side. The horrors, he 
said, of the Forum were, for that day, over, — but 
what the morrow might bring, he shuddered to con- 
template. His nature, it was plain, revolted from 
the inhuman duties in which he was engaged. 
Touched by the agonies he saw me suffer, he, in 
some degree, relieved them, by promising that I 
should, at nightfall, be conveyed to the prison, and, 
if possible, through his influence, gain access to 
Alethe. She might yet, he added, be saved, could 
I succeed in persuading her to comply with the 
terms of the edict, and make sacrifice to the Gods. — 
" Otherwise," said he, " there is no hope ; — the vin- 
dictive Orcus, who has resisted even this short re- 
spite of mercy, will, to-morrow, inexorably demand 
his prey." 

He then related to me, at my own request — 
though every word was torture — all the harrowing 
details of the proceeding before the Tribunal. " I 
have seen courage," said he, " in its noblest forms, 
in the field ; but the calm intrepidity with which 
that aged hermit endured torments — which it was 
hardly less torment to witness — surpassed all that I 
could have conceived of human fortitude !" 

My poor Alethe, too — in describing to me her 



722 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



conduct, the brave man wept like a child. Over- 
whelmed, he said, at first by her apprehensions for 
my safety, she had given way to a full burst of 
womanly weakness. But no sooner was she brought 
before the Tribunal, and the declaration of her faith 
was demanded of her, than a spirit almost super- 
natural seemed to animate her whole form. " She 
raised her eyes," said he, " calmly, but with fervor, 
to heaven, while a blush was the only sign of mor- 
tal feeling on her features: — and the clear, sweet, 
and untrembling voice, with which she pronounced 
her own doom, in the words, ' I am a Christian I' 1 
sent a thrill of admiration and pity throughout the 
multitude. Her youth, her loveliness, affected all 
hearts, and a cry of ' Save the young maiden !' was 
heard in all directions." 

The implacable Orcus, however, would not hear 
of mercy. Resenting, as it appeared, with all his 
deadliest rancor, not only her own escape from his 
toils, but the aid with which she had, so fatally to 
his views, assisted mine, he demanded loudly and 
in the name of the insulted sanctuary of Isis, her 
instant death. It was but by the firm intervention 
of the Governor, who shared the general sympathy 
in her fate, that the delay of another day was 
granted to give a chance to the young maiden of yet 
recalling her confession, and thus affording some 
pretext for saving her. 

Even in yielding, with evident reluctance, to this 
respite, the inhuman Priest would yet accompany 
it with some mark of his vengeance. Whether for 
the pleasure (observed the Tribune) of mingling 
mockeiy with his cruelty, or as a warning to her of 
the doom she must ultimately expect, he gave or- 
ders that there should be tied round her brow one 
of those chaplets of coral, 2 with which it is the cus- 
tom of young Christian maidens to array themselves 
on the day of their martyrdom ; — " and, thus fear- 
fully adorned," said he, " she was led away, amidst 
the gaze of the pitying multitude, to prison." 

With these harrowing details the short interval 
till nightfall — every minute of which seemed an 
age — was occupied. As soon as it grew dark, I 
was placed upon a litter — my wound, though not 
dangerous, requiring such a conveyance — and, un- 
der the guidance of my friend, I was conducted to 
the prison. Through his interest with the guard, 
we were without difficulty admitted, and I was 
borne into the chamber where the maiden lay im- 
mured. Even the veteran guardian of the place 



i The merit of the confession "Christianas sum," or 
" Christiana sum," was considerably enhanced by the clear- 
ness and distinctness with which it was pronounced. Eu- 
sebius mentions the martyr Vetius as making it \ajn:poTarfi 



seemed touched with compassion for his prisoner, 
and supposing her to be asleep, had the litter placed 
gently near hor. 

She was half reclining, with her face hid beneath 
her hands, upon a couch — at the foot of which stood 
an idol, over whose hideous features a lamp of 
naphtha, that hung from the ceiling, shed a wild 
and ghastly glare. On a table before the image 
was a censer, with a small vessel of incense beside 
it — one grain of which, thrown voluntarily inuD 
the flame, would, even now, save that precious 
life. So strange, so fearful was the whole scene, 
that I almost doubted its reality. Alethe ! my own, 
happy Alethe! can it, I thought, be thou that I 
look upon? 

She now slowly md with difficulty, raised her 
head from the couck, on observing which, the kind 
Tribune withdrew, and we were left alone. There 
was a paleness, as of death, over her features ; and 
those eyes which, when last I saw them, were but 
too bright, too happy for this world, looked dim and 
sunken. In raising herself up, she put her hand, as 
if from pain, to her forehead, whose marble hue but 
appeared more death-like from those red bands that 
lay so awfully across it. 

After wandering for a minute vaguely, her eyes 
at length rested upon me — and, with a shriek, half 
terror, half joy, she sprung from the couch, and 
sunk upon her knees by my side. She had believed 
me dead; and, even now, scarcely trusted her 
senses. " My husband ! my love !" she exclaimed; 
" oh, if thou comest to call me from this world, be- 
hold I am ready !" In saying thus, she pointed 
wildly to that ominous wreath, and then dropped 
her head down upon my knee, as if an arrow had 
pierced it. 

" Alethe !" I cried — terrified to the very soul by 
that mysterious pan<j — and, as if the sound of my 
voice had reanimated her, she looked up, with a 
faint smile, in my face. Her thoughts, which had 
evidently been wandering, became collected ; and 
in her joy at my safety, her sorrow at my suffering, 
she forgot entirely the fate that impended over her- 
self. Love, innocent love, alone occupied all her 
thoughts ; and the warmth, the affection, the de- 
votedness, with which she spoke — oh how, at any 
other moment, I would have blessed, have lingered 
upon every word ! 

But the time flew fast — that dreadful morrow 
was approaching. Already I saw her writhing in 



a Une " de ces couronnes de grain de corail, dont les vier- 
ges martyres ornoient leurs cheveux en allant a la mort." — 
Les Martyrs. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



723 



the hands of the torturer — the flames, the racks, the 
wheels, were before my eyes ! Half frantic with 
the fear that her resolution was fixed, I flung my- 
self from the litter in an agony of weeping, and 
supplicated her, by the love she bore me, by the 
happiness that awaited us, by her own merciful 
God, who was too good to require such a sacrifice — 
by all that the most passionate anxiety could dic- 
tate, I implored that she would avert from us the 
doom that was coming, and — but for once — com- 
ply with the vain ceremony demanded of her. 

Sh/inking from me, as I spoke — but with a look 
more of sorrow than reproach — " What, thou, too !" 
she said mournfully — " thou, into whose inmost 
spirit I had fondly hoped the same light had 
entered as into my own ! No, never be thou 
leagued with them who would tempt me to ' make 
shipwreck of my faith !' Thou, who couldst alone 
bind me to life, use not, I entreat thee, thy power ; 
but let me die, as He I serve hath commanded 
— die for the Truth. Remember the holy lessons 
we heard together on those nights, those happy 
nights, when both the present and future smiled 
upon us — when even the gift of eternal life came 
more welcome to my soul, from the glad con- 
viction that thou wert to be a sharer in its bless- 
ings ; — shall I forfeit now that divine privilege ? 
shall I deny the true God, whom we then learned 
to love ? 

" No, my own betrothed," she continued — point- 
ing to the two rings on her finger — "behold these 
pledges — they are both sacred. I should have been 
as true to thee as I am now to heaven, — nor in that 
life to which I am hastening shall our love be for- 
gotten. Should the baptism of fire, through which 
I shall pass to-morrow, make me worthy to be 
heard before the throne of Grace, I will intercede 
for thy soul — I will pray that it may yet share with 
mine that ' inheritance, immortal and undefiled,' 
which Mercy offers, and that thou — and my dear 
mother — and I " 

She here dropped her voice ; the momentary 
animation, with which devotion and affection had 
inspired her, vanished ; — and there came a dark- 
ness over all her features, a livid darkness — like 
the approach of death — that made me shudder 
through every limb. Seizing my hand convul- 
sively, and looking at me with a fearful eagerness, 
as if anxious to hear some consoling assurance 
from my own lips — " Believe me," she continued, 



1 We find poisonous crowns mentioned by Pliny, under the 
designation of u coronas ferales." Paschalius, too, gives the 
following account of these " deadly garlands," as he calls 
them . — " Sed mirum est tam salutare inventum humanam 
asquitiam reperisse, quomodo ad nefarios usus traducent. 



" not all the torments they are preparing for me — 
not even this deep, burning pain in my brow, to 
which they will hardly find an equal — could be half 
so dreadful to me as the thought that I leave thee, 
without " 

Here her voice again failed ; her head sunk 
upon my arm, and — merciful God, let me forget 
what I then felt — I saw that she was dying ! 
Whether I uttered any cry, I know not ; — but the 
Tribune came rushing into the chamber, and, look- 
ing on the maiden, said, with a face full of horror, 
" It is but too true !" 

He then told me in a low voice, what he had 
just learned from the guardian of the prison, that 
the band round the young Christian's brow 1 was — 
oh horrible ! — a compound of the most deadly poison 
— the hellish invention of Orcus, to satiate his ven- 
geance, and make the fate of his poor victim secure. 
My first movement was to untie that fatal wreath 
— but it would not come away — it would not come 
away ! 

Roused by the pain, she again looked in my 
face ; but, unable to speak, took hastily from her 
bosom the small silver cross which she had brought 
with her from my cave. Having pressed it to 
her own lips, she held it anxiously to mine, and, 
seeing me kiss the holy symbol with fervor, looked 
happy, and smiled. The agony of death seemed 
to have passed away ; — there came suddenly over 
her features a heavenly light, some share of which 
I felt descending into my own soul, and, in a few 
minutes more, she expired in my arms. 



Here ends the Manuscript ; but, on the outer cover is 
found, in the handwriting: of a much later period, 
the following Notice, extracted, as it appears, from 
some Egyptian martyrology :— 

" Alciphron — an Epicurean philosopher, con- 
verted to Christianity, a. d. 257, by a young Egyp- 
tian maiden, who suffered martyrdom in that year. 
Immediately upon her death he betook himself to 
the desert, and lived a life, it is said, of much 
holiness and penitence. During the persecution 
under Dioclesian, his sufferings for the faith were 



Nempe, repertae sunt nefandae coronas hanim, qnas dixi, tam 
salubrium per nomen quidem et speciem imitatrices, at re et 
effectu ferales, atque adeo capitis, cui imponuntur, mterfec- 
trices." — De Coronis. 



724 MOORE'S WORKS. 


most exemplary ; and being at length, at an ad- 


accuse him of having been addicted to the super- 


vanced age, condemned to hard labor, for refusing 


stitions of Egypt. For this calumny, however, 


to comply with an Imperial edict, he died at the 


there appears to be no better foundation than a 


Brass Mines of Palestine, a. d. 297. — 


circumstance, recorded by one of his brother monks, 


" As Alciphron held the opinions maintained 


that there was found, after his death, a small metal 


since by Arius, his memory has not been spared 


mirror, like those used in the ceremonies of Isis, 


by Athanasian writers, who, among other charges, 


suspended around his neck." 


ALCIPHRON: 


A FRAGMENT. 


LETTER I. 


Fondly, in thought, I wing n. y flight 




Back to those groves and gardens bright, 


FROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO CLEON AT 


And often think, by this sweet light, 


ATHENS. 


How lovelily they all must shine ; 




Can see that graceful temple throw 


Well may you wonder at my flight 


Down the green slope its lengthen'd shade, 


From those fair Gardens, in whose bowers 


While, on the marble steps below, 


Lingers whate'er of wise and bright, 


There sits some fair Athenian maid, 


Of Beauty's smile or Wisdom's light, 


Over some favorite volume bending ; 


Is left to grace this world of ours. 


And, by her side, a youthful sage 


Well may my comrades, as they roam, 


Holds back the ringlets that, descending, 


On such sweet eves as this, inquire 


Would else o'ershadow all the page. 


Why I have left that happy home 


But hence such thoughts ! — nor let me grieve 


Where all is found that all desire, 


O'er scenes of joy that I but leave, 


And Time hath wings that never tire ; 


As the bird quits awhile its nest 


Where bliss, in all the countless shapes, 


To come again with livelier zest 


That Fancy's self to bliss hath given, 




Comes clustering round, like road-side grapes 


And now to tell thee — what I fear 


That woo the traveller's lip, at even ; 


Thou'lt gravely smile at — why I'm here. 


Where Wisdom flings not joy away — 


Though through my life's short, sunny dream, 


As Pallas in the stream, they say, 


I've floated without pain or care, 


Once flung her flute — but smiling owns 


Like a light leaf, down pleasure's stream, 


That woman's lip can send forth tones 


Caught in each sparkling eddy there ; 


Worth all the music of those spheres 


Though never Mirth awaked a strain 


So many dream of, but none hears ; 


That my heart echoed not again ; 


Where Virtue's self puts on so well 


Yet have I felt, when even most gay, 


Her sister Pleasure's smile, that, loath 


Sad thoughts — I knew not whence or why — 


From either nymph apart to dwell, 


Suddenly o'er my spirit fly, 


We finish by embracing both. 


Like clouds, that, ere we've time to say 




" How bright the sky is !" shade the sky. 


Yes, such the place of bliss, I own, 


Sometimes so vague, so undefined, 


From all whose charms I just have flown ; 


Were these strange dark'nings of my mind — 


And even while thus to thee I write, 


While naught but joy around me beam'd— 


And by the Nile's dark flood recline, 


So causelessly they've come and flown, 



ALCIPHRON. 725 


That not of life or earth they seem'd, 


To make earth's meanest slave regret 


But shadows from some world unknown 


Leaving a world so soft and bright 


More oft, however, 'twas the thought 


On one side, in the dark blue sKy, 


How soon that scene, with all its play 


Lonely and radiant, was the eyo 


Of life and gladness, must decay — 


Of Jove himself, while, on the other, 


Those lips I press'd, the hands I caught — 


"Mong stars that came out one by one, 


Myself — the crowd that mirth had brought 


The young moon — like the Roman mother 


Around me — swept like weeds away ! 


Among her living jewels — shone. 




" Oh that from yonder orbs," I thought, 


This thought it was that came to shed 


" Pure and eternal as they are, 


O'er rapture's hour its worst alloys ; 


" There could to earth some power be brought, 


And, close as shade with sunshine, wed 


" Some charm, \kh their own essence fraught. 


Its sadness with my happiest joys. 


" To make man deathless as a star ; 


Oh, but for this disheart'ning voice, 


" And open to his vast desires 


Stealing amid our mirth to say 


" A course, as boundless and sublime 


That all, in which we most rejoice, 


" As that which waits those comet-fires, 


Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey ; . 


" That burn and roam throughout all time !" 


But for this bitter — only this — 




Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss, 


While thoughts like these absorb'd my ;rjsid, 


And capable as feels my soul 


That weariness which earthly bliss, 


Of draining to its dregs the whole, 


However sweet, still leaves behind, 


I should turn earth to heav'n, and be, 


As if to show how earthly 'tis, 


If bliss made Gods, a Deity ! 


Came lulling o'er me, and I laid 




My limbs at that fair statue's Dase — 


Thou know'st that night — the very last 


That miracle, which Art hath made 


That 'mong my Garden friends I pass'd — 


Of all the choice of Nature's grace — 


When the School held its feast of mirth 


To which so oft I've knelt and sworn, 


To celebrate our founder's birth, 


That, could a living maid like her 


And all that He in dreams but saw 


Unto this wondering world be born, 


When he set Pleasure on the throne 


I would, myself, turn worshipper. 


Of this bright world, and wrote her law 




In human hearts, was felt and known — 


Sleep came then o'er me — and I seem'd 


Not in unreal dreams, but true 


To be transported far away 


Substantial joy as pulse e'er knew — 


To a bleak desert plain, where gleam'd 


By hearts and bosoms, that each felt 


One single, melancholy ray, 


Itself the realm where Pleasure dwelt. 


Throughout that darkness dimly shed 




From a small taper in the hand 


That night, when all our mirth was o'er, 


Of one, who, pale as are the dead, 


The minstrels silent, and the feet 


Before me took his spectral stand, 


Of the vDung maidens heard no more — 


And said, while, awfully, a smile 


So stilly was the time, so sweet, 


Came o'er the wanness of his cheek — 


And such a calm came o'er that scene, 


" Go, and beside the sacred Nile 


Where life and revel late had been — 


" You'll find th' Eternal Life you seek." 


Lone as the quiet of some bay, 




From which the sea hath ebb'd away — 


Soon as he spoke these words, the hue 


That still I linger'd, lost in thought, 


Of death o'er all his features grew, 


Gazing upon the stars of night, 


Like the pale morning, when o'er night 


Sad and intent, as if I sought 


She gains the victory, full of light ; 


Some mournful secret in their light ; 


While the small torch he held became 


And ask'd them, 'mid that silence, why 


A glory in his hand, whose flame 


Man, glorious man, alone must die, 


Brighten'd the desert suddenly, 


While they, less wonderful than he, 


Even to the far horizon's line — 


Shine on through all eternity. 


Along whose level I could see 




Gardens and groves, that seem'd to shine, 


That night — thou haply may'st forget 


As if then o'er them freshly play'd 


Its loveliness — but 'twas a night 


A vernal rainbow's rich cascade j 



726 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And music floated everywhere, 
Circling, as 'twere itself the air, 
And^spirits, on whose wings the hue 
Of heaven still linger'd, round me flew, 
Till from all sides such splendors broke, 
That, with the excess of light, I woke ! 

Such was my dream ; — and, I confess, 

Though none of all our creedless School 
E'er conn'd, believed, or reverenced less 

The fables of the priest-led fool, 
Who tells us of a soul, a mind, 
Separate and pure, within us shrined, 
Which is to live — ah, hope too bright ! — 
Forever in yon fields of light ; 
Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes 

Of Gods are on him — as if, blest 
And blooming in their own blue skies, 
Th' eternal Gods were not too wise 

To let weak man disturb their rest ! — 
Though thinking of such creeds as thou 

And all our Garden sages think, 
Yet is there something, I allow, 

In dreams like this — a sort of link 
With worlds unseen, which, from the hour 

I first could lisp my thoughts till now, 
Hath master'd me with spell-like power. 

And who can tell, as we're combined 
Of various atoms — some refined, 
Like those that scintillate and play 
In the fix'd stars — some, gross as they 
That frown in clouds or sleep in clay — 
Who can be sure, but 'tis the best 

And brightest atoms of our frame, 

Those most akin to stellar flame, 
That shine out thus, when we're at rest ; — 
Ev'n as the stars themselves, whose light 
Comes out but in the silent night. 
Or is it that there lurks, indeed, 
Some truth in Man's prevailing creed, 
And that our Guardians, from on high, 

Come, in that pause from toil and sin, 
To put the senses' curtain by, 

And on the wakeful soul look in I 

Vain thought ! — but yet, howe'er it be, 

Dreams, more than once, have proved to me 

Oracles, truer far than Oak, 

Or Dove, or Tripod, ever spoke. 

And 'twas the words — thou'lt hear and smile— 

The words that phantom seem'd to speak — 
" Go, and beside the sacred Nile 

" You'll find the Eternal Life you seek — " 
That, haunting me by night, by day, 

At length, as with the unseen hand 



Of Fate itself, urged me away 
From Athens to this Holy Land ; 

Where, 'mong the secrets, still untaught, 
The myst'ries that, as yet, nor sun 

Nor eye hath reach'd — oh, blessed thought 
May sleep this everlasting one. 

Farewell— when to our Garden friends 
Thou talk'st of the wild dream that sends 
The gayest of their school thus far, 
Wandering beneath Canopus' star, 
Tell them that, wander where he will, 

Or, howsoe'er they now condemn 
His vague and vain pursuit, he still 

Is worthy of the School and them ; — 
Still, all their own — nor e'er forgets, 

Ev'n while his heart and soul pursue 
Th' Eternal Light which never sets, 

The many meteor joys that do, 
But seeks them, hails them with delight, 
Where'er they meet his longing sight. 
And, if his life must wane away, 
Like other lives, at least the day, 
The hour it lasts shall, like a fire 
With incense fed, in sweets expire. 



LETTER II. 

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

Memphis. 
'Tis true, alas — the myst'ries and the lore 
I came to study on this wondrous shore, 
Are all forgotten in the new delights, 
The strange, wild joys that fill my days and nights. 
Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak 
From subterranean temples, those i" seek 
Come from the breathing shrines where Beauty 

lives, 
And Love, her priest, the soft responses gives. 
Instead of honoring Isis in those rites 
At Coptos held, I hail her, when she lights 
Her first young crescent on the holy stream — 
When wandering youths and maidens watch her 

beam, 
And number o'er the nights she hath to run, 
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun. 
While o'er some mystic leaf, that dimly lends 
A clue into past times, the student bends, 
And by its glimmering guidance learns to tz*ead 
Back through the shadowy knowledge of the dead — 
The only skill, alas, / yet can claim 
Lies in deciphering some new loved-one's name — 
Some gentle missive, hinting time and place, 
In language, soft as Memphian reed can trace. 



J 



ALCIPHRON. 



727 



And where — oh where's the heart that could with- 
stand 
Th' unnumber'd witcheries of this sun-born land, 
Where first young Pleasure's banner was unfurl'd, 
And Love hath temples ancient as the world ! 
Where mystery, like the veil by Beauty worn, 
Hides but to win, and shades but to adorn ; 
Where that luxurious melancholy, born 
Of passion and of genius, sheds a gloom 
Making joy holy ; — where the bower and tomb 
Stand side by side, and Pleasure learns from Death 
The instant value of each moment's breath. 

Couldst thou but see how like a poet's dream 
This lovely land now looks ! — the glorious stream, 
That late, between its banks, was seen to glide 
'Mong shrines and marble cities, on each side 
Glitt'ring like jewels strung along a chain, 
Hath now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain 
And valley, like a giant from his bed 
Rising with outstretch'd limbs, hath grandly spread ; 
While far as sight can reach, beneath as o'ear 
And blue a heaven as ever bless'd our sjnere, 
Gardens, and pillar'd streets, and porplyry domes, 
And high-built temples, fit to be the Homes 
Of mighty Gods, and pyramids, vnose hour 
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower ! 

Then, too, the scenes of por*P and joy, that make 
One theatre of this vast, reopled lake, 
Where all that Love, B-Hgion, Commerce gives 
Of life and motion, ev-r moves and lives. 
Here, up the steps a temples from the wave 
Ascending, in profession slow and grave, 
Priests in white garments go, with sacred wands 
And silver cvnbals gleaming in their hands ; 
While there rich barks — fresh from those sunny 

trarfs 
Far off, beyond the sounding cataracts — 
Glide, Tvith their precious lading to the sea, 
Plum-s of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory, 
Gens from the Isle of Meroe, and those grains 
O-' gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian rains. 
Sere, where the waters wind into a bay 
Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims, on their way 
To Sal's or Bubastus, among beds 
Of lotus flowers, that close above their heads, 
Push then light barks, and there, as in a bo we:, 
Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour ; 
Oft dipping in the Nile, when faint with heat, 
That leaf, from which its waters drink most sweet. — 
While haply, not far off, beneath a bank 
Of blossoming acacias, many a prank 



Cleopatra. 



Is play'd in the cool current by a train 
Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she, 1 whose chain 
Around two conquerors of the world was cast, 
But, for a third too feeble, broke at last. 

For oh, believe not them, who dare to brand, 
As poor in charms, fie women of this land. 
Though darken'd Vy that sun, whose spirit fJovs 
Th ugh every ie'm, and tinges as it goes, 
'Tis bat th' en browning of the fruit that tells 
How rich w«thin the soul of ripeness dwells — 
The hue their own dark sanctuaries wear, 
Announcing heaven in half-caught glimpses there. 
And never yet did tell-tale looks set free 
Tfc secret of young hearts more tenderly. 
Such eyes ! — long, shadowy, with that languid fall 
Of the fringed lids, which may be seen in all 
Who live beneath the sun's too ardent rays — 
Lending such looks as, on their marriage days, 
Young maids cast down before a bridegroom's gaze 
Then for their grace — mark but the nymph-like 



Of the young village girls, when carrying grapes 

From green Anthylla, or light urns of flowers — 

Not our own Sculpture, in her happiest hours, 

E'er imaged forth, even at the touch of him 2 

Whose touch was life, more luxury of limb ; 

Then, canst thou wonder if, 'mid scenes like these, 

I should forget all graver mysteries, 

All lore but Love's, all secrets but that best 

In heaven or earth, the art of being blest ! 

Yet are there times — though brief, I own, their 

stay, 
Like Summer clouds that shine themselves away — 
Moments of gloom, when even these pleasures pall 
Upon my sadd'ning heart, and I recall 
That Garden dream — that promise of a power — 
Oh, were there such ! — to lengthen out life's hour, 
On, on, as through a vista, far away 
Opening before us into endless day ! 
And chiefly o'er my spirit did this thought 
Come on that evening — bright as ever brought 
Light's golden farewell to the world — when first 
Th' eternal pyramids of Memphis burst 
Awfully on my sight — standing sublime 
'Twixt earth and heaven, the watch-towers of Time, 
From whose lone summit, when his reign hath pass'd 
From earth forever, he will look his last ! 

There hung a calm and solemn sunshine round 
Those mighty monuments, a hushing sound 
In the still air that circled them, which stole 
Like music of past times into my soul. 



i Apelles. 



728 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



I thought what myriads of the wise, and brave, 

And beautiful, had sunk into the grave, 

Since earth first saw these wonders — and I said, 

" Are things eternal only for the Dead ? ' 

" Hath man no loftier hope than this, which dooms 

" His only lasting trophies to be tombs ? 

" But H is not so — earth, heaveiv, all nature shows 

" He may become immortal — may unclose 

" The wings within him wrapt, an& proudly rise, 

" Redeem'd from earth, a creature of the skies ! 

" And who can say, among the written sj^ells 

" From Hermes' hand, that, in these shrills and 

cells 
" Have, from the Flood, lay hid, there may not\e 
" Some secret clue to immortality, — 
" Some amulet, whose spell can keep life's fire 
" Awake within us, never to expire ! 
« 'Tis known that, on the Emerald Table, 1 hid 
" For ages in yon loftiest pyramid, 
" The Thrice-Great 2 did himself engrave, of old, 
" The chymic mystery that gives endless gold. 
" And why may not this mightier secret dwell 
" Within the same dark chambers ? who can tell 
" But that those kings, who, by the written skill 
" Of th' Emerald Table, call'd forth gold at will, 
" And quarries upon quarries heap'd and hurl'd, 
" To build them domes that might outstand the 

world — 
" Who knows but that the heavenlier art, which 

shares 
" The life of Gods with man, was also theirs — 
" That they themselves, triumphant o'er the power 
" Of fate and death, are living at this hour ; 
" And these, the giant homes they still possess, 
" Not tombs, but everlasting palaces, 
" Within whose depths, hid from the world above, 
" Even now they wander, with the few they love, 
" Through subterranean gardens, by a light 
" Unknown on earth, which hath nor dawn nor 

night ! 
" Else, why those deathless structures ? why the 

grand 
" And hidden halls, that undermine this land ? 
" Why else hath none of earth e'er dared to go 
" Through the dark windings of that realm below, 
" Nor aught from heav'n itself, except the God 
" Of Silence, through those endless labyrinths 

trod?" 
Thus did I dream — wild, wandering dreams, I own, 
But such as haunt me ever, if alone, 
Or in that pause, 'twixt joy and joy I be, 
Like a ship hush'd between two waves at sea. 

1 See Notes on the Ep curean. 
9 The Hermes Trismegistus. 



Then do these spirit whisperings, like the sound 
Of the Dark Future, come appalling round ; 
Nor can I break the trance that holds me then, 
Till high o'er Pleasure's surge I mount again ! 

Even now for new adventure, new delight, 
My heart is on the wing ; — this very night, 
The Temple on that Island, half-way o'er 
From Memphis' gardens to the eastern shore, 
Sends up its annual rite 3 to her, whose beams 
Bring the sweet time of night-flowers and dreams ; 
The nymph, who dips her urn in silent lakes, 
And turns to silvery dew each drop it takes ; — 
Oh, not our Dian of the North, who chains 
In vestal ice the current of young veins, 
But she who haunts the gay Bubustian 4 grove, 
And owns she sees, from her bright heaven above, 
l%thing on earth to match that heaven but Love. 
Th'ajk, then, what bliss will be abroad to-night ! — 
Besid\g those sparkling nymphs, who meet the sight 
Day alte>r day, familiar as the sun, 
Coy buds of beauty, yet unbreathed upon, 
And all the hidden loveliness, that lies, 
Shut up, as aia, the beams of sleeping eyes, 
Within these tw-Jjght shrines— to-night shall be 
Let loose, like biro*, for this festivity ! 

And mark, 'tis nigh ; \lready the sun bids 

His evening farewell to l^e Pyramids, 

As he hath done, age aftei age, till they 

Alone on earth seem ancient as his ray ; 

While their great shadows, stra c hmg from the light, 

Look like the first colossal steps sf Night, 

Stretching across the valley, to in Vide 

The distant hills of porphyry with th^ir shade. 

Around, as signals of the setting beam. 

Gay, gilded flags on every house-top gltam : 

While, hark ! — from all the temples a rich swell 

Of music to the Moon — farewell — farewell. 



LETTER III. 



FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME 

Memphis. 
There is some star — or it may bo 

That moon we saw so near last night — 
Which comes athwart my destiny 
Forever, with misleading light. 

3 The great Festival of the Moon. 

4 Bubastis, or Isis, was the Diana of the Egyptian my- 
thology. 



ALCIPHRON. 729 


If for a moment, pure and wise 


Of every form and kind — from those 


And calm I feel, there quick doth fall 


That down Syene's cataract shoots, 


A spark from some disturbing eyes, 


To the grand, gilded barge, that rows 


That through my heart, soul, being flies, 


To tambour's beat and breath of flutes, 


And makes a wildfire of it all. 


And wears at night, in words of flame, 


I've seen — oh, Cleon, that this earth 


On the rich prow, its master's name ; — 


Should e'er have giv'n such beauty birth ! — 


All were alive, and made this sea 


That man — but, hold — hear all that pass'd 


Of cities busy as a hill 


Since yesternight, from first to last 


Of summer ants, caught suddenly 




In the overflowing of a rill. 


The rising of the Moon, calm, slow, 




And beautiful, as if she came 


Landed upon the isle, I soon 


Fresh from the Elysian bowers below, 


Through marble alleys and small groves 


Was, with a loud and sweet acclaim, 


Of that mysterious palm she loves, 


Welcomed from every breezy height, 


Reach'd the fair Temple of the Moon ; 


Where crowds stood waiting for her light 


And there — as slowly through the last 


And well might they who view'd the scene 


Dim-lighted vestibule I pass'd — 


Then lit up all around them, say, 


Between the porphyry pillars, twined 


That never yet had Nature been 


With palm and ivy, I could see 


Caught sleeping in a lovelier ray, 


A band of youthful maidens wind, 


Or rivall'd her own noontide face, 


In measured walk, half dancingly, 


With purer show of moonlight grace. 


Round a small shrine, on which was placed 




That bird, 1 whose plumes of black and white 


Memphis — still grand, though not the same 
Unrivall'd Memphis, that could seize 


Wear in their hue, by Nature traced, 
A type of the moon's shadow'd light. 


From ancient Thebes the crown of Fame, 




And wear it bright through centuries — 


In drapery, like woven snow, 


Now, in the moonshine, that came down 


These nymphs were clad ; and each, below 


Like a last smile upon that crown, — 


The rounded bosom, loosely wore 


Memphis, still grand, among her lakes, 


A dark blue zone, or bandelet, 


Her pyramids and shrines of fire, 


• With little silver stars all o'er, 


Rose, like a vision, that half breaks 


As are the skies at midnight, set, 


On one who, dreaming still, awakes, 


While in their tresses, braided through, 


To music from some midnight choir : 


Sparkled that flower of Egypt's lakes, 


While to the west — where gradual sinks 


The silvery lotus, in whose hue 


In the red sands, from Libya roll'd, 


As much delight the young Moon takes, 


Some mighty column, or fair sphynx, 


As doth the Day-God to behold 


That stood in kingly courts, of old — 


The lofty bean-flower's buds of gold. 


It seem'd, as, 'mid the pomps that shone 


And, as they gracefully went round 


Thus gayly round him, Time look'd on, 


The worshipp'd bud, some to the beat 


Waiting till all, now bright and bless'd, 


Of castanets, some to the sound 


Should sink beneath him like the rest. 


Of the shrill sistrum timed their feet ; 




While others, at each step they took, 


No sooner had the setting sun 


A tinkling chain of silver shook. 


Proclaimed the festal rite begun, 




And, 'mid their idol's fullest beams, 


They seem'd all fair — but there was one 


The Egyptian world was all afloat, 


On whom the light had not yet shone, 


Than I, who live upon these streams, 


Or shone but partly — so downcast 


Like a young Nile-bird, turn'd my boat 


She held her brow as slow she pass'd. 


To the fair island, on whose shores, 


And yet to me, there seem'd to dwell 


Through leafy palms and sycamores, 


A charm about that unseen face — 


Already shone the moving lights 


A something in the shade that fell 


Of pilgrims hastening to the rites. 


Over that brow's imagined grace, 


While, far around, like ruby sparks 




Upon the water, lighted barks, 


i The Ibis. 



730 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Which won me more than all the best 


Where'er I sought to pass, their wands 


Outshining beauties of the rest. 


Motion'd me back, while many a file 


And her alone my eyes could see, 


Of sacred nymphs — but ah, not they 


Enchain'd by this sweet mystery ; 


Whom my eyes look'd for — throng'd the way 


And her alone I .vatch'd, as round 


Perplex'd, impatient, 'mid this crowd 


She glided o'er that marble ground, 


Of faces, lights — the o'erwhelming cloud 


Stirring not more th' unconscious ah 


Of incense round me, and my blood 


Than if a Spirit were moving there. 


Full of its new-born fire — I stood, 


Till suddenly, wide open flew 


Nor moved, nor breathed, but when I caught 


The Temple's folding gates, and threw 


A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone, 


A splendor from within, a flood 


Or wreath of lotus, vhich, I thought, 


Of glory, where these maidens stood. 


Like those she wore at distance shoue. 


While, with that light — as if the same 




Rich source gave birth to both — there cams 


But no, 'twas vain — hour after hour, 


A swell of harmony, as grand 


Till my heart's throbbing t srn'd to pain, 


As e'er was born of voice and hand, 


And my strain'd eyesight lost its power, 


Filling the gorgeous aisles around 


I sought her thus, but all in vain. 


With luxury of light and sound. 


At length, hot — wilder' d — in despair, 




I rush'd into the cool night-air, 


Then was it, by the flash that blazed 
Full o'er her features — oh 'twas then, 


And, hurrying, (though with many a look 


Back to the busy Temple,) took 


As startingly her eyes she raised, 
But quick let fall their lids again, 


My way along the moonlight shore, 
And sprung into my boat once more. 


I saw — not Psyche's self, when first 




Upon the threshold of the skies 


There is a Lake, that to the north 


She paused, while heaven's glory burst 


Of Memphis stretches grandly forth, 


Newly upon her downcast eyes, 


Upon whose silent shore the Dead 


Could look more beautiful, or blush 


Have a proud City of their own, 1 


With holier shame, than did this maid, 


With shrines and pyramids o'erspread — 


Whom now I saw, in all that gush 


Where many an ancient kingly head 


Of splendor from the aisles, display'd, 


Slumbers, immortalized in stone ; 


Never — though well thou know'st how much 


And where, through marble grots beneath, 


I've felt the sway of Beauty's star — 


The lifeless, ranged like sacred things, 


Never did her bright influence touch 


Nor wanting aught of life but breath, 


My soul into its depths so far ; 


Lie in their painted coverings, 


And had that vision linger' d there 


And on each new successive race, 


One minute more, I should have flown, 


That visit their dim haunts below, 


Forgetful who 1 was and where, 


Look with the same unwithering face, 


And, at her feet in worship thrown, 


They wore three thousand years ago. 


Proffer'd my soul through life her own. 


There, Silence, thoughtful God, who loves 




The neighborhood of death, in groves 




Of Asphodel lies hid, and weaves 


But, scarcely had that burst of light 


His hushing spell among the leaves — 


And music broke on ear and sight, 


Nor ever noise disturbs the air, 


Than up the aisle the bird took wing, 


Save the low, humming, mournful sound 


As if on heavenly mission sent, 


Of priests, within their shrines, at prayer 


While after him, with graceful spring, 


For the fresh Dead entomb'd around. 


Like some unearthly creatures, meant 




To live in that mix'd element 


'Twas tow'rd this place of death — in mood 
Made up of thoughts, half bright, half dark — 


Of light and song, the young maids went ; 
And she, who in my heart had thrown 


A spark to burn for life, was flown. 


I now across the shining flood 

Unconscious turn'd my light-wing 5 d bark. 


In vain I tried to follow ; — bands 


1 Necropolis, or the City of the Dead, to the south of 


Of reverend chanters fill'd the aisle : 


Memphis. 



ALCIPHRON. 731 


The form of that young maid, in all 


Cold, dead, and black'ning, 'mid the gloom 


Its beauty, was before me still ; 


Of those eternal sepulchres. 


And oft I thought, if thus to call 




Her image to my mind at will, 


Scarce had I turn'd my eyes away 


If but the memory of that one 


From that dark death-place, at the thought, 


Bright look of hers, forever gone, 


When by the sound of dashing spray 


Was to my heart worth all the rest 


From a light oar my ear was caught, 


Of woman-kind, beheld, possess'd — 


While past me, through the moonlight, sail'd 


What would it be, if wholly mine, 


A little gilded bark that bore 


Within these arms, as in a shrine, 


Two female figures, closely veil'd 


Hallow'd by Love, I saw her shine — 


And mantled, towards that funeral shore. 


An idol, worshipp'd by the light 


They landed — and the boat again 


Of her own beauties, day and night — 


Put off across the watery plain. 


If 'twas a blessing but to see 




And lose again, what would this be? 


Shall I confess — to thee I may — 




That never yet hath come the chance 


In thoughts like these — but often cross'd 


Of a new music, a new ray 


By darker threads — my mind was lost, 


From woman's voice, from woman's glance, 


Till, near that City of the Dead, 


Which — let it find me how it might, 


Waked from my trance, I saw o'erhead — 


In joy or grief — I did not bless, 


As if by some Enchanter bid 


And wander after, as a light 


Suddenly from the wave to rise — 


Leading to undreamt happiness. 


Pyramid over pyramid 


And chiefly now, when hopes so vain 


Tower in succession to the skies ; 


Were stirring in my heart and brain, 


While one, aspiring, as if soon 


When Fancy had allured my soul 


'Twould touch the heavens, rose o'er all ; 


Into a chase, as vague and far 


And, on its summit, the white moon 


As would be his, who fix'd his goal 


Rested, as on a pedestal ! 


In the horizon, or some star — 




Any bewilderment, that brought 




More near to earth my high-flown thought — 


The silence of the lonely tombs 


The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, 


And temples round, where naught was heard 


Less high and heavenly, but more sure, 


But the high palm-tree's tufted plumes, 


Came welcome — and was then to me 


Shaken, at times, by breeze or bird, 


What the first flowery isle must be 


Form'd a deep contrast to the scene 


To vagrant birds blown out to sea. 


Of revel, where I late had been ; 




To those gay sounds, that still came o'er, 


Quick to the shore I urged my bark, 


Faintly, from many a distant shore, 


And, by the bursts of moonlight, shed 


And th' unnumber'd lights, that shone 


Between the lofty tombs, could mark 


Far o'er the flood, from Memphis on 


Those figures, as with hasty tread 


To the Moon's Isle and Babylon. 


They glided on — till in the shade 




Of a small pyramid, which through 


My oars were lifted, and my boat 


Some boughs of palm its peak display'd, 


Lay rock'd upon the rippling stream ; 


They vauish'd instant from my view. 


While my vague thoughts, alike afloat, 




Drifted through many an idle dream, 


I hurried to the spot — no trace 


With all of which, wild and unfix'd 


Of life was in that lonely place ; 


As was their aim, that vision mix'd, 


And, had the creed I hold by taught 


That bright nymph of the Temple — now, 


Of other worlds, I might have thought 


With the same innocence of brow 


Some mocking spirits had from thence 


She wore within the lighted fane — 


Come in this guise to cheat my sense. 


Now kindling, through each pulse and vein, 




With passion of such deep-felt fire 


At length, exploring darkly round 


As Gods might glory to inspire ; — 


The Pyramid's smooth sides, I found 


And now — oh Darkness of the tomb, 


An iron portal — opening high 


That must eclipse even light like hers ! 


'Twixt peak and base — and, with a prayer 



732 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


To the bliss-loving Moon, whose eye 


For there was yet one wonder there, 


Alone beheld me, sprung in there. 


That held me as by witch'ry bound. 


Downward the narrow stairway led 


The lamp, that through the chamber shed 


Through many a duct obscure and dread, 


Its vivid beam, was at the head 


A labyrinth for mystery made, 


Of her who on that altar slept ; 


With wanderings onward, backward, round, 


And near it stood, when first I came — 


And gathering still, where'er it wound, 


Bending her brow, as if she kept 


But deeper density of shade 


Sad watch upon its silent flame — 




A female form, as yet so placed 


Scarce had I ask'd myself, " Can aught 


Between the lamp's strong glow and me, 


" That man delights in sojourn here ?" — 


That I but saw, in outline traced, 


When, suddenly, far off, I caught 


The shadow of her symmetiy. 


A glimpse of light, remote, but clear — 


Yet did my heart — I scarce knew why— 


Whose welcome glimmer seem'd to pour 


Even at that shadow'd shape beat high. 


From some alcove or cell, that ended 


Nor was it long, ere full in sight 


The long, steep, marblo corridor, 


The figure turn'd ; and by the light 


Through which I now, all hope, descended. 


That touch'd her features, as she bent 


Never did Spartan to his bride 


Over the crystal monument, 


With warier foot at midnight glide. 


I saw 'twas she — the same — the same — 


It seem'd as echo's self were dead 


That lately stood before me, bright'ning 


In this dark place, so mute my tread. 


The holy spot, where she but came 


Reaching, at length, that light, I saw — 


And went again, like summer lightning ! 


Oh listen to the scene, now raised 




Before my eyes — then guess the awe, 


Upon the crystal, o'er the breast 


The still, rapt awe with which I gazed. 


Of her who took that silent rest, 


'Twas a small chapel, lined around 


There was a cross of silver lying — 


With the fair, spangling marble, found 


Another type of that blest home, 


In many a ruin'd shrine that stands 


Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying 


Half teen above the Libyan sands. 


Build for us in a world to come : — 


The walls were richly sculptured o'er, 


This silver cross the maiden raised 


And character'd with that dark lore, 


To her pure lips : — then^ having gazed 


Of times before the Flood, whose key 


Some minutes on that tranquil face, 


Was lost in th' " Universal Sea." — 


Sleeping in all death's mournful grace, 


While on the roof was pictured bright 


Upward she turn'd her brow serene, 


The Theban beetle, as he shines, 


As if, intent on heaven, those eyes 


When the Nile's mighty flow declines, 


Saw then nor roof nor cloud between 


And forth the creature springs to light, 


Their own pure orbits and the skies ; 


With life regenerate in his wings : — 


And, though her lips no motion made, 


Emblem of vain imaginings ! 


And that fix'd look was all her speech, 


Of a new world, when this is gone, 


I saw that the rapt spirit pray'd 


In which the spirit still lives on ! 


Deeper within than words could reach. 


Direct beneath this type, reclined 


Strange power of Innocence, to turn 


On a black granite altar, lay 


To its own hue whate'er comes near, 


A female form, in crystal shrined, 


And make even vagrant Passion burn 


And looking fresh as if the ray 


With purer warmth within its sphere ! 


Of soul had fled but yesterday. 


She who, but one short hour before, 


While in relief, of silv'ry hue, 


Had come, like sudden wildfire, o'er 


Graved on the altar's front were seen 


My heart and brain — whom gladly, even 


A branch of lotus, broken in two, 


From that bright Temple, in the face 


As that fair creature's life had been, 


Of those proud ministers of heaven, 


And a small bird that from its spray 


I would have borne, in wild embrace. 


Was winging, like her soul, away. 


And risk'd all punishment, divine 




And human, but to make her mine ; — 


But brief the glimpse I now could spare, 


She, she was now before me, thrrwn 


To the wild, mystic wonders round ; 


By fate itself into my arms — 



ALCIPHRON. 733 


There standing, beautiful, alone, 


Though the red sun for hours hath burn'd, 


With naught to guard her, but her charms. 


And now, in his mid course, hath met 


Yet did I, then — did even a breath 


The peak of that eternal pile 


From my parch'd lips, too parch'd to move, 


He pauses still at noon to bless, 


Disturb a scene where thus, beneath 


Standing beneath his downward smile, 


Earth's silent covering, Youth and Death 


Like a great Spirit, shadowless ! — 


Held converse through undying love ? 


Nor yet she comes — while here, alone, 


No — smile and taunt me as thou wilt — 


Saunt'ring through this death-peopled place, 


Though but to gaze thus was delight, 


Where no heart beats except my own, 


Yet seem'd it like a wrong, a guilt, 


Or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown, 


To win by stealth so pure a sight : 


By turns I watch, and rest, and trace 


And rather than a look profane 


These lines, that are to waft to thee 


Should then have met those thoughtful eyes, 


My last night's wondrous histoiy. 


Or voice or whisper broke the chain 




That link'd her spirit with the skies, 


Dost thou remember, in thai ^.sle 


I would have gladly, in that place, 


Of our own Sea, where thou and I 


From which I watch'd her heavenward face, 


Linger'd so long, so happy a while, 


Let my heart break, without one beat 


Till all the summer flowers went by — 


That could disturb a prayer so sweet. 


How gay it was, when sunset brought 


Gently, as if on eveiy tread, 


To the cool Well our favorite maids — 


My life, my more than life, depended, 


Some we had won, and some we sought — 


Back through the corridor that led 


To dance within the fragrant shades, 


To this bless'd scene I now ascended, 


And, till the stars went down attune 


And with slow seeking, and some pain, 


Their Fountain Hymns 1 to the young moon ? 


And many a winding tried in vain, 




Emerged to upper air again. 


That time, too — oh, 'tis like a dream — 


The sun had freshly risen, and down 


When from Scamander's holy tide 


The marble hills of Araby, 


I sprung as Genius of the Stream, 


Scatter'd, as from a conqueror's crown, 


And bore away that blooming bride, 


His beams into that living sea. 


Who thither came, to yield her charms 


There seem'd a glory in his light. 


(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere wed) 


Newly put on — as if for pride 


Into the cold Scamander's arms, 


Of the high homage paid this night 


But met, and welcomed mine, instead — 


To his own Isis, his young bride, 


Wondering, as on my neck she fell, 


Now fading feminine away 


How river-gods could love so well ! 


In her proud Lord's superior ray. 


Who would have thought that he, who roved 




Like the first bees of summer then, 


My mind's first impulse was to fly 


Rifling each sweet, nor ever loved 


At once from this entangling net — 


But the free hearts, that loved again, 


New scenes to range, new loves to try, 


Readily as the reed replies 


Or, in mirth, wine, and luxury 


To the least breath that round it sighs — 


Of every sense, that night forget. 


Is the same dreamer who, last night, 


But vain the effort — spell-bound still, 


Stood awed and breathless at the sight 


I linger'd, without power or will 


Of one Egyptian girl ; and now 


To turn my eyes from that dark door, 


Wanders among these tombs, with brow 


Which now enclosed her 'mong the dead 


Pale, watchful, sad, as though he just, 


Oft fancying, through the boughs, that o'er 


Himself, had risen from out their dust ! 


The sunny pile their flickering shed, 




'Twas her light form again I saw 


Yet so it is — and the same thirst 


Starting to earth — still pure and bright, 


For something high and pure, above 


But wakening, as I hoped, less awe, 


This withering world, which, from the first, 


Thus seen by morning's natural light, 


Made me drink deep of woman's love — 


Than in thai strange, dim cell at night. 




But no, alas — she ne'er return'd : 


* These songs of the Well, as they were called by the 


Nor yet — though still I watch — nor yet, 


ancients, are still common in the Greek isles. 



734 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



As the one joy, to heaven most near 
Of all our hearts can meet with here — 
Still burns me up, still keeps awake 
A fever naught but death can slake. 

Farewell ; whatever may befall — 
Or bright, or dark — thou'lt know it all. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM ORCUS, HIGH PRIEST OF MEMPHIS, TO DECIUS, 
THE PR^.TORIAN PREFECT. 

Rejoice, my friend, rejoice : — the youthful Chief 
Of that light Sect which mocks at all belief, 
And, gay and godless, makes the present hour 
Its only heaven, is now within our power. 
Smooth, impious school ! — not all the weapons aim'd 
At priestly creeds, since first a creed was framed, 
E'er struck so deep as that sly dart they wield, 
i The Bacchant's pointed spear in laughing flowers 

conceal'd. 
And oh, 'twere victory to this heart, as sweet 
As any thou canst boast — even when the feet 
Of thy proud war-steed wade through Christian 

blood, 
To wrap this scoffer in Faith's blinding hood, 
And bring him, tamed and prostrate, to implore 
The vilest gods even Egypt's saints adore. 
What ! — do these sages think, to them alone 
The key of this world's happiness is known ? 
That none but they, who make such proud parade 
Of Pleasure's smiling favors, win the maid, 
Or that Religion keeps no secret place, 
No niche, in her dark fanes, for Love to grace ? 
Fools ! — did they know how keen the zest that's 

given 
To earthly joy, when season'd well with heaven ; 
How Piety's grave mask improves the hue 
Of Pleasure's laughing features, half seen through, 
And how the Priest, set aptly within reach 
Of two rich worlds, traffics for bliss with each, 
Would they not, Decius — thou, whom th' ancient 

tie 
Twixt Sword and Altar makes our best ally — 
Would they not change their creed, their craft, for 

ours? 
Leave the gross daylight joys that, in their bowers, 
Languish with too much sun, like o'erblown 

flowers, 
For the veil'd loves, the blisses undisplay'd 
That slyly lurk within the Temple's shade ? 



And, 'stead of haunting the trim Garden's school- 
Where cold Philosophy usurps a rule, 
Like the pale moon's, o'er Passion's heaving tide, 
Till Pleasure's self is chill'd by Wisdom's pride — 
Be taught by us, quit shadows for the true, 
Substantial joys we sager Priests pursue, 
Who, far too wise to theorize on bliss, 
Or Pleasure's substance for its shade to miss, 
Preach other worlds, but live for only this :— 
Thanks to the well-paid Mystery round us flung, 
Which, like its type, the golden cloud that hung 
O'er Jupiter's love-coucii. its shade benign, 
Round human frailty wraps a veil divine. 

Still less should they presume, weak wits, that 

they 
Alone despise the craft of us who pray ; — 
Still less their creedless vanity deceive 
With the fond thought, that we who pray believe. 
Believe ! — Apis forbid — forbid it, all 
Ye monster Gods, before whose shrines we fall — 
Deities, framed in jest, as if to try 
How far gross Man can vulgarize the sky ; 
How far the same low fancy that combines 
Into a drove of brutes yon zodiac's signs, 
And turns that Heaven itself into a place 
Of sainted sin and deified disgrace, 
Can bring Olympus even to shame more deep, 
Stock it with things that earth itself holds cheap, 
Fish, flesh, and fowl, the kitchen's sacred brood, 
Which Egypt keeps for worship, not for food- 
All, worthy idols of a Faith that sees 
In dogs, cats, owls, and apes, divinities ! 

Believe ! — oh, Decius, thou, who feel'st no care 

For things divine, beyond the soldier's share, 

Who takes on trust the faith for which he bleeds, 

A good, fierce God to swear by, all he needs — 

Little canst thou, whose creed around thee hangs 

Loose as thy summer war-cloak, guess the pangs 

Of loathing and self-scorn with which a heart, 

Stubborn as mine is, acts the zealot's part — 

The deep and dire disgust with which I wade 

Through the foul juggling of this holy trade — 

This mud profound of mystery, where the feet, 

At every step, sink deeper in deceit. 

Oh ! many a time, when, 'mid the Temple's blaze, 

O'er prostrate fools the sacred cist I raise, 

Did I not keep still proudly in my mind 

The power this priestcraft gives me o'er mankind — 

A lever, of more might, in skilful hand, 

To move this world, than Archimede e'er plann'd— 

I should, in vengeance of the shame I feel 

At my own mockery, crush the slaves that kneel 

Besotted round ; and— like that kindred breed 

Of reverend, well-dress'd crocodiles they feed, 



ALCIPHRON 



735 



At famed Arsinoe 1 — make my keepers bless, 
With their last throb, my sharp-fang'd Holiness. 

Say, is it to be borne, that scoffers, vain 

Of their own freedom from the altar's chain, 

Should mock thus all that thou thy blood hast sold, 

And I my truth, pride, freedom, to uphold? 

It must not be : — think'st thou that Christian sect, 

Whose followers, quick as broken waves, erect 

Their crests anew and swell into a tide, 

That threats to sweep away our shrines of pride — 

Think'st thou, with all their wondrous spells, even 

they 
Would triumph thus, had not the constant play 
Of Wit's resistless archery clear'd their way ? — 
That mocking spirit, worst of all the foes, 
Our solemn fraud, our mystic mummery knows, 
Whose wounding flash thus ever 'mong the signs 
Of a fast-falling creed, prelusive shines, 
Threat'ning such change as do the awful freaks 
Of summer lightning, ere the tempest breaks. 

But, to my point — a youth of this vain school, 
But one, whom Doubt itself hath fail'd to cool 
Down to that freezing point where Priests despair 
Of any spark from th' altar catching there — 
Hath, some nights since — it was, methinks, the night 
That follow'd the full Moon's great annual rite — 
Through the dark, winding ducts, that downward 

stray 
To these earth-hidden temples, track'd his way, 
Just at that hour when, round the Shrine, and me, 
The choir of blooming nymphs thou long'st to see % 
Sing their last night-hymn in the Sanctuary. 
The clangor of the marvellous Gate, that stands 
At the Well's lowest depth — which none but hands 
Of new, untaught adventurers, from above, 
Who know not the safe path, e'er dare to move — 
Gave signal that a foot profane was nigh : — 
'Twas the Greek youth, who, by that morning's sky, 
Had been observed, curiously wand'ring round 
The mighty fanes of our sepulchral ground. 

Instant, th' Initiate's Trials were prepared, — 
The Fire, Air, Water ; all that Orpheus dared, 
That Plato, that the bright-hair'd Samian 2 pass'd, 
With trembling hope, to come to — what, at last ? 
Go, ask the dupes of Priestcraft ! question him 
Who, 'mid terrific sounds and spectres dim, 
Walks at Eleusis ; ask of those, who brave 
The dazzling miracles of Mithra's Cave, 
With its seven starry gates ; ask all who keep 
Those terrible night-mysteries, where they weep 

1 For the trinkets with which the sacred Crocodiles were 
ornamented, see the Epicurean, chap. x. 



And howl sad dirges to the answering breeze, 
O'er their dead Gods, their mortal Deities — 
Amphibious, hybrid things, that died as men, 
Drown'd, hang'd, empaled, to rise, as gods, again ; — 
Ask them, what mighty secret lurks below 
This seven-fold mystery— can they tell thee ? No ; 
Gravely they keep that only secret, well 
And fairly kept — that they have none to tell ; 
And, duped themselves, console their humbled pride 
By duping thenceforth all mankind beside. 

And such th' advance in fraud since Orpheus' 

time — 
That earliest master of our craft sublime — 
So many minor Mysteries, imps of fraud, 
From the great Orphic Egg have wing'd abroad, 
That, still t' uphold our Temple's ancient boast, 
And seem most holy, we must cheat the most ; 
Work the best miracles, wrap nonsense round 
In pomp and darkness, till it seems profound ; 
Play on the hopes, the terrors of mankind, 
With changeful skill ; and make the human mind 
Like our own Sanctuary, where no ray, 
But by the Priest's permission, wins its way — 
Where through the gloom as wave our wizard-rods, 
Monsters, at will, are conjured into Gods ; 
While Reason, like a grave-faced mummy, stands, 
With her arms swathed in hieroglyphic bands. 
But chiefly in that skill with which we use 
Man's wildest passions for Religion's views, 
Yoking them to her car like fiery steeds, 
Lies the main art in which our craft succeeds. 
And oh ! be blest, ye men of yore, whose toil 
Hath, for her use, scoop'd out from Egypt's soil 
This hidden Paradise, this mine of fanes, 
Gardens, and palaces, where Pleasure reigns 
In a rich, sunless empire of her own, 
With all earth's luxuries lighting up her throne ; — 
A realm for mystery made, which undermines 
The Nile itself, and, 'neath the Twelve Great Shrines 
That keep Initiation's holy rite, 
Spreads its long labyrinths of unearthly light, 
A light that knows no change — its brooks that run 
Too deep for day, its gardens without sun, 
Where soul and sense, by turns, are charm'd, sur- 
prised, 
And all that bard or prophet e'er devised 
For man's Elysium, priests have realized. 

Here, at this moment — all his trials past, 
And heart and nerve unshrinking to the last — 
Our new Initiate roves — as yet left free 
To wander through this realm of mystery ; 

2 Pythagoras. 



736 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Feeding on such illusions as prepare 
The soul, like mist o'er waterfalls, to wear 
All shapes and hues, at Fancy's varying will, 
Through every shifting aspect, vapor still ;— 
Vague glimpses of the Future, vistas shown, 
By scenic skill, into that world unknown, 
Which saints and sinners claim alike their own ; 
And all those other witching, wildering arts, 
Illusions, terrors, that make human hearts, 
Ay, even the wisest and the hardiest, quail 
To any goblin throned behind a veil. 

Yes — such the spells shall haunt his eye, his ear, 
Mix 'with his night-dreams, form his atmosphere ; 



Till, if our Sage be not tamed down, at length, 

His wit, his wisdom, shorn of all their strength, 

Like Phrygian priests, in honor of the shrine — 

If he become not absolutely mine, 

Body and soul, and, like the tame decoy 

Which wary hunters of wild doves employ, 

Draw converts also, lure his brother wits 

To the dark cage where his own spirit flits, 

And give us, if not saints, good hypocrites — 

If I effect not this, then be it said 

The ancient spirit of our craft hath fled, 

Gone with that serpent-god the Cross hath chased 

To hiss its soul out in the Theban waste. 

****** 



INDEX 



Abdalla. King of the Lesser Bucha 

ria, 373, &c. See Lalla Rookh. 
Abdallah, 210. His Gazel, 211. 
Abdul Fazil, 453, n. 
A beam of tranquillity smiled in the 

west, 162. 
A broken cake, with honey sweet, (Ode 

lxx. Anacreon,) 100. 
jEgean Sea, the, 312. 315. 
Agnew, Sir Andrew, 589, 590. 646, et 

passim. 
Ah ! where are they who heard in for- 
mer hours, 324. 
Albemarle, Lord, anecdote of, 533. 
Album, the, 131. 547. 
Alciphron, Athenian Philosopher, an 
initiate in Egyptian Mysteries, 702. 
His recognition by the Roman tribune, 
721. His daring, 722. He witnesses 
the death of the Christian martyr 
Alethe, 723. Account of this Epicu- 
rean philosopher, 723, 724. 
Alciphron, a Fragment of 'The Epicu- 
rean,' as originally commenced in 
verse, 724—736. Epistle I. From Al- 
ciphron at Alexandria to Cieon at 
Athens, 724. H. From Alciphron to 
Cleon, 726. III. From Alciphron to 
Cleon, 723. IV. From Orcus, high 
priest of Memphis, to Decius, the 
Praetorian prefect, 734. 
Alethe, Story of the Martyu 698—703, 

et seq. 
Alexander, Right Hon. H., 212. 
Aliris, King, 373. 441. 454. His nuptials 

with Lalla RooRB, 454. 
All that's bright must fade, 280. 
Alia, name of God in Mahometan coun- 
tries, 378. {Vide Lalla Rookh, 522. 
532.) The throne of Alia, 525. 538. 
Alone in crowds to wander on, 298. 
Alps, Song of the, 372. 
America, Poems relating to. Preface, 
160, 161. Dedication to Francis, Earl 
of Moira. Preface, 160. The Poems, 
161—187. 
Animianus speaking of Alexandria in 

Egypt, 667, n. 
Amra tree, 350, n. 
Amrita, the Immortal tree, 365. 
Amystis, the, a single draught of wine, 

61,71. 

Anacreon, Odes of, 57. 

%* The Odes r.re given in this In- 
dex in the order of the initial letter of 
tact Ode. 



Anacreon. Biographical and Critical 
Remarks, 59. Additional Lyrics, at- 
tributed to Anacreon, 101, 102. Pan- 
egyrics in the Anthologia on Ana- 
creon, 102—104. 

Anacreontics, modern, 110. 118. 120, 
121. 219. 221. 

And doth not a meeting like this make 
amends, 263. 

And hast thou mark'd the pensive 
shade, 146. 

And now with all thy pencil's truth, 
(Ode xvn. Anacreon,) 73. 

Angels and archingels of the celestial 
hierarchy of the primeval Syrians, 
521. 536. 

Angels, the Fallen, 451. 527. 537. 

Angerianus, Latin verses of, translated, 
67, n., 75, n. 

Anglesea, Marquis of, lord-lieutenant, 
574. 

Animal Magnetism, 614. 

Annual Pill, the, 580. 

Antelope of Erac, 450. See also 720. 

Anthology, the Greek : Translations of 
some Epigrams of, 102. 104. Songs 
from the Greek, 366—369. 

Antipater, epigram of, 104. 

Antique, a Study from the, 173. 

Antiquity, a Dream of, 170. 

Apollo, the god of poetry, 292. 

Apollo, the high-priest of, to a virgin 
of Del phi, 136. 

Apricots, the 'Seed of the Sun,' 450. 

Arab, the tyrant, Al Hassan, (vide 
Lalla Rookh, the Story of the Fire- 
worshippers,) 416, et seq. 

Arab Maid, the, 417. 449. 451. 

Arabia, 416, 4.^, 

Arabian shepherd, his camel, 328, n. 

Ararat, Mount, 417. 

Archangels, 522. 527. 536. 

Ariadne, dance so named, 329. 

Ariel, 170. 543. 558. 

Aristippus, to a Lamp given by Lais, 
122. 

Arm'd with hyacinthine rod, (Ode 
xxxi. Anacreon,) 81. 

Around the tomb, O bard divine ! (An- 
thologia,) 102. 

Arranmore ! loved Arranmore ! 269. 

Array thee, love, 310. 

Art, 327. 

As by his Lemnian forge's flame, (Ode 
xxviii. Anacreon,) 79. 

As by the shore, at break of day, 323. 

As down in the sunless retreats, 301. 

Ask not if still 1 love, 369. 



As late 1 sought the spangled bowers, 
(Ode vi. Anacreon,) 66. 

As o'er the lake, in evening's glow, 
664. 

As o'er her loom the Lest ca maid, 320. 

As once a Grecian maiden wove, 327. 

Aspasia, 144. 

Aspen-tree, the, 443. 

As slow our shjj. 353. 

As vanquish'd Erin wept, 2fr» 

Atalantis, island of, 669. 

Athens, and the Sectaries of the Gar- 
den, 662, 663. Alciphron, 703. 724— 
736. Pyrrho, 199, et seq. The moth- 
er of art, 327. 

Athol, Duke of, 549, n. 

Atkinson, Joseph, Epistle to, 140. Epis- 
tle from Bermuda to, 174. Tribute to 
his memory, 547. 

At the mid hour of night, 244. 

At length thy golden hours have wing'd 
their flight, (Anthologia,) 104. 

At night, when all is still around, 658. 

Attar Gul, or (vulgarly) Otto of Roses, 
453. 

Augustine to his Sister, 302. 

Aurora Borealis, 453. 

Aurungzebe, Mogul Emperor of Delhi, 
373. 441. 

Austrians, their entry into Naples, 519. 

Autumn and Spring, 396. 

Avenging and bright fall the swift 
sword of Erin, 243. 

Awake, arise, thy light is come, 304. 

Awake to life, my sleeping shell, (Ode 
lx. Anacreon,) 96. 

Away, away, ye men of rules, (Ode 
lii. Anacreon,) 91. 

Awful event, 591. 

Awhile I bloom'd a happy flower, (Ode 
lxxiii. Anacreon,) 100. 

Azim, vi. 80. See Lalla Rookh. 

Azor, idols of, 452. 

Azrael, the angel of death, 521. 

Azure of the Chinese painting of por- 
celain, 452. n. 



B 



Babylon, 307. 

Ball and Gala described, 314. Allusion 
to Almack's, 544. See Waltz, &c. et 
passim. The Romaika, 321. 

Ballads, legendary, 345—366. 

Ballads, miscellaneous, 345—366. 

Ballads, occasional, passim. 

Bank, coquetry of the, with Govern 
ment, 548. Notes, 549. 



47 



738 


INDEX. 


Bard, the Wandering, 267. 


Bull, John, 545. A Pastoral Ballad by, 


Chindara's warbling fount, 448. 


Bards, of, 64. 236. 292. 355. 362, et pas- 


569. 


Chinese, peculiar porcelain painting of 


sim. 


Bunting, Mr. 28. 30. 39, n. 168, n. 


the, 452. 


Battle, after the, 238. 


Burns, Robert, 37. 272. 


Chinese Bird of Royalty, the, or ' Fum,* 


Battle, before the, 239. 


But who shall see the glorious day, 


455. 


Battle eve, song of the, 267. 


301. (Stevenson.) 


Christ, the Saviour, 301. 303. 304. 306. 


Battle, the parting before the, 344. 


Butterflies denominated flying leaves in 


Christianity, and the Fathers, 668. 


Beaujolfiis, Count de, 45. 


China, 449. 


Church and State, 489. 


Beauty and Song, 363. 


Byron, Lord, his love of music, 36, Is 


Church extension, 631. Songs of the, 


Beauty, of, 180. 250. 265. 287. 281. 293. 


visited by Mr. Moore at Venice, 46. 


622. 


312. 334. 373, &c. 


Dedication to him of Mr. Moore's 


Circassian slaves, the, 311. 


Beckford, to Miss Susan, (now Duchess 


Fables for the Holy Alliance, 483. On 


Clare, Earl of, 32. 


of Hamilton,) 151. 


his autobiography, 501. His " Heaven 


Cleopatra of Alexandria, 694. 


Bee, the, 243. 291. 


and Earth," 51. 


Clergy, the numbering of the, a Parody, 


Behold the sun, how bright, 303- 


By that lake whose gloomy shore, 241. 


591. 


Behold the young, the rosy Spring, 




Cloe and S.isan, 289. 


(Ode xlvi. Anacreon,) 88. 


c 


Cloe, to, imitated from Martial, 146. 


Believe me, if all those endearing young 




Cloris and Fanny, 113. 


charms, 235. 


Cage, the Love, 289. 


Clouds, summer, 531. 


Bell, the silver, 292. 


Call the Loves around, 317. 


Cocker on Church Reform, 608. 


Benab Hasche, or daughters of God, 


Cambridge Election, Ballad for the, 553. 


College Exercises, Fragments of, 107. 


523. 


Canadian Boat-song, 183. 


Come, chase that starting tear away, 


Benshee, or Banshe, superstition of the, 


Candahar, 449. 


285. 


233. 


Canonization of the Saint, 560. 


Come hither, come hither, by night and 


Bermuda, farewell to, 271. Some ac- 


Canova, his Venere Vincitrice, 47. 


by day, 450. 


count of that island, 174, n. 


Calm as, beneath its mother's eyes, 331. 


Come not, O Lord, in the dread robe of 


Big Ben, Epistle from Tom Crib to, 457. 


Calm be thy sleep as infants' slumbers, 


splendor, 301. 


Bigotry, triumph of, 600. 


359. 


Come o'er the sea, maiden, with me, 


Bird, let loose in eastern skies, the, 298. 


Cara, to, 132. 


248. 


Birthday, my, 515. 


Care, 252. 


Come, play me that simple air again, 


Birthday, the, 140. 


Case, a sad, 592. 


661. 


Bishops, the dance of, a dream, 596. 


Cashmere, nuptials of Lalla Rookh at, 


Come, pray with me, my seraph love, 


Blackmore, Sir Richard, 596. 


373. "Cashmere, the Vale of," sung 


537. 


Blue Love Song, a, 590. 


by Feramorz, 442. The lake of, and 


Come, rest in this bosom, my own 


Blue Stocking, the, 656—658. 


islets, 443, n. Mountain portal to the 


stricken deer, 251. 


Boat Glee, 657. 


lake, 443, n. Rose's of, 444. The Un- 


Come, send round the wine, 234. 


Bohlen, Professor Von, his translation 


equalled Valley, 453. Superstitions 


Come, take my advice, 571. 


into German of the "Little Man and 


of, 453, n. A holy land, 453, n. The 


Come, take the harp ; 'tis vain to muse, 


Little Soul," 28. 


fountain Tirnagh, 453, n. " Though 


153. 


Bowl, the, 4. 230. 234. 245. 252. 263. 


sunny the lake of cool Cashmere," 


Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you 


267. 270. 290, 291. 293. 335. 343. 


406. 


languish, 304. 


Bride of the Vale, the, 299. 


Castalia, the fountain, 337, n. 


Comet, poetically described, 528. The 


Brien the Brave, 229. 


Castlereagh, Lord, satirized, 455. 458, et 


mad Tory and the, 598. 


Boston Frigate, to the : On leaving Hal- 


seq. (See The Fudge Family, 458, et 


Common Sense and Genius, 284. 


ifax for England, 187. 


passim.) His departure for the Con- 


Condolence, Epistle of: From a Slave- 


Boy of the Alps, the, 356. 


tinent, 611, 612. See Satirical Poems, 


Lord to a Cotton-Lord, 586. 


Boy sitting on the lotus flower, 268. 081. 


&c. 


Connor, Phelim, his patriotic Poetical 


Boy statesman, the, 616. 


Catholic Question, the, 578. 580, <fcc. 


Letters, 464. 470. 480. 


Boy with a watch, to a, 107. 


Catholics, the Roman, 563. 652. 


Consultation, the, 604. 


Boyle Farm, the seat of Lord Henry 


Catullus, 138. 516. 


Cookery, art of domestic . to the Reve- 


Fitzgerald, Summer Fete at, 38. 308. 


Caubul, or Caboul, gardens of, 450. 


rend , 583. 


Boyne, river, 264. 


Cecilia, Saint, 594. 


Coolburga, or Koolburga, city of the 


Box, the Song of the, 614. 


Cephalus and Procris, 338. 


Deccan, 454. 


Bright be thy dreams, 286. 


Ceres, Ode to the goddess, by Sir 


Corn Question, the, 52. 550. 563. 


Bright moon, that high in heaven art 


Thomas L., 550. 


Correspondence between a Lady and 


shining, 372. 


Chabuk, the, 454. 


Gentleman respecting Law, 224. 


Brighton, the Pavilion at, 455. 


Chaldaeans, astronomical notions of the 


Corruption, an Epistle, by an Irishman, 


Bring hither, bring thy lute, 315. 


ancient, 527, n. 


188—194. 


Bring me the slumbering souls of flow- 


Chantrey, Sir Francis. His admiration 


Corry, Mr., his merit as an amateur 


ers, 649. 


of Canova, 47. 


comedian, 48. 512. To James Corry, 


Bring the bright garlands hither, 293. 


Character, a, 619. 


Esq., on the present of a wine-strain- 


Brougham, Lord, 550. 


Charity, Angel of, 302. (Handel.) 


er, 542. 


Bruce, James, Esq., the traveller, 501. 


Charles X., king of France, 45. 


Cotton and Corn, a dialogue, 559. 


Brummel, Beau, 218. 


Chatsworth, the Derbyshire ducal man- 


Count me, on the summer trees, (Ode 


Brunswick Club, the, 593. 


sion of, 34. 


xiv. Anacreon,) 70. 


Brunswickers," Incantation from the 


Cherries, a conserve in the East, 450. 


Country Dance and Quadrille, 544. 


Tragedy of "The, 585. 


Cherries, the, 577. 


Court Journal, the, 650. 


Bucharia, Abdalla, king of, (in LalK 


Cherubim, 538. 


Cousins, Country, news for, 557. 


Rookh,) 373. 441. 452, 453, &c. 


Child's song : I have a garden of my 


Crabbe, the Poet, Verses on the Ink- 


Buds of roses, virgin flowers, (Ode 


own, 361. 


stand of, 517. 


xliv. Anacreon,) 87. 


China, butterfly of, 449. 


Crib, Tom, Epistle from, to Big Ben, 457. 





INDEX. 


739 


Critias of Athens, his verses on Ana- 


Desmond's Song, and tradition relating 


Emmett, Robert ; his eloquence, 29. His 


creon, 104; n. 


to that chieftain, 264. 


enthusiasm, 30. His offence, 32. 


Criticism, the genius of, 546. 


Destiny, the Island of, 268. 


Emmett, Thomas Addis, 30. 


Cross, the, an emblem of future life in 


Devil among the Scholars, the, 157. 


Enchanted Tree, the, 706. 


Egyptian hieroglyphics, 675. 702. 732. 


Devvan Khafs, built by Shah Allum, its 


Enigma, 571. 


736. 


inscription, 449, n. 


Epicure's dream, 456. 


Crowe, Rev. William, his poetic vein, 


Dialogue, a recent, 618. 


Epicurean, the, 662. 


36. 39. 


Dick , a character, 596. 


Epicureans, busts of the most celebrated 


Crown of virgin martyrs, poisoned, 


Dictionary, revolution in the, headed 


philosophers of their sect at Athens, 


723, n. 


by Mr. Gait, 588. 


664. 


Crystal Hunters, the, 287. 


Did not, 110. 


Epicurus, 154. 170. 664, &c. 


Cupid armed, 364. 


Dissolution of the Holy Alliance: A 


Epigrams, by Mr. Moore, 139. 220, 221. 


Cupid once upon a bed, (Ode xxxv. 


Dream, 484. 


227. 542. 


Anacreon,) 83. 


Doctors, the Three, 555. 


Epigrams of the Anthologia in praise of 


Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray, 


Dodsvvorth, Mr. Roger, (anno 1826,) 553. 


Anacreon, 102 — 104. 


(Anacreontic.) 101. 


Donegall, Marchioness of, Letter to, 


Epilogue, Occasional, spoken by Mr. 


Cupid, poetical allusions to, 101. 150. 


273. Poetical Epistle from Bermuda 


Cony in the character of Vapid, after 


157. 280. 353. 368. 370. Vide Love. 


to her Ladyship, 165. Dedication to, 


the play of the Dramatist, at the Kil- 


Cupid, sale of, by Meleager, 368. 


228. 


kenny theatre, 512. To the tragedy 


Cupid's Lottery, 657. 


Donkey and Panniers, 562. 


of Ina, 658. 


Curious Fact, a, 584. 


Dost thou remember, 282. 


Erasmus on earth, to Cicero in the 


Curran, John Philpot, his pleasantry, 


Dove, the, 302. 


shades : An Epistle, 610. 


45. 


Dove of Mahomet, the, 535. 560. 


Erin, oh Erin, 235. 


Curran, Miss, 30. 


Drama, Sketch of the First Act of a new 


Erin ! the :«.i and the smile in thise 




Romantic, 613. 


eyes, 229. 


D 


Dream of Hindostan, a, 592. 


Erin, poetical allusions to, 250. 251. 264 




Dream of Home, the, 358. 


267. 271. 


Dacre, Lady, Epilogue to her Tragedy 


Dream of the Two Sisters, from Dante, 


Erin, some political allusions to, 569. 


of Ina, 658. 


661. 


See Ireland, et passim. 


Damascus, the Green Mosque at, 442, n. 


Dream of those days, the, 271. 


Essex, the late Earl of, 38. 


Dan, some account of the late dinner 


Dream of Turtle, by Sir W. Curtis, 561. 


Eternal life, ancient belief of an, 675. 


to, 627. 


Dream, Sir Andrew's, 589. 


679. 683. 


Dandies, 308. 311. 


Dream, the Limbo, &c, 575. 


Eve, the second Angel describes her, 


Danes, the, 234. 267. 270. The Scandi- 


Dreaming forever, vainly dreaming, 372. 


527. Alluded to by the third Angel, 


navian poetry, 496. 


Dreams, poetical mention of, 114. 286. 


540. 


Dante, his Inferno, imitation of, 576. 


291. 293. 596. 


Eveleen's bower, 233. 


The Dream of the Two Sisters, 66J. 


Drinking Songs, &c, 230. 233, 234. 245. 


Evenings in Greece. First Evening, 318. 


His contrition -of mind, 53. 


263. 267. 270, &c. 


Second Evening, 326. 


David, the harp of, 304. 


Drink of this cup, 258. 


Ex-t-r, Henry of, to John of Tuam, 623 


Davidson, Lucretia, 34. 


Drink of this cup, Osiris sips, 681. 


Exeter Hall, the Reverends of, 652. 655 


Davy, Sir Humphrey, his lamp, 513. 


Drink to her who long, 236. 


Exquisites, 308. 313. 


Dawn is breaking o'er us, 365. 


Druids, and Druidical superstitions, 268, 


Exile, the, 359. 


Day, 298. 310. 


269. 


Extinguishers, the, 492. 


Day-dream, the, 659. 


Duigenan, Doctor, 33. 




Deadman's Isle : Romance, 186. 


Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, the, 


F 


Dear Fanny, 348. 


610. 




Dear harp of my country ! in darkness I 




Fables for the Holy Alliance, 484. 


found thee, 252. 


E 


Fadladeen, great Nazir of the Haram, 


Dear 1 Yes, tho' mine no more, 369. 


(in Lalla Rookh,) his vanity, 375, et 


Death, emblem of, 675. Opening of the 




seq. 441, 442. His criticisms, 403. 412. 


gates of Oblivion, 676. The upright 


East, poetical romances of the, (Lalla 


452. His recantation, 454. 


bodies in catacombs, 677. 


Rookh,) 375. 441—454. 


Fairest ! put on awhile, 262. 


Death and the dead, allusior.s to, 299. 


Eblis, the evil spirit, 378. 525. 


Fairy boat, the, 332. 


303. 536. 684. 


Echo, 260. 282. 315. 379. 541. 


Faith, 303. 305. 


Debt, national, 600. 


Echoes, new-fashioned, 584. 


Fall'n is thy throne, O Israel ! 298. 


Decius, Prretorian prefect, Orcus, high- 


Eden, some allusions to, 269, 270. 412. 


Family-way, all in the ; a pastoral, 552. 


priest of Memphis, to, 731. 


522. 527. 


Fancy, 515. 


Delatorian Cohort, the, 458. 


Egerton, Lord Francis, 308. 


Fancy, prismatic dyes of, 499. 


Delhi, visit of Abdalla to Aurungzebe, 


Egypt's dark sea, 300. The desolation 


Fancy, various allusions to, 151. 164. 


at, 373. Splendors of the court and 


of, 301. 


312. 


city, 374. Mogul emperors of, 449, 


Egyptians, the ancient ; of the counte- 


Fancy Fair, the, 359. 


notes. 


nance of the women, 668, n. Their 


Fanny, dearest ! 515. 


Delphi, transport of laurel to, 118. The 


hieroglyphics, 581. 


Farce, the triumphs of, 632. 


shrine, 363. To a virgin of, 136. 


Eldon, Lord Chancellor, conservative 


Fare thee well, thou lovely one, 281. 


Deluge, tablets saved by Seth from the, 


tears of, 554. 572. Nightcap of, 557. 


Fare thee well, perfidious maid, (Ode 


538. 


A wizard, 558. His hat and wig, 566. 


lxxii. Anacreon,) 100. 


Deluge, the, Whiston's notion of its 


His Lordship on the Umbrella Ques- 


Farewell ! but whenever you welcome 


being caused by a comet, 713. 


tion, 569. His conscientious conser- 


the hour, 247. 


Dens, Doctor, 652. 635. 


vatism, K afte~ Horace, Ode xxu. lib. i.) 


Farcwe'.l, Theresa, 290. 


Derbyshire, Mr. Moore's residence in, 


222. His wig, 221. 


Fear not, that while around thee, 295. 


50. 


Eloquence iS7. 


Feramorz and the Princess, 375. 405. 



740 



INDEX. 



413.475.441. His song, 442. Denoue- 
ment of the fiction of his disguise, 
454. 

Ferdinand VII., Ode to King, 566. 

Fete, the, at Boyle Farm, 308. See 
Summer Fete. 

Fill me, boy, as deep a draught, (Ode 
lxis. Anacreon.) 97. 

Fill the bumper fair, 252. 

Fin M'Cumhal the Finians, and Fingal 
270. 

Fionnuala, the Song of, 234. 

Fire-fly, to the, 175. 

Fire-flies, 165. 270. 457. 536. 

Fire-worship of Persia and the East, 
415. The persecuted Ghebers, 415. 
Story, " The Fire-worshippers," 415 — 
441. Vide Lalla Rookh. 

Fitzgerald, the late Lord Henry, 308. 

Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows, 373. 

Flow on, thou shining river, 280. 

Flowers, the language of, 365. 

Fly and the bullock, the, 488. 

Fly from the world, O Bessy ! to me, 
125. 

Fly not thus, my brow of snow, (Ode 
li. Anacreon,) 90. 

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour, 230. 

Fly swift, my light gazelle, 365. 

Fly to the desert, fly with me, 451. 

Flying fish, to the, 163. 

Follies, the book of: an album, 124. 

Fontenelle, M., consistency of, 515. 

Fool's Paradise: Dream the First, 606. 

For thee alone I brave the bouudless 
deep, 356. 

Forbes, Lady Adelaide, portrait of, 148. 
45. 

Forbes, to Lord, from the city of Wash- 
ington, 175. 

Forget not the field where they per- 
ished, 256. 

Formosa, Island of, 500. 

Fortune-teller, the, 259. 

Fox, Right Hon. Charles James, 222. 

Fragment, a, 137. 147. 

Fragment of a Character, 543. 

Freedom, 312. 349, 350. 

Friend, on the death of a, 542. 546. 

Friends, on leaving some, 151. 

Friendship, a temple to, 279. 

Friendship and Love, 296. 

From dread Leucadia's frowning steep, 
(Anacreontic,) 102. 

From the land beyond the sea, 184. 

From this hour the pledge is given, 271. 

Fruit, varieties of eastern, 449. 

Fudge Family in Paris, the, 458. 

Fudges, the, in England, being a Sequel 
to the " Fudge Family in Paris," 637. 

Fudge, Phil., Esq., his political conduct 
and penchant, 458 — 483. His poetical 
letter to Lord C— st— r— gh, 460. To 
Tim. Fudge, Esq., 467. To Viscount 
C— st— r— gh, 474. His Journal, ad- 
dressed to Lord C , 475. 

Fudge, Mr. Bob, his Letters to Richard 

, Esq., 462—472. To the Rev. 

Mortimer O'Mulligan, 650. 

Fudge, Miss Biddy, her poetical letters 
ftom Paris to Miss Dorothy , of 



Clonkilty in Ireland, 458. 465. See 
also 478. 481. 637, 638. 

Fudge, Miss Fanny's, Epistles, 641. 649. 
Her uncle's bequest, 656. 
*** See Connor, O'Branigan, and 
O'Mulligan, in this Index. 

Fum and Hum, the two Birds of Roy- 
alty, 455. 



Gayly sounds the castanet, 285. 

Gait, Mr., and the Dictionary, 588. 

Galaxy, or Milky Way, 156. 

Ganges, blue current of the, 450. 

Garden, the dream of the, 663. 665. 678. 
Festival of the, 664. 

Gazel and Maami, 545. 

Gazel, by Abdallah, 211. 

Gazelle, the, 292. 

Genius, poetical allusions to, 284 

Genius and Criticism, 547. 

George III., King, 217, et passim. 

George IV., (Prince Regent and King N 
See Intercepted Letters, 205. 216. Par- 
ody of a celebrated Letter, 217. The 
Prince's Plume, 219. Ich Dien, 219. 
The Old Yellow Chariot, 219. The 
Privy Purse, 220. King Crack and his 
Idols, 220. Prince of Wales's Feath- 
ers, 217. 457. The Prince's Day, 240. 
Bird of Royalty, 53. 455. . 

Georgian Maid, the, 451. 

Geramb, Baron, and mustachios, 219. 

Gheber, the, 420, et seq. 

Ghost Story, a, 620. 

Give me the harp of epic song, (Ode n 
Anacreon,) 65. 

Glees, set of, 343—345. 

Gnomes, doctrine of, 532. 

Go forth to the mount, 307. 

Go, let me weep, there's bliss in tears, 
300. 

Go now, and dream, 290. 

Go, then ! 'tis vain to hover, 287. 

Go where glory waits thee, 228. 

Gondolas and gondoliers, 282. 287. 289. 
312. 

Goose of the river Nile, 693. 

Government, financial, 548. 

Grammont, Count de, 156. 

Grattan, on the death of, 2G0. 

Grecian girl's dream of the Blessed 
Islands ; to her lover, 144. 

Grecian Maiden, the : Song, 327. 

Grecian Youth, the, 334, et seq. 

Greece, isles of, 312. 319. Zean maids, 
59, et seq. Allusions to Greece in 
Lalla Rookh, 377, et seq. Evenings 
in Greece: First Evening, Zea, 319. 
Second Evening, 326. 

Greek Ode, prefixed to the Translation 
of Anacreon, 58. Corrections of this 
Ode by an eminent scholar, 59. 

Greeks, the group that late in garb of, 
315. See 312. 

Grenada, the young muleteers of, 347. 

Guess, guess ; the lady of my love, 370. 

Guidi, sonnet by, with a translation, 75, 
n., 76. Ode by Guidi on the Arca- 
dians, 47. 



Guitar of India, the Syrinda, 450. 
Gull language, translation' from the, 

600. 
Gulliver, Captain Lemuel, 547. 
Gun, the Evening, 345. 
Gynfeocracy, proposals for a, 593. 



H 



Hafiz, the poet, 452, n. 

Halcyon hangs o'er ocean, the 361. 

Haram, Jehanghir's, 443 The Light 

of the Haram, 444. 
Hark ! the vesper hymn is stealing, 282. 
Hark ! 'tis the breeze of twilight calli.;..*, 

306. 
Harmony, the genius of, 133. 
Haroun-al-Raschid the Caliph, 442. 
Harp, certain of the poetical allusions 

to that instrument, 125. 252. 260. 267. 

269. 283. 304. 
Harp of my country! in darkness I 

found thee, 152. 
Harp, the origin of the, 239. 
Harp, farewell to the, 34. 
Harp that once through Tara's halls, 

the, 230. 
Harut and Marut, the Angels, 524. 
Has sorrow thy young days shaded, 248. 
Hassan, Al, the Prophet Chief of Ara- 
bia, 417. 426. 428. See Story of the 

Fire-worshippers, 415, -et seq. 
Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aim'd 

spear, (Ode lxiv. Anacreon,) 98. 
Hastings, Marquis of, (Earl Moira,) and 

visit to his mansion at Donington, 45. 

184. His library, 45. Dedication to 

Francis, Earl of Moira, 160 
Hat, Ode to a, 556. 
Hat versus Wig, 566. 
Have you not seen the timid tear, 109. 
He who instructs the youthful crew, 

(Ode lvi. Anacreon,) 93. 
Headfort, Marchioness of, Dedication 

to, 278. 
Hear me but once, while o'er the grave, 

286. 
Heard, Sir Isaac, and the Peerage, 556. 
Heart and lute, my, 354. 
Heart to rest, No, leave my, 292. 
Heathcote, to Lady : On a ring found at 

Tunbridge Wells, 156. 
Hebe, the Fall of: a dithyrambic ode, 

148. 
Henley, Lord, and St. Cecilia, 594. 
Henry to Lady Emma, 599. 
Her last words at parting, how can I 

forget? 356. 
Hercules to his daughter, song of, 357. 
Here, take my heart, 346. 
Here recline you, gentle maid, (Ode 

xix. Anacreon,) 75. 
Here sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied 

shade, (Anthologia,) 103. 
Here sleeps the bard, 292. 
Here, while the moonlight dim, 325. 
Here's the bower she loved so much, 

349. 
Hero and Leander, 337. * 
High-born Ladye, the, 339. 



INDEX. 



741 



Hinda, the Arabian maid. See the Story 

of the Fire-worshippers, 415, et seq. 
Hither, gentle muse of mine, (Ode 

lxxv-i. Anacreon,) 101. 
Holland, Lord, regret for the death of, 

53. Translations by, 53. 
Holland, to Lady, on a legacy by Napo- 
leon, 60S. 
Holy Alliance, Fables for the, 4S3. 
Hooker, Bishop, on x. and ov, 559 
Hope comes again, to this heart long a 

stranger, 294. 
Hope, poetieal allusions to, 233. 291. 

307. 656. 
Horace, free translations of some Odes 
of: Come, Yarmouth, my boy, never 
trouble your brains, (Ode xi. Mb. 2,) 
22L The man who keeps a con- 
science pure, (Ode xxii. lib. 1.) 122. 
I hate thee, oh Mob, as my lady hates 
delf, (Ode i. lib. 3,) 127. Boy, tell 
the cook that I hate all nick-nacke- 
ries, (Ode xxxviii. lib. 1,) 127. Paro- 
dy of 'Donee gratus eram tibi,' cr 
Horace's return to Lydia, 314. 

! Horn, the, 293. 

J How am I to punish thee, (Ode x. Ana- 
creon.) 68. 

{ How dear to me the hour, 232. 

j How happy once, tho' wing'd with 
sighs, 353. 

I How I love the festive boy, (Ode xxxix. 
Anacreon,) 87. 

J How lightly mounts the muse's wins, 
306. 

I How shall I woo 1 296. 

• How sweetly does the moonbeam 
smile. 415. 

' Hudson, Edward, recollections of him 
and of his musical taste, 31. 34. 
Hume, David, History of England by, 

202. 
Hume. Joseph, Esq., 550, 551, iu, et pas- 
sim. 

I Hume, to Thomas, Esq., M. D. ; written 
at Washington, 178. 

I Humorous and Satirical Poems, 547— 
636. 

; Hunt Henry, Esq., his spurious coffee, 
550. 

I Hunter boy, the, 285. 293. 

j Hush, hush !— a Glee, 343. 

1 Hush, sweet lute, 371. 

I Hussuo Abdav valley of, 441. Royal 
gardens near, :42. 

I Hymen, poetical allusions to, 288. 

, Hymn of a Virgin of Delphi, at the tomb 
of her mother, 118. 

! Hyperborean, song of a, 363. 



I 



I care not for the idle state, (Ode vin. 
Anacreon.) 67. 

I dreamt that in the Paphian groves, 
115. 

I had, last night, a dream of thee, 534. 

I fear that love disturbs my rest, (Ana- 
creontic.) 101. 

I found her not— the chamber seem'd, 
135. 



I know that heaven hath sent me here, 
(Ode xl. Anacreon,) 86. 

I know thou lov'st a brimming meas- 
ure, (Anacreontic,) 101. 

I often wish this languid lyre, (Ode 
xxm. Anacreon,) 77. 

I pray thee, by the gods above ! (Ode 
ix. Anacreon,) 67. 

I pray you, let us roam no more, 169. 

I saiv, from yonder silent cave, 323. 

I saw from the beach, when the morn- 
ing was shining, 25 J . 

I saw the moon rise clear, 249. 

I saw the smiling bard of pleasure, (Ode 
1. Anacreon,} 64. 

I saw thy form in youthful prime, 241 . 

I stole along the flowery bank. 172. 

I thought this heart enkindled lay, 118. 

I've a secret to tell thee, 268. 

I will, I will, the confliet's past, (Ode 
xni. Anacreon.) 69. 

I wish I was by that dim lake, 265. 

Ianthe, 308. Before her glass, 309. 

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 248. 

Idols in the house of Azor, 452. Of 
King Crack, 220. Of Jaghemaut, 375. 

If hoarded gold possess'd the power, 
(Ode xxxvi. Anacreon,) 84. 

H" I swear by that eye, you'll allow, 
107. 

If I were yonder wave, my dear, 171. 

If in loving, singing, night and day, 294. 

If thou'lt be mine, 255. 

H thou wouldst have me sing and play, 
360. 

If to see thee be to love thee, 317. 

Ill Omens : Young Kitty, &c, 237. 

Imagination, 312. 

Imitation, from the French, 517. See 
also Anthologia, Horace, &c. 

Immortality, stars the beacons of, 696. 

Impromptu, 117. 151. 186. 227. 

In myrtle wreaths my votive sword, 
368." 

In the morning of life, 253. 

In wedlock a species of lottery lies, 117. 

Ina, by Lady Dacre, 658. 

Incantation, an, 561. 

Inconstancy, 116. 

India, poetical allusions to, 373. 441. 
449, 450, et seq. 

Indian boat, the, 310. 

Indian maid, the young, 358. 

Indian tree, the, 519. 

Inkstand, the poet's, 517. 

Innisfail, song of, 268. 

Innisfallen, isle of, 262. 

Insurrection of the Papers; a dream, 
216. 

Intercepted Despatch, Diabolo's, 554. 

Intercepted Letters, the, of the Two- 
penny Post-bag, 205, &c. 

Intolerance, a Satire : Account of ' Cor- 
ruption' and 'Intolerance.' See 25. 
Preface to Intolerance and Corrup- 
tion. 1S8, 139. The Satire, 198. 

Invisible Girl, fe?, 27. 

Invitation to dinnjr : addressed to Lord 
Lansdowne, 517. 

Iran, Land of, 450. See Lalla Rookh, 
passim. 



Ireland, and her national music, 29. 34. 

Ireland, certain traditions and romances 
respecting, 229. 234. 241. 243, 244. 246 
259. t64, 265. 267, 268, 269, 270. 

Ireland, politics and political sensibility 
of the kingdom of, (sec the Fudge 
Family) 458—483. 639 The penal 
code, 554. The outbreak of 1798, 21, 
et seq. Romanism in, 629. Thoughts 
on the present government of, (1828,) 
574. 

Irish antiquities, 583. 

Irish bed of roses, an, 227, n. 

Irishman, Satires, &c, addressed to an 
Englishman by an, 189—198. 

Irish Melodies, 228. Dedication to the 
Marchioness Dowager of Donegal), 
228. Preface, 223. The Melodies, 
228. 278. Advertisements to the first 
and second Nos., 272; to the third, 
272. Letter on Irish music, 273. Ad- 
vertisements to the fourth, fifth, sixth, 
and seventh Nos., 276 — 278. Dedica 
tion to the Marchioness of Headfort, 
278. See National Airs, 279, et seq. 

Irish Peasant to his Mistress, 233. 

Irish Slave, the, 565. 

Irving, Washington, 57. 264. 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 
(Haydn,) 307. 

Is not thy mind a gentle mind? 110. 

Israfil, the angel of music, 451. 521. 

It is not the tear at this moment shed, 
239. 



Jeffrey, Francis, Lord, the author's visit 
to Craig Crook, 37. 

Jehan Gheer, or Jehanguire, Emperor 
of Delhi and Hindostan, 443. His 
palace, 449. n. His early name of Se- 
lim, 446. His bride, 449. 452. 

Jerome's love, (St.,) 298. St. Jerome's 
first visit on earth, 602. His second 
visit, 603. 

Jerusalem, the holy city of, 298. 

Jessica, young, 353. 

Johnson, Dr. Samuel, on Mallet, 654, n 

Joy alone be remember'd now, 354. 

Joys of youth, how fleeting ! 285. 

Juan. Don, 222. 

Jubal's shell, alluded to, 310. 

Judgment Day, and a supposed wind 
from Syria Damascena to announce 
it, 453, 71. 

Judgment, the day of, 303. 

Julia, to, in allusion to some illiberal 
criticisms, 111. Mock me no more 
with love's beguiling dream. 111. 
Though fate, my girl, may bid us 
part, 112. On her birthday, 113. To 
Julia, weeping, 114. Inconstancy. 116. 
Elegiac Stanzas, supposed to be writ- 
ten by Julia, on the death of her 
brother, 117. I saw the peasant's 
hand unkind, 118 Sympathy, 119. 

Juvenile Poems, 105 — 159. Preface by 
" the late Thomas Little," 105. Ded- 
ication to Joseph Atkinson, Esq., 
106. 



742 



INDEX. 



K 



Kathleen, 242. 

Keder Khan of Turkistan, 374. 

Kenmare, Earl of, 262. 

Kevin, Saint, tradition, 242. 

Khorassan, the Veiled Prophet of, 376— 

403. 
Kilkenny amateur actors, talent of the, 

48. 409. Extract from a Prologue, 

&c, 412. 
Ki Harney, lakes and traditions of, 259. 

262. 
King, Lord, an Expostulation to, 549. 
Kishma, wine of, 550. 
Kiss, the, 137. 167. 
Kublai Khan, 450. 



Labyrinth, in Egypt, 690, n. 

Lahore, description of the city of, and 
the midland districts of India, 414, 
&c. 

Lake of the Dismal Swamp, 164. 

Lake of the Temples, 664. 

Lalla Rookh, an Eastern Romance: 
history of this poem, 39, et. seq. Rep- 
resentation of it as a dramatic pageant 
at the Chateau Royal, Berlin, in 1822, 
when the emperor and empress of 
Russia personated Aliris and Lalla 
Rookh, 43. ' The Veiled Prophet of 
Khorassan,' 376—403. The criticisms 
of Fadladeen upon this story, 403. 
Paradise and the Peri, 406. Fadla- 
deen renews his criticism, 412. The 
Fire-worshippers, 415-441. The Light 
of the Haram, 442. Design of this 
poetic undertaking related, 21. 50. 

Lama, the Little Grand, 490. 

Lansdowne, Lord, invitation to dinner 
addressed to, 517. 

Lawrence, Dr., friend of Edmund 
Burke; his letter to Dr. Hume re- 
specting the version of Anacreon by 
Mr. Moore, 20. 

Lay his sword by his side, 270. 

Leaf and the Fountain, a ballad, 337. 

Learning, 144. 

Lebanon, Mount, 305. 

Legacy, the, 232. 

Leila's lute, 657. 

Les hommes automates, 609. 

Lesbia., to, 516. 

Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 241. 

Let Erin remember the days of old, 234, 

Let me resign this wretched breath, 
(Anacreontic,) 101. 

Let's take this world as some wide 
scene, 357. 

Let us drain the nectar'd bowl, (Ode 
xxxvm. Anacreon,) 85. 

Leucadia, legends of, 320. 

Levee and couchee, the, 317. 

Libel, a case of, 563. 

Liberty, 235. 251. 270, 271. 291. 318. 323. 
658. 

Liberty, the torch of, 487. 

Life is waning, Do not say that, 292. 



Life is all checker'd with pleasures and 

woes, 243. 
Life for me hath joy, &c, 355. 
Life without freedom, 349. 
Light sounds the harp when the com- 
bat is over, 125. 
Like morning, when her early breeze, 

304. 
Like one who doom'd o'er distant seas, 

295. 
Like some wanton filly sporting, (Ode 

lxv. Anacreon.) 98. 
Like the bright lamp that shone in Kil- 

dare's holy fane, 235. 
Lilis, 535. 

Lily of the Nile, the white, 672. 
Limbo of lost reputations, 574. 
Lion, dead, and the living dog, 573. 
Lionardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa, 315. 
Listen to the rause's lyre, (Ode ni. An- 
acreon,) 65. 
Literary advertisement, to authors, 564. 
Literati, sick, 628. 
Literature, speed of, 626. 
Little Grand Lama, the, 490. 
Little Man and Little Soul, a ballad, 

particulars respecting it, 27. The 

poem, 226. 
Lizard, (Stellio,) account of the, 442, n. 
Long years have pass'd, old friend, 

since we, 372. 
Looking-glasses, the, 486. 
Lord, who shall bear that day, 303. 
Lotus wreath, 454. 
Lotus branch, and the bird taking flight, 

mythos of the, 676. 
Lotus flower, 150. Statue of the winged 

boy seated on a, 681. The spell, 681. 

An emblem of beauty, 417, n. 
Louis Philippe, King, an account of, 

when at Donington Park, 45. 
Louis the Fourteenth's Wig, 493. 
Love, a tutor, 697. 
Love alone, 297. 
Love, all-defying Love, 417. 
Love and Hope, 283. (Swiss Air.) 
Love and Marriage, 120. 
Love came by, 333. 
Love resting his wings, 450. 
Love and the vine, 335. 
Love a sentinel: Glee — Hush, hush, 

343. 
Love, one summer eve, was straying, 

331. 
Love and the Novice, 243. 
Love and Hymen, 519. 
Love is a hunter boy, 285. 
Love-knots, who'll buy my, 288. 
Love, a few allusions to, 98. 100. 171. 

175. 238. 244, 245. 265, 266. 281. 283. 

286. 288. 291, 292. 295. 306, 307. 311. 

317. 321. 327. 346. 352. 367. 369. 524. 

528. 532. 539. 542. 
Love, mythological hymn to, 147. 
Love and learning, 144. 
Love and Reason, 143. 
Love and Time, 349. 
Love and the Sun-dial, 349. 
Love wandering thro' the golden maze, 

350. 
Love, unbind thee, 369. 



Love, who ruled as admiral o'er, 370. 

Love thee ?— so well, so tenderly, 351 

Love thee, dearest 1 354. 

Love but thee, I, 353. 

Love's day, 352. 

Love's light summer cloud, 350. 

Love's victory, 357. 

Love's young dream, 240 

Lover, the, 296. 310. 324. 337, n. ; 529. 
531. 

Lover, the Persian, 211. 

Lover, the Russian, 373. 

Loves of the Angels, 51. Preface to the 
poems, 520. The poem, 521. First 
Angel's Story, 522. Second Angel's 
Story, 527. Third Angel's Story, 538. 

Loves, the sale of, 115. 

Lowe, Sir Hudson, to, 547. 

Lusitanian War-song, 352. 

Lute, the, 449. 657. 

Lying, 121. 

Lyre, the poet's, 295. 

Lyre, the tell-tale, 141. 



M 



Machiavelian policy condemned, 500 
Macrianus, praetorian prefect, 719. 
Magan, Patrick, Esq., his Epistles to a 

Curate in Ireland, 637. 643. 655. 
Magic Mirror, the, 339. 
Magnet, woman a, 532. 
Mahomet, religion of, {see Lalla Rookh,) 

378, et seq. 
Mahomet, the Seal of preceding prophe- 
cy, 533. The familiar dove of, 535. 

561. 
Mahometans, belief of the, 521.523.520. 

534. 538. The chief angels, 521, 522. 

526, 527. 534. 
Mahommed Shaw, feast and throne of, 

454, n. 
Maiden, the Sleeping, 293. 
Maidens of Zea, 325, et passim. 
Malthus, allusions to, 545. 548. 572. 
March ! nor heed those arms that hold 

thee, 334. 
Martyrs, the, 306. 720, 721, et seq. ; the 

crown of martyrdom, 722, 723. 
Mary, 241. 

Mary, star of the sea, 326. 
Mary, I believed thee true, 140. 
Mathews, Mr. Charles, 616. 
Matriculation, scene from a play acted 

at Oxford, called, 605. 
Mauri-ga-Sima, or the sunken island, 

450. 
May moon, the young, 245. 
Melanius the hermit, 711—714. 717.722. 
Meleager : — Here at thy tomb these tears 

I shed, 366. Various imitations from, 

125. 366. 368. 
Melodies, Irish, 228—278. Succeeded 

by the National Airs, 279, et seq. 
Memorabilia of last week, (March 13, 

1826,) 552. 
Memory, poetical allusions to, 282. 522 

538. 
Memphis, on the Nile, 671; sacred col 

lege of, 684. 



INDEX. 



743 



Menage, Anacreontic in Greek by, with 
a translation, 80, n. 

Merou, city of Khorassan, 376. 399. 

Mefhinks the pictured bull we see, 
(Ode liv. Anacreon.) 92. 

Miguel, Don, Ode to, 573. 

Milesius and the Milesians, 268. 

Millennium, the, and the Rev. Mr. Ir- 
ving, 555. 

Miltiades, the Ghost of, 587. 

Minaret, chants from an illuminated, 
443.71. 

Minerva, or Pallas, and Love, 331. 

Minerva's thimble, 353. 

Ministers, the new costume of the, 223. 
The Sale of the Tools, 225. 

Ministers, wreaths for the, 221 

Minstrel Boy. the, 246. 

Miriam's Song, 300. 

Miscellaneous Poems, 512. 542. 658. 

Mischief, thoughts on, by Lord St— n- 
1— y, his first attempt. 634. 

Missing, Lord de * * *, 591. 

Mix me, child, a cup divine, (Anacre- 
ontic) 102. 

Mceris, island of the lake, 691. 

Mohawk River, lines written at the 
Cohoes, or Falls of the, ISO. 

Mokanna, the prophet-chief of Khoras- 
san, 376, 377, et seq. 

Monarch Love, resistless boy, (Ode 
lxxiv. Anacreon,) 100 

Monopoly, present spirit of, 551. 

Mont Blanc, sublime prospect of, 498. 

Montaigne quoted, 496. 

Montpensier, Cuke of, to the, 148 

Moon, poetical mention of the, 324, 325. 
333, et passim. 

Moon, that high in heav'n art shining, 

372. 
' Moore, Mrs. 31. To my Mother, 519. 

Moore, to Miss, from Norfolk in Virgi- 
nia, 163. 

Moral positions, a dream, 593 

Morality, an epistle, 140. 

Morgan, George, Esq., (of Norfolk, Vir- 
ginia,) epistle to, from Bermuda, 166. 

Morning, 251. 304. 

Morning Herald, the. 555. 

Morning Post, the, 650. 

Morris, Capt., his song, •' My muse, loo, 
when her wings are dry," 38. 

Moschns, his first Idyl, quoted, 76, n. 

Mo>es. 304. 

Mountain Sprite, the, 254. 

" Mum" to the editor of the Morning 
Chronicle, 455. 

Murray. Mr. ; his contemplated Mail- 
coach edition of Rokeby, 209. 

Muse, the, 317. 

Music, Angel of, 371, n. 

Musk and Melodies, an account of some 
of our modern poets who had a taste 
for, and a knowledge of, 36, et seq. 

Music, the Prefatory Letter on Irish, 
273. 

Music, on :— Song, 239. 365. 

Music, poetical allusions to, 2G6. 271. 
292, 293. 541. 

Music, a Meiologue upon National, 341 
—343 



Music of the spheres, 528. 

Musical box, the :— Rose and the Poet, 

355. 
My gentle harp, 253. 
My harp has one unchanging theme, 

283. 
Mythology, Egyptian and Greek, 663, 

et passim. 



Nama, 538. 540. 

Namonna, the enchantress, 446. Calls 
down sleep on Nourmahal, 447. 

Naples, lines on the entry of the Aus- 
trians into, in 1821, 519. 

Napoleon, the Emperor, consigned to 
the rock of St. Helena, 457. Allu- 
sions to his fallen fortunes, 213. 221, 
543. 658. 

Natal Genius, the, a Dream : to , 

the morning of her birthday, 116. 

National Airs, 279, <Scc. 

National Music, a Meiologue upon, 
341—343. 

Nature's Labels, a fragment, 112. 

Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear, 143. 

Nay, look not there, my love, 533. 

Nay, tempt me not to love again, 163. 

Nea, Odes to -.—Written at Bermuda, 
163—174. 

Necropolis, and lake near Memphis, 
673, et seq. 

Nets and Cages, 239. 

Ne'er ask the hour, what is it to us ? 
257. 

Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools, 
291. 

Never mind how the pedagogue proses, 
116. 

Night Dance, the, 269. 

Night-thought, a, 137. 

Nightingales, song of, 352. 359. 363. 
443. 

Nights, such as Eden's calm recall, 
315. 

Nile, river, 637 ; the Isle of Gardens, or 
Antirrhodus, near Alexandria, 632. 

Nile, navigation of the, 671. 692. 695. 
697. 

Nile, nymphs of the, 697. 

Nile, the Garden of the. 449. Sources 
of the river, 501. 

No life is like the mountaineer's, 329. 

No, not more welcome the fairy num- 
bers, 249. 

Noble and illustrious authors, 581. 585. 

Nonsense, 139. 

Nora Creina, 241. 

Not from thee the wound should come, 
370. . 

Nourjehan, " the Light of the World," 
442. n. 

Nourmahal, the Light of the Haram, 
442. 444, 445. Her spells, 446. Her 
sleep, 447. She is regretted by Selim, 
449. Her disguise, 450, 451. The 
Georgian maid's s^ng. 450 Succeed- 
ed by that of Nourmahal herself, 451. 
Her reconciliation with Selim, 452. 



Now Neptune's month our sky deforms, 

(Ode lxviii. Anacreon,) 99. 
Now the star of day is high (Ode xvm. 

Anat*&.m,} 74. 
Nymph of a fair but erring line, 406. 
Nymphs of the Nile, 697. 



O'Branigan, Larry, to his wife c'ndy 

644. 652. To Murtagh O'Muiligan, 

617. 
O'Connell, his election for Clare, 579. 
O'Connor, Arthur, Esq., 30. 
O'Donohue's Mistress, 259. 
O'Keefe's song for the character of 

Spado, 38. 
O'Muiligan, Mortimer, his epistle, (vile 

" I . jlge Family in England,") 654. 
O'Rua, k, Prince of Breffni, the song of, 

246. 
Oblivion, the fabled gates of, 676. 
Observe when mother earth is diy, 

(Ode xxi. Anacreon,) 76. 
Oft, in the stilly night, 282. 
Oft, when the watching stars grow 

pale, 290. 
Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 706. 
Oh ! breathe not his name, 229. 
Oh ! banquet not in those shining bow- 
ers, 260. 
Oh ! blame not the bard if he fly to the 

bowers, 236. 
Oh ! but to see that head recline, 525 
Oh ! call it by some better name, 346. 
Oh ! come to me when daylight sets, 

2S2. 
Oh ! could we do with this world of 

ours ! 270. 
Oh ! days of youth and joy 287. 
Oh, do not look so bright and blest, 364 
Oh ! doubt me not — the season, 24" r 
Oh fair ! oh purest ! be thou the dove, 

302. 
Oh for the swords of former time : 257. 
Oh, guard our affection, 293. 
Oh ! had we some bright little isle of 

our own, 246. 
Oh ! hint to the bard, 'tis retirement 

alone, 57. 
Oh ! idol of my dreams, 531. 
Oh ! Love, Religion, Music, all, 539. 
Oh, Memory, how coldly, 324. 
Oh, no ! not ev'n when first we loved, 

283. 
Oh, say, thou best and brightest, 295. 
Oh, soon return, 351. 
Oh, stranger ! if Anacreon's shell, (An- 

thologia,) 103. 
Oh ! teach me to love thee, 303. 
Oh ! the sight entrancing, 201. 
Oh ! think not my spirits are always as 

light, 230. 
Oh think, when a hero is sighing, 657. 
Oh thou! of all creation blest, (Ode 

xxxiv. Anacreon,) 83. 
Oh thou ! who dryest the mourner's 

tear, 299. 
Oh, tidings of freedom ! Oh, accents of 

hope! 580. 



744 



INDEX. 



Oh J where art thou dreaming? 315. 

Oh ! Where's the slave so lowly, 250. 

Oh woman, if through sinful wile, 139. 

Oh, ye dead ! 259. 

Olden time, the song of the, 355. 

Olympus, latest accounts from, 632. 

One dear smile, 351. 

On one of those sweet nights that oft, 

315. 
Once in each revolving year, (Ode xxv. 

Anacreon,) 78. 
One bumper at parting, 245. 
One day the Muses twined the hands, 

(Ode xx. Anacreon,) 75. 
Oppression, memory and record of, 291. 
Orangemen of Ireland, their petition, 
- 558. 

Orcus, the heathen priest, 721. 734. 
Orcus, high priest, to the Prefect De- 

cius, 734. 
Origen, 698. 714. 
Ormuzd, of the ancient Persians, and 

his angels, 521. 
Osiris, or Serapis, 681. 
Ossian, allusions to, 270. 272. 
Ossian, fragments in imitation of, 30. 
Our home is on the sea, boy, 312. 



Paddy's Metamorphosis, 608. 
Painting, 165. 327. 371. 503. 
Palestine and the river Jordan, 410. 
Paradise and the Peri, 406—412. Criti- 
cisms of Fadladeen on this romance, 
412. 
Paradise of Epicurus, 681. Of Mahomet, 

526. 
Parallel, the, 258. 

Parliament, the recess of, a hymn, 551. 
Occasional address, for the opening 
of the new Theatre of St. Stephen, 
(Nov. 24, 1812,) 224. Satirical notice 
of some members of the House of 
Lords, 581—590. 595. 597. Report of 
speeches relative to Maynooth Col- 
lege, 625. Exhibition of models of 
the two Houses of, 625. 
Passion, 306. 346. 371. 
Patrick's Purgatory, and mystic lake in 

Donegall, 265. 
Patrons and Puffs, &c, 633. 
Paul the Silentiary, 167. 366, 36' 
Peace, 712. 
Peace and glory, 142. 
Peace be around thee, 284. 
Peace to the slumberers ! 288. 
Peace, peace to him that's gone, 354. 
Pearls, 170. 292. 532. Mythos as to their 

production, 450, n. 
Pearls, Irish, 263. 

Peer, how to make one's self a, 609. 
Peers, batch the first, 5G8. 
Perceval, Right Hon. Spencer, on the 

death of, 455. 
Perfumes for the hair and beard, 67, n. 
Peri, Paradise and the, 406 — ill. 
Peris and fairies, 449. 499. Vide Lalla 

Rookh, &c. 
Periwinkles, fiscal, 567. 



Periwinkles and Locusts, 567. 
Persecution, the Decian, 712. 
Persia and the Persians, 210, 211. Vide 
Lalla Rookh, 379. 453, et passim. Su- 
perstitious notions of this eastern peo- 
ple, 529. 523, 7i. 
Philadelphia and the Schuylkill river, 

179. 
Phillis, to, 139. 
Philodcmus :— " My Mopsa is little," 

368. 
Philosophy, a vision of, 153. Vide the 
classical notes to this poem, 153 — 155. 
Philosophy, poems relative to, treating 
of philosophers, ancient and modern, 
122.244.527. Aristotle, 154, n. Pytha- 
goras, 154. Democritus, 154. Plato, 
154, n. Epicurus, 664, n. ; 702, et seq. 
Alciphron, 199, et seq. Pyrrho, 122. 
Aristippus, 141. Zeno, 123. Mauper- 
tuis, n. 
Philostratus, a thought of, imi^ted by 
Ben Jonson, 64, n. 

Pictures, Italian galleries of, 46 

Pigeons, carrier, 298. 

Pilgrim, man a, 305. 

Pilgrim, the, 328. Still thus, when twi- 
light gleam'd, 339. 

Planets, the, 527, n. 

Plato, epigram of, 75, n. He wrote in 
bed, 502. 

Platonic philosophy, and followers of 
Plato, 153, et seq. 

Pleasure contrasted with pain, 290. 

Plumassier, to a, (Anacreontic,) 219. 

Poco-Curante Society, the, 495. (See 
Rhymes on the Road.) Song of, 660. 

Poesy, 267. 270. 

Poet's dream: Dinner of Type and Co., 
630. 

Police reports, case of imposture, 624. 

Political allusions, by the author, 35, et 
seq.; and Satirical Poems, 271. 291. 
See " The Fudge Family," 538, et seq. ; 
637, et seq. See the Satirical Poems, 
547, &c. See also 547 — 636, et passim. 
For the poet's allusions to the affairs 
of N. America and of France, tee 161 
—187. 

Political and Satirical Poems, 455, &c. 

Politician, how to make a good, 586. 

Politics, Irish, allusions to, 29 et seq. 
See 547 — 636, et passim. 

Polycrates of Samos, 59. 

Poor broken flower, 346. 

Porcelain and China, 450. 452. 

Porte, Ode to the Sublime, 562. 

Power, Mr. Richard, 48. 

Prayer of Mahometans, 411. 

Press the grape, and let it pour, 110. 

" Press, the," newspaper, 30. 

Priestess of the Moon, 687. 

Prologue, spoken at the opening of the 
Kilkenny Theatre, OctoU-r, 1809, 513. 

Proxy, how to write by, 575. 

Psaphon, his birds taught to pronounce 
his name, 501. 

Psyche, 135. 147. 542. 

Puck, song of old, 623. 

Puir, profligate Londoners, 590. 

Purgatory, 532. 



Put off the vestal veil, nor, oh, 131. 
Pyramids of Memphis, 670. Rhodope, 
the Lady of the Pyramid, 676 



Q 



Quadrilles, 544. Episcopal, 596. 

Quakers, 651. 

Quarterly Review, the, 588. 629. Re- 
flections addressed to the author of 
the article of "the Church" in the, 
625. 

Quick ! we have but a second, 263. 



R 



Raise the buckler, poise the lance, 322. 
Raphael, his Fornarina, 503. 
Rawdon, to the Lady Charlotte, from 
the banks of the St. Lawrence, 184. 
Romance of the Indian Spirit, 185. 
Reason, 143. 247. 281. 348. 367. 
Reason, Folly, and Beauty, 281. 
Red Fox, the, 30. 
Redbreast, the, in December, 281. 
Rector and his curate, the, 607. 
Reform, notions on, 601. 
Religion, the " Sacred Songs," 297. 
Religion and trade, 628. 
Religion in the East, Brahma, &c. 277. 

(See Lalla Rookh.) 
Religious emblems and types, 302. " In- 
tolerance" satirized, 194, et seq. On 
Toleration, 210, et passim. 
Remember him thou leav'st behind, 
108. 
. Remember the time in La Mancha's 
shades, 351. 
Remember thee ! 254. 
Remonstrance, addressed to Lord John 
Russell, after a conversation in which 
he had intimated some idea of giving 
up all political pursuits, 514. 
Resemblance, the : Yes, if 'twere any 

common love, 128. 
Reuben and Rose, 109. 
Revenue, decimating, and decimal arith- 
metic, 567. 
Reverend Pamphleteer, the, 618. 
Reverends and Right Reverends, reso- 
lutions passed at a meeting of, 588. 
Reynolds, Mr. Thomas, 458. 
Rhodope, 676. Fable of the Lady of 

the Pyramid, 676. 
Rhymes on the Road, extracted from 
the journal of a travelling member of 
the Poco-Curante Society, in 1819, 
495. 
Rich and rare were the gems she wore, 

231. 
Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn, (Ode 

lxvii. Anacreon,) 99. 
Ring, the ; a tale of Rupert, 128. 
Ring, the :— The happy day at length 

arrived, 128. 
Ring, the : — No, Lady ! Lady ! keep 

the ring, 126. 
Rings and Seals, 150. 
Ripen'd by the solar beam, (Ode lu. 
Anacreon,) 95. 



INDEX. 745 


Rival Topics : — An Extravaganza, 616. 


Sea, the Old Man of the, 565. A Re- 


Greece," 300—335. Songs from the 


Roche, Sir Boyle, his blunders, 572. 


flection at, 113. 


Greek Anthology, 366—369. Unpub- 


Rock, Captain, his epistle to Lord Lynd- 


See you, beneath yon cloud so dark 


lished songs, &c, 369—373. Occa- 


hnrst, 635. His letter to Terry Alt, 


186. 


sional songs, 614. 660. Songs from 


636. 


See the dawn from heaven, 289. 


" M. P., or the Blue Stocking," 656— 


Rogers, Mr., accompanied by the author 


Selim and Nourmahal, 445 — 452. 


658. Songs of the Church, No. 1, 622. 


to Paris, 44. See the Dedications to 


Sephiroths or Splendors of the Cabala, 


Sovereign, a golden, 548. 


Samuel Rogers, Esq. 


540, n. 


Sovereign woman, a ballad, 661. 


Rome, artists at, 46. The Palatine 


Sepulture, ancient Egyptian mode of, 


Soul, the,, 885. 


Mount, 47. 


677. 


Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's 


Rokeby, allusions to, 209. 212. 


Seraphim, 538. 


dark sea, 300. 


Romaika, the, danced in Zea, 321, et 


Serapis, the god, 681. 


Southey, to Robert, Esq., Announce- 


seg. 


Seth, traditions relative to the patri- 


ment of a new Thalaba, 615. 


Romaldkirk, to the Curate of, 605. 


arch, 538. 


Speculation, a, 519. 


Rondeau . — " Good night ! good night !" 


Shalimar Palace, the, 449. 453. 


Speeches, a corrected report of some 


123. 


Shall the harp then be silent, 260. 


late, 597. 


Re«a, to, 120. 


Shamrock, oh the, 244. 


Spencer, Hon. W. R., lines addressed 


Rostk, to, written during illness, 114. 


Shannon, stanzas from the banks of 


to him from Buffalo and Lake Erie, 


Rosa, to, 124. 139. 


the, 584 


in N. America, 181. 


Rose of Cashmere, 442. 


She is far from the land where her 


Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies, 656. 


Rose, the Alpine, 287. 


young hero sleeps, 2*. 2. 


Spirit, the Indian, (or N. American,) 184. 


Rose, the, and summer bee, 291. 


She never look'd so kind before, 118. 


Spirit of Love, whose locks unroll'd, 


Rose of the desert ! 355. 


She sung of love, 265. 


(Ode lxxv. Anacreon,) 101. 


Rose and nightingale, 360. 


She has beauty, but still you must keep 


Spirit of the Woods, the Evil:— Song, 


Rose, the young, 352. 


your heart cool, 348. 


180. 


Rose-tree, the pretty, 347. 


Sheridan, Right Hon. Richard Brinsley, 


Spring and Autumn, 296. 368. 


Rose in nettles hid, the : — Conundrum, 


Lines on the death of, 456. His char- 


St. Lawrence, river, 183, 184 ; the Gulf 


156. 


acter described, 457. Intended Life 


of, 186. 


Roses, the, Festival of the Scattering of, 


of, 50. 


St. Senanus and the Lady, 257. 


374. 443, n. 452. Of the garden of the 


Sheridan, Mrs., air composed by, 297. 


Star of the Waters, Sothis, 696. 


Nile, 449. Attar Gul, 453. 


Shield, the, 113. 


Stars, some of the poet's allusions to 


Roses, political, 227, n. 


Shine out, stars, 347. 


the, 232. 289, 290. 300. 326. 328. 331. 


Round the world goes, by day and 


Ship a-hoy !— Song, 37. 


373. 527. 532. 695. 


night, 364. 


Ships and wrecks, 161. 367, 168. 292. 


Steersman's song, the, 175. 


Row gently here, 287. 


295. 305. 


Stephens, Henry, wrote on horseback, 


Rubi, the second Angel, 526. His Story, 


Ships, the meeting of the, 343. 


496. 


527. 


Shiraz wine, 450. 


Stevenson, Sir John, poetical tribute to, 


Ruby, magnificent, 450. 


Should those fond hopes, 281. 


271. See also 39, n. 272. 299, 300, 301. 


Russell, Lord John, remonstrance on 


Shrine, the, 111. 


304. 307. 


his intended retirement from politics, 


Silence, emblem of, 268. 


Still, like dew in silence falling, 368. 


514. 


Silence is in our festal halls, 271. 


Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee, 


Russian lover, the:— Fleetly o'er the 


Silence, chain of, 252, n. 


371. 


moonlit snows, 373. 


Simonides, epitaphs on Anacreon by, 


Still when daylight o'er the wave, 360. 




103, n. 


Storm at sea, lines written in a, 168. 


S 


Sin, 522. 535. 


Stranger, the heart-wounded, 340. 




Since first thy word, 305. 


Strangford, to Lord; written on board 


Sacred Songs, 297. Dedication to Ed- 


Sing, sweet harp, 267. 


the Phaeton frigate, off" the Azores, 


ward Tuite Dalton, Esq., 297. 


Sing, sing, music was given, 266. 


161. 


Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark, 257. 


Sinking Fund cried, 550. 


Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves, (Ode 


Sailor boy, 'tis day, 368. 


Sinners, 306. 


xxxu. Anacreon,) 81. 


Salmagundi, 367. 


Sirmio, peninsula of, 516. 


Sublime was the warning that liberty 


Sannazaro, his Gallicio nell' Arcadia, 


Slumber, oh slumber ! if sleeping thou 


spoke, 235. 


quoted, 66, n. 


mak'st, 293 


Sulpicia, Tibullus to, 516. 


Sappho, lyre of, 315. Legends of Leu- 


Slumber, poetical allusions to, 282. 


Summer clouds, 531. 


cadia, 320. 


Smile, one dear, 351. 


Summer Fete, the, 308. 


Sarpi, Fra Paolo, 500. 


Smoothly flowing through verdant 


Summer webs that float and shine, 360. 


Satirical and Political Poems, 455, &c. 


vales, 313. 


Sunday Ethics, a Scotch ode, 590. 


Say, what shall be our sport to-day? 


Snake, the, 119. 


Surprise, the, 121. 


286. 


Snow Spirit, the:— No, ne'er did the 


Susan, 656. 


Say, what shall we dance 1 344. 


wave in its element steep, 172. 


Swallow, the, 713. 


Skeptic, the; a Philosophical Satire, 


So warmly we met, 280. 


Swans, the Muse's, 317 


199. The preface on ancient philoso- 


Soliman, throne of, was called the Star 


Sweet is your kiss, my Lais dear, 167. 


phy, and the Pyrrhonists, 199. The 


of the Genii, 379. 


Sweet lady, look not thus again, 112. 


Satire, 200—203. 


Some mortals there may be, so wise or 


Sweet spirit ! if thy airy sleep, 116. 


Skepticism, 542. 


so fine, 311. 


Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, 262. 


Scott, Sir Walter, his musical taste, 36. 


Songs, some of the occasional, interwo- 


Swings, an Eastern pastime and exer- 


Interesting scene at the Edinburgh 


ven in Mr. Moore's poems : — 107, 108, 


cise, 443. 


theatre, 37. 


109. 115. 125, &c. Many early songs 


Sword, the warrior's, 257. 261 267. 270. 


Scriptures, the Holy, 302. 


occur from p. 105—159. 228—278. 310, 


Sylph's Ball, the, 513. 


Sculptor, wouidst thou glad my soul, 


311. 313, 314, 315 316, 317, &c. Songs 


Sylphs and Gnomes, 532, n. 


(Ode v. Anacreon,) 66. 


interspersed in the "Evenings in 


Syra, holy fount of, 325. 



746 


INDEX. 


T 


Thou, whose soft and rosy hues, (Ode 


'Twas in a mocking dream of night, 


xvi. Anacreon,) 72. 


(Ode xxx. Anacreon,) 81. 




Thou bidd'st me sing the lay I sung to 


'Twas night, and many a circling bowl, 


Tables of Stone, the Seven, 687. 


thee, 363. 


(Ode xxxvn. Anacreon,) 84. 


Take back the sigh, 142. 


Though humble the banquet, 266. 


'Twas noon of night, when round the 


Take tack the virgin page, 232. 


Though sacred the tie that our country 


pole, (Ode xxxm. Anacreon,) 82 


Take hence the bowl, 290. 


entwineth, 658. 


'Twas one of those dreams, 262. 


Tar barrels, thoughts on, 604. 


Though sorrow long has worn my 


'Twas when the world was in its 


Tara, the halls of, 230. 


heart, 117. 


prime, 522. 


Tear, the, 119. 229. 239. 


Though the last glimpse of Erin, 231. 


'Twas but for a mom? nt, and yet in that 


Tears, 301, 302. 347. 366. 


Though 'tis all but a dream at the best, 


time, 186. 


Tears, poetical allusions to, 285. 290. 


291. 


Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy 


299. 306. 


Through grief and through danger, 238. 


brow? 367. 


Teflis, or TifUs. brooks of, 450. 


Thus have I charm'd with visionary 


Twopenny Post-bag, by Thomas Brown 


Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee, 


lay, 185. 


the Younger, 203. Dedication to Ste- 


(Ode xi. Anacraon/) 68. 


Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms, 


phen Woolriche, Esq., 203. The Pre- 


Tell me not of joys above, 414. 


(Ode xxvi. Anacreon,) 79. 


face, 203. The Intercepted Letters : 


: Tell me why, my sweetest dove, (Ode 


Thy song has taught my heart to feel, 


—From ifee Princess Charlotte of 


xv. Anacreon,) 71. 


139. 


Wales to Lady Barbara Ashley, Let- 


Temples, Lake of the, 664. 


Tibullus to Sulpicia, 516. 


ter I., 205. From Col. M'Mahon to G. 


Thalaba, announcement of a new, to 


Tighe, to Mrs. Henry, on reading her 


P Leckie, Esq., Letter II., 206. Its 


Mr. Southey, 615. 


Psyche, 135. 


Fc&iscript, 207. From the Regent to 


That wrinkle, when first I espied it, 110. 


Time, a poet's allusions to the hand of, 


Lord Yarmouth, Letter III., 207. From 


Temple, the, at Jerusalem, 302. 305. 


241. 245. 284. 287. 293. 541. 


the Rt. Hon. Patrick Duigenan to the 


The bird, let loose in Eastern skies, 298. 


'Tis gone, and forever, the light we 


Rt. Hon. Sir John Nichol, Letter TV., 


The garland I send thee, 296. 


saw breaking, 251. 


20S. 'Enclosing an 'Unanswerable 


The more I view'd this world, 515. 


'Tis sweet to think, that where'er we 


Argument against the Papists,' 209.) 


The Phrygian rock that braves the 


rove, 238. 


From the Countess Dowager of Cork, 


storm, (Ode xxn. Anacreon,) 76. 


" 'Tis the vine ! 'tis the vine !" said the 


Letter V., 209. Its Postscript, 177. 


The sky is bright, the breeze is fair, 


cup-loving boy, 335. 


From Abdallah in London, to Mohas- 


318. 


'Tis true, my fading years decline, (Ode 


san in Ispahan, Letter VI., 210. From 


The song that lightens our languid way, 


xlvii. Anacreon,) 89. 


Lackington & Co. to , Esq., Let- 


657. 


'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now, 152. 


ter VII., 211. From Col. Thomas to 


The time I've lost in wooing, 250. 


'Tis the last rose of summer, 245. 


Skeffington, Esq., Letter VJII., 


The turf shall be thy fragrant shrine, 


Tithe case, late, 606. 


212. Appendix to these Epistles, 213 


300. 


Tithe, song of the departing Spirit of, 


—216. 


The women tell me every day, (Ode 


581. 


Tyrolese Song of Liberty: — Merrily ev- 


vn. Anacreon,) 67. 


To all that breathe the air of heaven, 


ery bosom boundeth, 350. 


The world had just begun to steal, 115. 


(Ode xxiv. Anacreon,) 78. 




The world was hush'd, 381. 


To ladies' eyes around, 255. 


u 


The wreath you wove, 115. 


To Love and Bacchus ever young, 61, n. 




Thee, thee, only thee, 260. 


To Love, the soft and blooming child, 


Unbind thee, love, 369. 


Then fare thee well, 284. 


(Ode Lxiii. Anacreon,) 98. 


Up and march ! the timbrels sound, 328. 


Then first from love, 371. 


To my Shadow, 641. 


Up, sailor boy, 'tis day, 368. 


Theocritus, in praise of Anacreon, 103, 


To sigh, yet feel no pain, 656. 


Up with the sparkling brimmer, 333. 


n. 


To thee, the queen of nymphs divine, 




Theora of Alexandria, and her daughter 


(Ode lxvi. Anacreon,) 98. 




Alethe, 698. Death of a mother, 701. 


To-day, dearest, is ours, 345. 


V 


There are sounds of mirth, 209. 


To see thee every day that came, 156. 




There comes a time, 283. 


To weave a garland for the rose, 3G6. 


Valerian, the emperor, 719. 


There is a bleak desert, 305. 


Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken, 


Valletort, to Caroline Viscountess, writ- 


There's something strange : Buffo Song, 


294. 


ten at Lacock Abbey in the year 1832, 


370. 


Torch of liberty, the, 487. 


518. 


They know not my heart, 265. 


Tories, destructive propositions of the, 


Valley of Visions, 687. 


They may rail at this life, 256. 


620. 


Valley, the unequalled, 453. 


They met but once in youth's sweet 


Tortoise-shell of Pegu, triple-colored, 


Van, the Euthanasia of, 582. 


hour, 361. 


453. 


Variety, 107. 


They tell how Atys, wild with love, 


Tory, mad, and the comet, 598. 


Veil, the silver, 377. 


(Ode xn. Anacreon,) 69. 


Tory Pledges, 602. 


Veiled Prophet of Khorassan, 376. 


They tell us of an Indian tree, 519. 


Tory, Doctor, and Doctor Whig, 604. 


Venice, former glory of, 500. Wars 


They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest, 


Translations. See Horace, Anthology, 


against the Turks, 500. Her tyranni- 


358. 


&c. 


cal oligarchy, 500. Tortures, 500. Her 


They wove the lotus band to deck, 


Tribune, the young, 721. 723. 


fall a retribution, 500. 


(Ode lxix. Anacreon,) 99. 


Trinity College, Dublin, an examination 


Venus, poetical allusions to the god- 


Think on that look whose melting ray, 


political, 32, ct seq. 


dess, 266. 


137. 


Tripe, tout pour la, 571. 


Venus, the planet, 167. 256. 661. 


Those evening bells ! 280. 


Truth, 251. 303. 365. 


Venus Anadyomene, 503. 


Thou art, O God, the life and light! 


Truth characterized, 292. 305. 723. 


VeniisPapyrui, ;>•;;•] 


297. 


Tuckt SiiliKia.it, mountain, 443, re. 


Virgin of Delphi, the, 118. 


Thou art not dead, 330. 


Tulip, said to be of Turkish extraction, 


Virtue, 163. 170. 


Thou lov'st no more, 294. 


377. 


Vishnu, 571. 



INDEX. 



747 



Vision, a by the author of Christabel, 

55a 
V;iee, the, 336. 
Voituic s Kiss, rendered by Mrs. , 

123. 
Vulcan . hear your glorious task, (Ode 

iv. Anacreon,) 65- 

w 

Wake thee, my dear— thy dreaming, 
355. 

Wake up, sweet melody ! 359. 

Wales, Princess Charlotte of, 205, et seq. 

Walton, Isaac, 443, n. 

Waltz Duet, 314. 

Waltzing, 545, 

Warning, a, 152. 

War against Babylon ! 307. 

War's high-sounding harp, 306 

Warrior, the dying, 338. 

Washington, city of, and the American 
rivers, &c, 375. 173, et seq. 

Watchman, the ; a Glee, 344. 

Waterloo coin, advertisement of a miss- 
ing or lost, 595. 

We care not ; Song, 660. 

We read the flying courser's name, 
(Ode xxvn. Anacreon,) 79. 

Weep, children of Israel ! 304. 

Weep not for those whom the veil of 
the tomb, 299. 

Weep on ! weep on ! your hour is past, 
244. 

Weeping for thee, my love, through the 
long day, 321. 

Welcome, sweet bird, through the sun- 
ny air winging, 333. 

Well! peace to thy heart, though anoth- 
er's it be, 171. 

Well, the Holy, alleged miraculous ap- 
pearance of the moon night and day 
in the, 398. 

Wellington Spa, the, 619. 

Wellington, Field Marshal the Duke of, 
34. Reinforcements for him, 226. His 
Grace and the Ministers, 227. 598. 

Wellington, Napoleon, and Waterloo, 
543. 572. 

Were not the sinful Mary's tears, 301. 

What's my thought like ? 220. 

What shall I sing thee ? 543. 

What the bee is to the floweret, 243. 

When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy, 
(Ode xlix. Anacreon.) 89. 

When, casting many a look behind, HI. 

When cold in the earth lies the friend 
thou hast loved, 254. 

When Cupid sees how thickly now, 
(Ode Lxxvm. Anacreon,) 101. 

When evening shades are falling, 326. 

When first that smile, 288. 

When first I met thee warm and young, 
24.249. 

When gold, as fleet a? ^ephyr's pinion, 
(Ode lviii. Anacreon,) 95. 

When he who adores thee has left but 
the name, 229. 



When I behold the festive train, (Ode 

Mil. Anacreon,) 91. 
When I loved you, I can't but allow, 

111. 
When Love is kind, 296. 
When Love, rock'd by his mother, 266. 
When night brings the hour, 295. 
When Love was a child, 286. 
When my thirsty soul I steep, (Ode 

xlviii. Anacreon,) 89. 
When Spring adorns the dewy scene, 

(Ode xli. Anacreon,) 88. 
When o'er the silent seas alone, 343. 
When the first summer bee, 291. 
When the wine-cup is smiling before 

us, 291. 
When thou shalt wander, 288. 
When the sad word " Adieu," 367. 
When thou art nigh, it seems, 363. 
When to sad music silent you listen, 

365. 
When on the lip the sigh delays, 345. 
When through life unblest we rove, 

239. 
When through the Piazzetta, 289. 
When Time, who steals our years 

away, 108. 
When wearied wretches sink to sleep, 

120. 
When wine I quaff, before my eyes, 

(Ode l. Anacreon,) 90. 
Whene'er I see those smiling eyes, 255. 
When twilight dews are falling soft, 

353. 
When 'midst the gay I meet, 352 
Where is the heart that would not give, 

660. 
Where are the visions, 293. 
Where is your dwelling, ye sainted, 

308. 
Where shall we bury our shame ? 291. 
Whig, Dr., and Dr. Tory, their consul- 
tation, 604. 
While gazing on the moon's light, 237. 
While our rosy fillets shed, (Ode xliii. 

Anacreon,) 87. 
While we invoke the wreathed spring, 

(Ode lv. Anacreon,) 92. 
Who comes so gracefully, 332. 
Who is the maid my spirit seeks, 298. 
Who'll buy my love-knots 1 288. 
Who'll buy? 'tis Folly's shop, 316. 
Whose was the artist hand that spread, 

(Ode lvii. Anacreon,) 94. 
Why does azure deck the sky ? 124. 
Why does she so long delay 1 367. 
Wind thy horn, my hunter-boy, 293. 
Wine-cup is circling, the, 270. 
Wine, praise of, in Lalla Itookh, 450. 

452. See also other poems and songs, 

230. 234. 245. 252. 263. 267. 270. 290, 

291. 293. Wisdom, 244. 250. 291. 
Wit, 335. The quiver of, 214. 
With all my soul, then, let us part, 118. 
With twenty chords my lyre is hung, 

(Ode lxxi. Anacreon,) 100. 
Within this goblet, rich and deep, (Ode 

xlv. Anacreon.) 88. 
Wo, wo unto him ! 571. 



Woman, 179. 269. 328. 522. 527, 528,529 

534. 561. 
Woman :— Away, away—you're all the 

same, 152. 
Wonder, the, 121. 

Woods and Forests, Ode to the, 579 
Woodpecker, the : I knew by the smoke 

that so gracefully curl'd, 183. 
Word awaked my heart, thy, 305. 
World, the fashionable, 309. 
World is all a fleeting show, this, 299. 
World, when abroad in the, 294. 
Would that I were a tuneful lyre, (Ode 

lxxvii. Anacreon,) 101. 
Wreath the bowl, 254. 
Wreath and the Chain, the, 146. 
Write on, write on, ye Barons dear, 581. 



Y th, Earl of, 458. Letter addressed 

to, by Thomas Brown the Younger, 
207. Some remarks on the same, 217. 
221. 223, 224. 

Years have pass'd, old friend, since we, 
372. 

Yemen, and the rest of Arabia, alluded 
to, 417, et seq. 

Yes, be the glorious revel mine, (Ode 
sin. Anacreon,) 86. 

Yes — loving is a painful thrill, (Ode 
xxix. Anacreon,) 80. 

Yes, sad one of Zion, if closely resem- 
bling, 258. 

Yes, yes, when the bloom of Love's 
boyhood is o'er, 352. 

You read it in these spell-bound eyes, 
169. 

You bid me explain, my dear angry 
Ma'amselle, 599. 

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's 
pride, 247. 

You who would try, (vide the Epicu- 
rean,) 678. 

Young Love, 296. 338. 

Young Love lived once in an humble 
shcu, 656. 

Youth, poetical allusions to, 285. 287. 
313. 

Youth's endearing charms are fled, COde 
lxi. Anacreon.) 97. 

Youth and Age, 338. 

Youth and Death, 676. 



Zaraph, 539. His bride, 541. 

Zea, or Ceos, island of the Archipelago : 

Scene of the First Evening in Greece, 

318, et seq. 
Zeilan, king of, his ruby, 450. n. 
Zelica, see "The Veiled Prophet of 

Khorassan," 379, et seq. 
Zinge, and the Zingians, 411. 
Zion, 298. 301. 
Zodiac, the, 533. 691. 
Zone of bells of an Indian dancing girl, 

442. 



LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PORTRAIT OF THOMAS MOORE/ 

{To face Title.) 
BY G. RICHMOND 



SIOPERTON COTTAGE.' 



{Engraved Title-page.) 
BY T. CRESWICK. 



PSYCHE. 

'• Sweet Psyche, many a charmed hour, 
Through many a wild and magic waste, 
To the fair fount and blissful bower, 

Have I, in dreams, thy light foot traced." 

p. 13$. V 

"I SAW FROM THE BEACH." 

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on." 



HE LOVES NO MORE. 

" Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken, 

Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er — 
Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken ; 
Thou lov'st no more — thou lov'st no more." 

p. 294. 

THE MAGIC MIRROR. 

BY MACLISE. 

" The wizard show'd him his lady bright, 

Where lone and pale in her bow'r she lay ; 

* True-hearted maid,' said the happy knight, 

* She's thinking of one who is far away.' " 

p. 339. 

. . i 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



THE PERI AT THE GATE OF EDEN. 

BY K. MEADOWS. 

" One morn a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden stood, disconsolate." 

Paradise and the Peri, p. 406. 

THE PERI'S SECOND PILGRIMAGE. 

BY EDWARD CORBOULD. 

" Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 
To the fair child, who fearless sat, 
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd 
Upon a brow more fierce than that." 

Paradise and the Peri, p. 411 Q 

LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 

BY EDWARD CORBOULD. 

" Never shall I forget those eyes ! 
The shame, the innocent surprise 
Of that bright face, when in the air 
Uplooking, she beheld me there." 

p. 523. fl 



THE PRIESTESS OF THE MOON. 

BY K. MEADOWS. 

"In another minute this veil had, like a thin mist, melted away, and the young priestess 
of the moon stood, for the third time, revealed before my eyes." 

Epicurean, p. 686. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



